Dash spit blood onto the ground as he fell to his knees. Small trails of blood flowed from his ears as paradox ripped at him. The dancer felt almost as nauseous as he felt ashamed. He'd made mistake after mistake. Dropping his defense, running into what apparently was a shooting range. The paradox was a calculated risk, just like the many concussions he'd sustained when he'd attempted a difficult maneuver while free running and failed. The arrow hurt, but just served as a physical representation of his failures.
His nimbus flowed around him like a second layer of skin. A constantly changing primordial ooze of color, a living lava lamp. Never still, never stopping, never the same. With bloodshot eyes he looked for the point of origin for the arrow, prepared to roll out of the way if he needed too.