Snap!
An arrow flew across the wide open space, soaring above the lava beneath it and crashed into Emile's flesh; impaling him through and through.
Gripping the arrows shaft, Emile ripped it from his body. Blood and chunks of flesh exploded with it, covering the platform in which he stood and painting his pants crimson red.
As his body healed, another arrow slammed into his body.
Emile's been trapped in limbo with the bowmen for multiple hours already. Throughout that time, the same scenario has played out over and over.
First, the snap of the bowstring echoes around the cavern, alerting Emile of the pain to come. Next, the arrow would hit Emile; his chest, his legs, his back, sometimes his shoulder, the never ending storm of arrows pierced Emile in many places, but never anywhere lethal.
Then, Emile would rip the arrow out, struggling against the explosive pain of tearing his meat apart from the inside out. Next to Emile, a mound of arrows was starting to form, some covered in blood while others kept more severe remnants of Emile's body.
Shortly after, another arrow soared through the hot air. Coming from Emile's back left, he calmly took one step forward and paused.
The arrow missed him and continued flying until it crash landed in the lava. Emile took one step back and returned to his default position.
He kept his eyes closed, opting to entirely focus on his other senses, primarily sound. He heard the bowstring collapse once more, right in front of him.
Taking a step to the side, Emile turned his torso and felt a breeze rocket past him. While subtle, the arrows produced a delicate hum as they flew and Emile heard that hum getting softer and lighter.
Another arrow launched, from Emile's right this time. Listening to the hum, Emile gauged the arrows' distance. It rapidly approached him, but ultimately missed him as the hum died down and the arrow began to sink in the magma.
Unexpectedly, Emile and the bowmen entered a rhythm. Soon, the arrows never stopped firing and Emile never stopped moving.
Like some sort of cursed dance, Emile glided around the island. Light on his toes, he stepped and spun, leaped and slid all in a beautiful effort to avoid having his insides become his outsides.
Emile felt confident, he was getting the hang of it. The arrows miraculously sounded louder and seemed slower, although Emile couldn't pinpoint their location, he could gauge when they'd hit him.
Suddenly, the three bowstrings collapsed simultaneously, but Emile wasn't caught off guard. The bowmen did something like this regularly after all; switching up their shooting pattern, trying to confuse Emile and catch him off-guard.
Emile leaned back and the arrows flew by above him. As the hum grew quieter, Emile straightened back up and prepared for more.
After an hour of continuous success, Emile felt ready to move onto stage two. He reached his arm out and emitted some of his essence.
The snowflake-like particles erupted from his palm and swirled around his hand, eventually condensing together in the shape of a long pole. As the essence solidified, so too did its sharpness and detail.
Brandishing his scimitar, Emile was ready for round two; parrying all of the arrows he couldn't see.
The hum arrived and Emile stepped out of the way, but swung nonetheless. His sword missed, cutting nothing more than the air, but so too did the arrow.
A successful parry involved Emile standing still and parrying all of the arrows, but Emile wasn't so eager to return to being a piñata for the bowmen.
Until his sword connected, until he could roughly gauge the specific location of the arrows, Emile wasn't planning on standing still anytime soon.
Another arrow soared towards him and Emile moved out of the way, but once more tried to cut down the arrow as it flew.
He missed.
Another arrow.
Another miss.
After an hour of missing, ninety-three attempts, Emile opened his eyes. The brightness of the lava stung his corneas and in a slightly stunned state Emile heard the next arrow.
As if on autopilot Emile avoided the arrow and watched it glide in front of his chest and fly away. He did the same with the next arrow and the arrow after that.
Another hour passed in silence. During this hour, Emile did nothing more than observe the arrows fly past him. He remained calm and analyzed the arrows; how long it took them to travel from the bow to his body, how many milliseconds the arrow remained within his reach, where the arrows were most often aimed at.
Emile absorbed all of this information, in addition to hyper focusing on the arrow's hum itself. Did the hum sound different depending on its relationship to the ground?
Was it higher pitched closer to the ground? Or vice versa?
Was there any audible queue Emile could consistently rely on to pinpoint the arrows relative location as it traveled through the air? If there was, Emile was determined to find it.
After an hour of constant focus, of absorbing any and all details Emile could find, he parted his lips and called for Pyra.
The labyrinth's guardian appeared instantaneously and Emile asked to be sent back. His progress this time was astounding, but rest was equally as important as effort.
His body needed time to absorb his new movements, to imprint them in his muscles and make them part of his natural reflexes.
In addition, Emile's mind needed time to digest everything he just observed. Although he wouldn't sleep, talking through his revelations with someone would aid in putting the multifaceted pieces together, hopefully neatly coming together to form his epiphany.
Pyra of course obliged and the light from the sea of lava began to dissipate until nothing but darkness remained. A heavy gust of wind rolled over Emile's back as the labyrinth's gates screeched against the stone as they opened.
Emile was out, but he was nowhere near finished.