Disclaimer: Tolkien's the genius, not me.
Fëanor laughed even as his horse reared in terror at the sight of the demons of flame and black shadow that rose before them. He raised his sword high in challenge; black blood dripped from the gem-inlaid cross-guard onto his gauntlet. “Thou art not the only spirits of fire to walk this earth!” he cried. “Where is thy master hiding? Craven! Let him come himself and face the wrath of Fëanor son of Finwë whom he murdered!”
He did not see that in his arrogance and lust for battle that he had allowed himself to be far outnumbered and surrounded.