"My room?" Pari began, then shook it off. Never mind. He did actually know more about this garbage country than she did, and she was still feeling a little faint from staring a demon in the face for the last fifteen minutes. Melat's empty smile was worse than any assassin she'd stared down; at least those had been human. There hadn't been a shred of anything recognizable in Melat's eyes.

"Safer," was all he could spare as he slammed the basement door shut behind him and took the lead, beelining for the foyer and consequently the grand staircase up. The hairs on the back of his neck buzzed with a tension so otherworldly it felt electric, and the darkness around them felt somehow more opaque and oppressive than it had mere minutes before.

Parisa paused for a brief second to snatch up one of the knives that sat in the wooden block on the counter. It slid out with a hiss, heavy in her hands, like it knew its own purpose. She shoved the thought to the back of her mind as she followed Feo's steps out of the kitchen -- Melat was no human and deserved no hesitation -- and in her whirl of thoughts, she nearly ran into Feo's back. "What--"

And then she saw it, the thing that made him stop. The staircase loomed in front of them, the house around it as dark as a void. Their only saving grace was the trace amounts of sunlight leaking in from the windows high above the front door -- sunlight that cast its beam over the entryway to the upper floor, where behind a wall, the corner of a head peeked down at them. Wide eyes, a glimpse of an empty, ever-present grin.
She'd been waiting.

"You see that too, right?" He breathed, afraid to make a move and break the standstill. He could feel his heartbeat drumming up faster and faster the longer this haunting staring contest went on. Was it another one, or had it somehow manifested upstairs?

"Yes," Pari said, backing up towards the front door and tugging at the knob. It didn't give. She risked turning her head halfway around to fumble for the locks, heard them click open, and then jerked it again.
No such luck. Apparently demon magic extended to even the most mundane things, like latches and bolts. Fucking demons. And apparently, while she'd been distracted, Melat had roused. She extended past the entryway, her body sliding in one smooth motion as though she were being pulled from the other side by some invisible tether. Once she had centered herself upon the staircase, she leaned forward, slanting at an angle that surely should have sent her toppling over, except... instead of crashing upon the floor and cracking her skull open, as Parisa nearly had that morning, she began to glide down towards them, the tips of her toes brushing each step soundlessly.

"No, no, no, I don't like that," Feofil voiced reflexively, hands suddenly delving into his pockets again and pulling out the first thing he could grab-- the bundle of herbs. He dared to take a step closer to the demon to reach one of the candles that they had lit earlier, its flame flickering weakly against the otherworldly dark. Hopefully, though, it would be enough for the herbs to catch, and then... and then...

The smoke laced the air in a thin spiral and slowly snaked its way to Melat, who had been advancing at a steady pace. The moment it drifted to her nose, she froze in place. Her grimacing smile, stretching her cheeks so wide that her pink gums had been entirely exposed to them, smoothed away until she was glowering down at the two with a stony expression, and a lance of fear skewered Pari's stomach. Somehow, her lack of expression was worse than the grin. "Feo..."

"Oh, fuck," he removed the bundle from the flame. Did its anger mean it was having the opposite effect, or was it aggravated at being weakened? "What do we do?"

“You’ve got demon powers, you try something!” Pari ordered.

"Yes. Yeah." He couldn't believe it had slipped his mind, though he felt some disdain at her calling it a demon power. He took a deep breath and readied his stance, focusing on stilling his mind. By controlling the flow of his breath, he controlled the flow of time itself. Inner power outwards.

He couldn't fully eradicate the sense of terror deep in his gut, screaming at him to run. He switched gears and attempted to harness it instead, throwing his hands out in front of him with all the willpower in the world. The air around them warped and crackled slightly, and Melat's steady approach was slowed by stuttering halts though none of them fully took hold. Feo redoubled his efforts, gritting his teeth in a desperate attempt to get it to stop.