Hypothermia

The demon had not stayed on the ground for as long as Pirarah would have liked, but the Keronian's guard was fully up now, and he was making the best of his agility despite the vague tug of his injury against him. He was holding his own without question, and had this kept going, the time he bought could have been put to some effort, but it seemed that he would not have to overexert himself. A cry from below that signaled the surprising arrival of reinforcements, “Kuku! Out of the way up there, brat!”

Pirarah wasn't exactly sure where a good “out of the way” place would be, but judging from about where the voice had sounded to be underneath his feet, he guessed that scrambling behind the couch would be sufficient.  He didn't mind the insult, simply because he hardly noticed it here. The demon followed that advice, too, of course, regardless of the fact that it was not meant for it. It bounded across the room to hover against one of the walls, hopefully out of the range of whatever approached.

Kururu's mech ripped through the floor in a shower of fake-wood splinters, chaotic noise, and laughter  with an unmistakably threatening tint to it. The moonlight from the living room window glanced off his glasses as dust settled around him, and he was already working the pincers on the robot's arms furiously, clanging against renewed quiet. “Well, isn't this exciting? Though really, you two were just being much too noisy, it's going to disturb the peace.”