[center][h2][color=82ca9d]Irian Sinewell[/color][/h2][/center][hr]
Any joy he had when the doll's torso burst open from his shot was snuffed out when it got into a desperate but deadly frenzy with whatever limbs it could salvage from its dead comrades, creating a wicked eldritch of a creature, or...thing. Combined with the witch's excited congratulations, it pissed him off. This was some sort of game? Messing around with people's livelihood for fun? The wood elf wanted to shoot that woman dead where she stood before his own rationale calmed the ego that she was much stronger than he was, and such act would just doom everyone involved. But a long sigh still escaped his lips nonetheless. 

That audible exhale seemed to disappear once the doll continued its warpath, and the eyes of the far forest zeroed in on its torso. An assembly of porcelain still in one piece despite suffering such catastrophic damage, held together by seemingly nothing. An empty void. But was it actually empty? Regardless, whatever that is in there, if it hadn't collapsed to his explosive arrows by now, maybe it would need more explosive arrows.

Standing from a further distance than the other melee-oriented combatants, Irian took more time with his few aims, aiming for the cracks and holes created by his own handiwork seconds prior, loosening the arrows only when he felt a bullseye would be certain.