There is too much smoke -- there should be no smoke at all, for his is a holy fire that burns beyond the ken of mortals. Black spots still interrupt Nhodd's vision, but that is nothing compared to the smoke that bounces back the light of his fire in duller form. No matter -- he resolidifies himself, clapping his wings like thunder to disperse the smoke and --

And that is a robotic fist in the small of his back. A repeat of such a direct attack was unexpected, to say the least; even without knowing that the fire is aetheric energy, most mortals have the sense not to attempt to touch him in this state. There's no shout this time, but a surprised grunt as his legs give out beneath him -- but then he's rolling with the impact as he hits the ground, throwing an arm up to shoot a gout of flame at his attacker.