From somewhere in its blindspot -- a guess based off its attacking movements, given how this thing of lava and smoke barely has a face -- Loxley strikes with a blade that is no longer wreathed in green flame. Stands to reason that something made up of pure heat wouldn't take much offense to a lick of fire.

No, instead, in the strange half-light of volcanic glow, the air around his blade seems to tremble like watery surface tension, and as the blade plunges deep into shifting fiery mass, that same unstable, invisible energy ripples across the rage demon's flank.

He ducks as the creature twists with strange preternatural flexibility and slashes a clawed hand, and he twists the blade out with the intent to do damage as he does. Staying in melee, Loxley shouts;

"Will closing the rift hurt these things?"