"BULL!" Best close range fighter he could think of that had an actual weapon on hand- the only one he could really call for as he stumbles against a wall-

Only to phase through it. Something in all the dust that got kicked up throughout the day, something's covered him from head to toe and gotten in his lungs- the pickaxe dropped from his fingers awhile ago, leaving him drifting in solid fucking stone.

Which is.

Terrifying.