"Language. Careful how you talk around your superiors," Qilby chastises (speaking more about himself than Deathwing.) He's still too busy concentrating on keeping her up in the air to pay attention to anything going on below, and he doesn't notice the thump of several large paws on obsidian until their owner is snarling right in his ear.

The headbutt nails him squarely in the ribs, sending him flying with a loud, high-pitched yelp that'd probably sound more natural coming out of Apollo or... Anyone who isn't a grown man, really. This time he isn't quite able to catch himself before he hits the ground hard on his other shoulder. Once again his portals wink out, his concentration thoroughly broken. Qilby rolls over with a groan, having trouble deciding whether to clutch his side (surely another bruise to add to a steadily-growing collection, it seems) or prop himself up with his one good arm. Eventually he pushes himself up to a sitting position, determined to send her damned dog to the center of the planet-- and finds himself face to face with the beast. Qilby freezes.

"Two against one? Really?" He doesn't want to make any sudden movements yet -- not when the creature's bristling and snarling at him like that -- but he casts sidelong glances around for Metalhead's owner who must've fallen to the ground somewhere around here.