They were all over them. Attacking in strength. In numbers. Because single-handedly, none of the creatures would have stood a chance. But by attacking in mass they overwhelmed him, as he could not hope to block all of their attacks, even with both of his hands and wings. Blood seeped from multiple wounds, but if anything his injuries only seemed to press him on all the more, as he became fueled by his very anger.
His arms shot out to either side of him. His right hand punched the beak of one of the Manhawks, sending it into a sidelong spin. With his left hand, he used his mace in a similar effort, though in this second case the weapon broke part of the beak off with a sickening crush, spraying blood everywhere.
The joint efforts bought him a moment of reprieve, and in it he saw a new combatant enter the fold. Firing blasts of energy that he did not recognize, but that were welcomed none the less. When one of the Manhawks bumped into her he half sprinted, half flew to her side, bringing his mace to bare in a two handed downward swing.
The result was explosive. In the literal sense. Where the head of the Manhawk had been, his mace was now buried, his efforts having splattered himself and the woman near him in a hail of blood, brain matter, and bone fragments.
"Pleased to meet you", Hawkman said in what had to be the most horrific greeting of all time, as he turned to meet the next wave of Manhawks swooping down from the sky.