Aziraphale lets out a startled, breathless grunt as she hits him, and he crumples to the ground in surprise; she is stronger than he expected, though he should have expected this of course. Most surprising is how Orisa reacts, with a staggering cry from her perch. Like she felt the pain. She felt it.

He doesn't have time to adjust to this alarming information as Illyria's horrible creature swarms over him. He throws up his arms to defend himself, but then it jumps away as though stung. He blinks up at them in immense confusion.

"Wh- what?" he blurts. "I didn't do anything!"

"Get up, moron!" Orisa snaps at him, tense and impatient. Don't forget the bloody sword this time!

Aziraphale climbs to his feet, touching a hand to the crackling pain in his chest, trying to heal or at least soothe it. He wastes no time drawing his sword into existence, the bright fire of it searing up in a blinding, hot flash. He stands up straight, manifesting his wings for good measure, flaring them out impressively and holding his blade before him, staring her down.

"Care to try that again?" he challenges brazenly.