Neal stumbling like that might have just saved Malcolm's life. The creature zeroes in on him, taking long, easy strides to make up the distance in what seems like no time at all. It stands over him, head lolled to one side, gazing down at him, before lowering itself down into an animalistic crouch, right over Neal.

One hand, with too-long fingers, grabs him by the chin and holds him in place, while it lowers its head to... inspect him? The horn comes precariously close to his eye, before its attention shifts lower, to his chest. The fearful drumming of the heart, and the inhale-exhale of the lungs with each panicky breath, make such beautiful music together. It turns its head, and rests it, right below his ribs, as if listening.

It seems entranced, not that it'll do anyone any good. The cacophony continues, keeping anyone nearby from making heads or tails of their surroundings. For the moment, it's just the two of them.

Until the music stops. And that's when Neal will feel something pierce into his gut, and tear and make a messy exit, before the demon lifts its head again, its horn slick and wet.

It only regards him for one more moment, with its dead, disinterested gaze, before wandering away to find other prey.