Orcus
He sprang from the bars like an arrow of titanium and bronze. But no arrow was strong enough to so easily bend the armature from which it was fired, or so heavy it rent the air with thunderous voice and shaking fury that struggled to catch up. This was only because it was Orcus, who was the wolfing missile from a steel age, a razored question in human skin, diving above his two foes.
The primal cut a tight arc with his arm, and Chaosbringer flashed with the added momentum of the flight. Two blades sweeping, placing Vanilla in a pincer that might not even faze her if timed right - but the third lanced in the space of only escape, with all the sharpness to pierce through her wings.
The fourth slashed at Mira's trail, which was all it would have the speed to do, but between it and the beam, between a hard place and a wall, anyone with less than a millennium of skill would mistake it for something to twist away from. And spinning past, Orcus threw a kick to rattle her skull.