Taking a step back to maintain the distance between them, Qilby keeps his gaze trained steadily on Apollo. Deathwing's goading (because that's exactly what it is -- he wants a fight between his Blacksworn, the blasted lizard) rings in his ear... Or maybe that's the hit to the head he's just received still talking. He glowers at her as she advances, palm still shielding his bloodied mouth from Deathwing's view but making his silently mouthed words perfectly clear to her: "You made this happen."

And with a sudden sweep of his arm upwards as if ripping something from the ground, the earth of the Sanctum responds, roiling like water around her feet and then yawning wide to swallow her legs up and trap her in place. Qilby's frown only betrays a little bit of his dissatisfaction. The same power which works so well to wholly restrain frail little imps clearly isn't going to be developed enough to do the same thing to a vicious, headbutting madwoman-- but it's all he can manage with only a few months' experience with these new Blacksworn abilities.

"My fellow Blacksworn here appears to have a very narrow definition of strength," he calls out, mainly for the Aspect's benefit. Damn Apollo for starting this idiotic fight, and damn Deathwing for encouraging it. Qilby was ready to walk away from it just moments before, but now what choice does he have? He can't afford to lose face.

He shrugs theatrically. "I suppose we'll have to educate her."