"Dude I've [s]run away from[/s] fought against gods, demons, and demon gods. This is nothing!" The kitchen yelled down, struggling against the shadow. Inside Ryteb's mind however, a different track was playing. 'Oh shit, I'm gonna die, help me pops! Wait, he's dead, help me Xythaen... no, he hates me...' et cetera.
As this was going on, the part of Ryteb's brain that had common sense was piecing together a spell that would save him. As the ancient saying goes, fight fire with fire.
"Duo de terra, unus de igne, et de duabus virtutis arcane: conteram adversarius meus auro et metallis." He chanted, as he jumped off the tree trunk. Below him, a golden fist appeared, and he rode it through the rock fist to land on the muddy earth.

"Look, I don't want to fight, but if you want to continue I should let you know I can make fires that make the grenade launcher look like a party popper."