Pari swallowed dryly as Melat shuddered against whatever Feofil was doing. She watched in terror as the demon crept closer despite his efforts, its eyes wide and intent, jerking forward in uncanny strides. “Stop,” she told Feo. He was wearing himself out. “It’s not working.”

"Shit," he exhaled in a labored breath, taking a step back so his back hit the wall behind them. Despite Pari's instructions, he did not relent, maintaining his efforts even as he felt himself being overcome by the pressure of its dark sphere of influence, bringing hopelessness and despair. This was not how they were going to go.

"Feofil," she ground out again, heart sinking at the tension in his face, the paleness of his cheeks and his trembling hands. "Don't do this."

He was pushing himself too hard. She'd seen what happened to Krill, what happened to any of the Lumanliscs when they submitted to whatever high it was that Altair seemed to give them. They were glorious in that moment, but the ensuing days of bleeding from every orifice and puking up even the thinnest of broths and near-death experiences, not to mention all the demons, were enough of a drawback to leave her glad she wasn't one of them. If Melat didn't kill him, this express of power would, and Pari wasn't going to sit around and play damsel in distress in the meantime - especially when he hadn't even groveled sufficiently, yet.
Every thought churned more anger in her stomach. Anger and fear in doubles, then triples, and then in such great amounts that it felt like armor encasing her ribs, squeezing them too tight, crushing her heart in the process. Melat with her beastly expression and her too-long limbs. Feofil, only feet away from the monster, willing to sacrifice himself first, either not realizing or not caring that this meant Pari would be subjected to the horror of watching the demon tear him to ribbons of meat and bone and skin. "Stop." she issued again, but this time her voice was full. It echoed through the foyer, bouncing off the wood-paneled walls, crashing into both Feofil and Melat. She saw the moment it took possession; saw him drop his hands, eyes still wide and frenzied. But Melat...
Melat was frozen. She was inches away from the first step off the floor, still leaning dangerously forward, still wearing that solemn expression that promised a painful death. But she had stopped.

Feofil gasped as if coming back up for air, chest heaving. A trickle of blood wound its way from his right nostril down to the curve of his cupid's bow. "Oh god, you did it."

Pari shook off the shock that was starting to sink into her bones, especially because it was accompanied by a stir of ever-present guilt. Well. If she was going to feel guilty, she might as well stave off until she'd done all the depraved things that needed doing.
"Not yet." the princess snarled, stalking forward and past him, up the staircase, with seemingly little hesitation. She approached Melat like a bull upon a matador, but instead of goring the demon with a horn, she used the kitchen blade that had been tucked into her hand. It was about half the length of her forearm and she took a quick gasp for air before gripping the base with two hands and plunging it upwards, through Melat's chest, where she felt the pushback of ribs and nearly retched at the feel-- but Pari forged on, shoving as hard as she could until she could shove no longer, until the blade was stuck so fast that gravity would not pull it back down. Her hands were covered in blood, but it was black. Melat didn't utter a single noise in response.

"Pari!" Feo called out in shock, though a surge of awe rose within him as well. It wouldn't burgeon into relief until the demon's body hit the floor... but that moment never came, as it instead remained frozen there, its eyes forever fixed on Pari.

She stepped back, taking care not to stumble upon the stairs, but somehow unable to stop the tremors that now racked her body. "Goddamn it." she said faintly, not in fury or relief, but just because it felt like something had to be said to put an end to this whole, horrific event.

He stepped forward and caught her shoulders in his hands, pulling her close and putting some distance between themselves and the strange husk of Melat that now occupied the foyer. "Are you okay?"

"No," she shuddered, adding, "And don't touch me, I'm covered in goop." but she turned around to lean against him anyways, too exhausted and afraid to summon her constant simmer of anger with him. She did hold her hands aloft behind his back so as not to drip black blood all over his clothes, though it was getting on the floor.

"Goop is the least of my concerns," he said, wrapping his arms around her as he continued to walk them towards the opposite end of the room, closer to the living room. A second drip of blood emerged from his other nostril and he seemed to notice it then, pressing the back of his hand to his nose. "What do we do now? Check the back door? I don't want to leave that thing."