Ow. She roars something in a language she knows quite well: "your father was Cerberus!"

She drops down below it, one palm hitting a clear spot on the floor, hooking the Scythe on her back, grabbing the table's underside, and slinging it his way. He'll at least have to reverse its momentum; she's already fleeing for the door, fleet-footed, blessed by Artemis.

She pauses long enough to kick another sorceror as he starts to rise. Stay down, thank you.