Back? # **Chapter Twelve: Say Hello to Friends You Know (And Enemies You Meet)** *Mistvale Heights, 9:30 AM* --- Song(s): **Santa's Gonna Kick Your A[...] -- Arrogant Worms** --- After what had seemed like a lifetime of biding his time and recuperating, Eira was done waiting. This was his day to avenge himself and make things right, and he wasn’t about to squander it. In a rush of wind, he soared out the window into the city, held up by nothing but his magic while ignoring Willow’s panicked screams ringing through his mind. It wasn’t his fault she was afraid of heights. As wild and free as the storms he summoned, he swept through the streets, upending decorations, knocking out power lines, and blanketing the ground in snow and ice wherever he went. He was the raw, unfettered force of winter’s fury, and the world was his playground. If he started to tire, he’d alight onto a nearby roof for a brief respite, surveying the glacial wonderland below: a minefield of shattered decorations and dull, dead bulbs as far as the eye could see -- not very far, considering the blinding snowfall cascading through the air. Then, after regaining his energy, he’d take flight and begin the cycle anew. As he swept the landscape and marked his next targets, his carefree flight was brought to a screeching halt. “What in Death’s name?!” Before his eyes, a gorgeous, elaborate mansion -- a crown jewel even among the other houses in its affluent neighbourhood -- was glowing, its array of garish lights and gaudy decorations spitting in the face of everything Eira stood for. He leered at it in disgust. “That’s impossible. This city is powerless, I saw to it myself! And no human-made generator would be able to keep that going. I must go investigate.” Lifting his leg to propel himself off the roof, he felt a debilitating wave of displeasure and fear from his copilot. Whatever was happening at that house, Willow was warning him to stay as far away from it as possible. Eira, of course, didn’t listen. She was just a puny mortal; what did she know? Nothing on this plane of existence posed a threat to him, and he’d prove it. He landed in the street facing the mansion, gathered his strength, and whipped a fierce wind filled with dagger-sharp shards of ice toward the offensive structure. The shards weaved into a lattice poised to break every light-dotted window and slice through every electrical cord, ripping the offensive display to shreds. It drew closer and closer…before vanishing entirely. He tried again. This time, the breeze rocketed towards him, knocking him backwards and grazing his skin with millions of tiny, frigid razors. “Ow!” He cried, shaking shrapnel out of his hair and the fur lining of his robe. He poised himself for a third attempt, but his arm stiffened as soon as he raised his hand to call the winds. The rest of his body followed suit until he was frozen in place. Inside the house, a curtain drew back from a grand bay window, revealing a man Eira knew very well. His silver hair curled wildly around his eyes and ears, his golden eyes bore into Eira’s without a hint of fear, and his thin, birdlike lips curled into a grin as he doubled over in laughter, tongue pointed tauntingly at Eira. “Dear gods, not him,” Eira groaned to himself. “I should have known that gaudy monstrosity was his handiwork.” The curtain swished shut, and the man came to meet Eira in the street. He was dressed in a fur-lined leather jacket and boots, although Eira was sure he had been in a pyjamas and a patchwork bathrobe mere seconds before. “Yarru, release me from this sorcery this instant,” Eira spat, trying in vain to break out of his paralysis. Yarru, Itraviel’s god of mischief and chaos, put a clawed finger on his pale chin, considering. “Mmm…nah, I don’t think I will. Not until you promise to leave my beautiful decorations alone. I worked hard on those!” “Meaning you used your reality-warping powers to put them up instantly with minimal effort?” “Uh, no, how dare you,” Yarru scoffed. “I’m not lazy like you. I got up on a ladder and placed every square inch of those lights and garland myself. By hand.” Eira rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe you, but…ugh, fine. I promise.” “On your title as the Lord of Frost and Despair?” The god smirked, leaning in. “Yes, on my title and all that. Happy now?” Yarru snapped his fingers, and Eira could move once again. “Good. Hang on…why are you even here, Yarru? Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t care.” Eira vaguely recalled some sort of curse that barred Yarru from setting foot on Itraviel, but hadn’t bothered to pay attention to the details. Yarru wasn’t one to give direct answers, either. “The question is, Eira, why are you here?” He answered, grinning enigmatically. “You just wanted to come visit me, didn’t you?” “Not in the slightest!” Eira crowed indignantly. “I could go a million years without seeing you and be perfectly content! It’s bad enough I have to see you back home!” “Aww, you did want to see me! How nice of you! I knew you loved me.” His voice was so friendly that it wrapped right back around to being insulting, especially punctuated with his catlike smirk and playful ‘boop’ of Eira’s nose. “Turn around and go back inside. I have much better things to do than stand here listening to your mockery.” “Me? Mock you? I would never!” He placed a hand over his heart in mock indignance. “But fine, if you insist on being rude about it, I won’t be here for long. I’ve got ‘better things’ to do, too. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here, and if I don’t go back in soon, my grandkids’ cookies are gonna burn. Do you want to be the reason why my poor little grandkids can’t decorate Christmas cookies? You already made them cry with that stormy little hissyfit of yours.” Eira scowled. “It wasn’t a hissyfit, I don’t care about your grandkids and their cookies, and YOU came out here to bother ME!” “Oooh, someone’s maaaaad,” Yarru singsonged. “Don’t be so grumpy -- I came here to wish you luck! After all, I know how important this is for you. I’d just hate for you to have any more additions to your long, embarrassing list of failures!” “I don’t need your luck. I have no intentions of losing.” “You never do…” “SHUSH!” Eira stamped his foot on the ground like a petulant child. “I’ll prove you wrong, you golden-eyed gadfly! You’ll see!” Suddenly, a tingle ran down Eira’s spine. One of the Festival’s organizers -- the timid little princess -- had said his name. Her voice filled his mind as she cheerfully announced his weakness and dissected his failures. “Oh, that little…” He hissed, his speech devolving into angry demonic mutterings. “I have to go.” “Good riddance, don’t let the door hit you on your way out!” Yarru called cheerily as he vanished in a swirl of golden glitter. “He’ll eat his words,” Eira thought. “I won’t lose. Not this time.” In a blink, he also disappeared, leaving nothing but a flurry in the air.