Five.

One clearly violent, with an expression of maniacal joy on his face and clothes caked in blood.

Another calm and collected, despite wandering into a room crammed with killers unarmed.

The third was a seasoned warrior, clad in armor, readily taking a battle stance.

Fourth was a small and nimble one, trying to stay of of their reach and take a high ground. A wise decision, perhaps.

And last, but not least, an elven woman, arrogant and annoying.

Five, all of them his prey. 

But now, averting his gaze from the rest, he concentrated on the one interesting him most. The man in a suit. Unlike the rest, his apperance easily garnered suspicion: clothes too clean and neat, completely out of place, hands bearing no weapon ready to be stained in blood, yet gaze determined and posture confident. Was he a mage? 

Either way, he was at least no fool, standing a sword's length away from Meats, as if mocking the demon. Just a single step backwards, and the man would be out of the reach of even a leap slash, rendering the "immediate assault" tactic void - but Meats knew how to play the battle out in his favor. Yet another dose of deception, this time he would conceal his true speed: stepping forwrds, left foot leading, he slung the sword in a downwards strike at a mere 80 MPH - not even half of his full potential. Of course, that could be impressive for just a human, to wield a longsword in such a manner, but it was childs play for the construct warrior. Hoping that the man-with-some-secrets would choose to sidestep, Meats arched his body forwards to gain some some extra length for the killzone: Iginbo's tip was now a good 7 feet ahead of it's initial position.

Upon finishing the strike, he would calmly lift the sword, and observe the other combatants' reactions: dismissing their existance and hoping that they were busy with each other would be a dire and foolish mistake that Meats was not to make.