He glanced at Jain and Ryen, both of whom were struggling to rise. They were beaten down, but not out. And Jorel knew that together, they could still win—if they played their cards right.
"Drain's relying on brute force," Jorel thought, his mind racing as he tried to formulate a plan. "He's stronger than us, but strength isn't everything. If we can outmaneuver him, we might have a chance."
He quickly signaled to Jain and Ryen, their eyes meeting with a shared understanding. They couldn't afford to make a single mistake. Jorel motioned for them to spread out, forcing Drain to divide his attention. If they could keep him off-balance, it might create an opening.
As they moved into position, Jorel focused on the pain in his body, letting it fuel his magic. He couldn't match Drain's raw power, but he didn't need to. All he needed was one chance—one opening to turn the tide of the battle.
Drain, noticing their movements, sneered with contempt. "You think you can beat me with some little trick? Pathetic! I'll crush you all the same!"
He charged toward Jain, the ghostly arms swinging with terrifying speed. But this time, Jain was ready. She dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow, while Ryen launched a barrage of spear thrusts at Drain's back. The attack barely fazed him, but it served its purpose—distracting Drain long enough for Jorel to make his move.
Jorel rushed forward, his blood-red claw forming on his hand. He aimed for Drain's exposed side, hoping to land a decisive blow. But Drain was faster than he anticipated. One of the ghost arms swung around, catching Jorel in the side and sending him sprawling to the ground.
The pain was blinding, but Jorel gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay conscious. He could feel the desperation creeping in, but he couldn't give up now—not when they were so close.
As Jorel struggled to his feet, he noticed something—Drain's movements were starting to slow, his ghostly arms flickering as if losing their strength. Neuropathic pain was powerful, but it was also unstable. If they could hold out a little longer, Drain's power might start to wane.
Jorel's mind raced as he formulated a new plan. If they could keep Drain off-balance, force him to expend his energy, they might be able to turn the tide. But it would take everything they had left.
"Jain, Ryen!" Jorel shouted, his voice hoarse with pain. "We need to wear him down! Keep moving, keep attacking, and don't let him get a solid hit!"
With renewed determination, the trio launched their counterattack. They moved with precision, each strike and dodge calculated to force Drain into a position where he couldn't fully utilize his ghostly arms. Jorel focused on the pain still coursing through his body, using it to sharpen his senses and increase his reaction time. Every breath hurt, but he welcomed the pain—it was a reminder that he was still in the fight, still able to outthink Drain.
Jain led the charge, darting in and out of Drain's reach, her movements quick and fluid. She struck at him with bursts of concentrated pain magic, each hit aimed at destabilizing his balance. Ryen followed her lead, covering her from a distance with his spear to keep Drain from focusing solely on one target.
Jorel hung back for a moment, watching the pattern of Drain's movements. He noticed that Drain's ghostly arms, though powerful, had a slight delay in their movements when switching targets. They were tied to his nervous system, and the neuropathic pain was both enhancing and limiting his ability to control them.
"Drain is strong, but his power isn't limitless," Jorel thought. "If we can keep him moving, force him to use those arms to defend himself, we can wear him down."
Jorel moved in to support his friends, timing his attacks to coincide with theirs. When Drain turned to block one of Jain's strikes, Jorel would slip in from the opposite side, forcing Drain to swing one of his ghost arms to parry. Each time Drain defended himself, it took more out of him—his movements becoming more sluggish, his strikes less precise.
Drain's frustration was evident, his sneer replaced by a snarl as he struggled to keep up with their coordinated attacks. His ghostly arms, once so swift and powerful, now flickered intermittently, the energy sustaining them beginning to wane.
"Is this the best you can do?" Drain spat, his voice tinged with desperation. "You think you can beat me by running around like rats?"
But Jorel could see the cracks forming in Drain's confidence. The longer the fight dragged on, the more evident it became that Drain was struggling to maintain control over his power. The blue glow that once radiated from his veins had dimmed, the ghost arms now trembling with every movement.
"Now!" Jorel shouted, signaling the final phase of their plan.
Jain and Ryen responded instantly. Jain feigned an attack from the front, drawing Drain's attention, while Ryen unleashed an attack aimed at his legs. Drain, already exhausted, struggled to block both attacks at once. His ghost arms managed to deflect Jain's strike, but Ryen's spear struck true, hitting Drain in the knees and forcing him to stumble.
Seizing the moment, Jorel lunged forward, channeling every ounce of pain into his blood-red claw. He aimed for Drain's exposed side, the ghost arms too slow to intercept in time. The claw dug into Drain's flesh, tearing through his side with a vicious swipe. Blood sprayed from the wound, and Drain let out a howl of agony.
But even as he cried out in pain, the blue ghost arms responded with one final, desperate attack. They swung wildly, one of them catching Jorel in the chest and sending him crashing to the ground. The impact drove the air from his lungs, and for a moment, Jorel feared that the blow had broken something vital.
But as he lay on the cold stone floor, struggling to breathe, Jorel saw Drain collapse to his knees, his ghostly arms flickering and fading until they disappeared entirely. The blue glow in Drain's veins had dulled to nothing, his body convulsing from the aftereffects of the neuropathic pain.
Jain and Ryen didn't waste a second. They rushed forward, taking advantage of Drain's weakened state. Jain delivered a swift, precise kick to Drain's head, knocking him to the ground. Ryen followed up by binding Drain's arms with a strip of cloth torn from his own uniform, immobilizing him completely.
Jorel slowly pushed himself up, every movement sending waves of pain through his body. He was battered, bruised, and exhausted, but they had done it—they had defeated Drain.
Jain knelt beside Jorel, her eyes filled with concern. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice soft.
Jorel nodded, though the effort made his head spin. "I'll be fine," he replied, his voice hoarse. "What about you two?"
"Still standing," Ryen said with a weak grin. "Though I can't say the same for our friend here."
They looked down at Drain, who lay unconscious on the cold stone floor. The arrogance that had once defined him was gone, replaced by the harsh reality of defeat.
"We need to get out of here," Jain said, glancing around the chamber. "This place won't hold much longer, and we need to reach the end of the maze."
Jorel forced himself to stand, leaning on Jain for support. "Let's finish this," he said, determination in his voice.
With Drain defeated, the trio began to make their way toward the exit, leaving behind the fallen opponent. The Maze of Suffering had tested them in every way possible, but they had proven themselves capable of facing even the most daunting challenges.
As they approached the final archway leading out of the chamber, Jorel allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. They had outsmarted Drain, relied on each other, and come out on top. But he knew that their journey wasn't over yet, and they were running out of stamina.
The final trial awaited them, and it would demand everything they had left.