The tags certainly were a distraction. The twenty Goblimon lackeys stopped their assault upon Biyomon at the explosions, some cowering, some dropping their clubs, and some even falling over in the fright and surprise - some even unfortunate enough to be singed.

The leader appeared to take a few steps back, bringing a hand to his mohawk. One of the tags... It'd sliced a good chunk out of it! Growling in rage enough to completely overwrite the fact attacking a Doumon was an extremely stupid idea, he signalled with his club for an attack. The lackeys were loyal, at the very least. Though their knees were very obviously shaking, they regrouped and headed toward the tree stump.

Ringabel didn't make a sound. Though bloodied, face down, arms twisted sickeningly at the shoulders, he made no sound as he was dragged away. He couldn't. His mind wasn't there - trapped - reliving something cruel magics had made him long forget.

Biyomon still had enough in her to stand. Not in the best shape herself - data, in very small fragments swirling around her - she forced herself to her feet at the tap, looking upward at Beastboy, D-Terminal still in hand.

"Someone came... someone finally came... Thank you. Thank you.."