Back? # **Chapter Three: You're A Mean One...** --- Song(s): **It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year - Idina Menzel** **You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch - Lindsey Stirling ft. Sabrina Carpenter** --- *The Magispace, 7:45 AM* “Come on, slowpokes! We’re going to miss it!” Fileran cried as he ran up a flight of stairs two steps at a time, coming to a halt at the edge of a grand stage overlooking the Festival grounds. “Dude, this was your idea,” Burgundy groaned. “I only came here because Nuro was worried you’d slip and break your neck. Hell of a Hope gift to give your brother: ‘Merry Feast! Your gift is me and my shattered bones!’ A full-body cast counts as gift wrap, right?” Mirina laughed. “He’s just excited, Burgundy. Don’t be such a Scrooge!” “I’d be less of a Scrooge if he hadn’t dragged me out into the freezing cold at the ass-crack of dawn…” Fileran clapped his hands, getting their attention. “Look -- it’s time!” As he spoke, the morning sun crested over the horizon, bathing the grounds in a gorgeous golden glow. The light caught on the freshly fallen snow and the trio’s meticulously placed decorations, a field of diamonds and rainbows as far as the eye could see, blinding white against the fiery sunrise. Any further complaints died in Burgundy’s throat as she joined hands with Mirina and Fileran, swept up in the moment. Once the bright blue sky signalled the end of the show, Fileran turned to Burgundy, grinning. “Wasn’t that worth waking up for?” Burgundy didn’t respond. Instead, she bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and lobbed a snowball at Fileran, hitting him square in the face. “Ack!” He spat, brushing snow out of his mouth and beard. “Oh, it’s on.” Moments later, the trio was embroiled in a snowball fight, not a care in the world besides pelting the others with powder. After all their hard work, they had earned it. They’d been working overtime to make sure every detail was perfectly perfect for the Festival. The time was nearly here, and their work was finally done. The Magispace’s central plaza had been decked out to the nines in tinsel, ornaments, and other decorations, giving the entire area a cheerful, festive glow. Stalls lined the streets, ready to hand out bowls of rich, warming soups, cups of sweet, steaming hot chocolate, and piles of fresh-baked cookies. The nearby pond had been magically frozen over, turning it into a rink where the partygoers could enjoy some wintery fun with their friends. And finally, as the crown jewel of it all, a grand stage stood at the head of the grounds, ready to host some of the worlds’ greatest musical performers in a celebration of hope, peace, and light. Sure, there was still food to be cooked and instruments to be tuned, but that would come later, closer to the big event. For now, all they had to do was relax, knowing their work was almost -- finally! -- at an end. And that was when it all went to hell. Fileran was the first to notice the snow, a gentle cascade dusting the grounds like powdered sugar. He winced as it began to coat his wig in a fine layer. It’d take forever to dry it out and even longer to restyle it. “Hang on,” he muttered to himself. Something wasn’t right. “Guys!” He hissed, narrowly dodging an attack from Mirina. “Stop for a second. Is it supposed to be snowing right now?” Burgundy lowered her hand mid-throw. “Uh…I don’t think so. Kinda defeats the point of having everything cleared for the Festival. Mirina, what did the Peacekeepers have scheduled for today?” Mirina shook her head. “Clear skies, all day. Maybe a flurry or two during the Festival itself. Definitely not this.” She gestured at the dark, ominous clouds gathering overhead. As the organizers pondered the puzzling turn of events, something stranger happened. A glittering fog rolled across the grounds, coating everything it touched with a smooth, thick layer of ice. The mist came to a halt in front of the stage, coalescing into a tall, imposing figure. Their skin was pallid, faintly tinted blue by the frigid temperatures. Jagged wisps of frosted hair crowned their scalp, elegantly framing their pointed ears. A robe of navy blue velvet wrapped their body, flaring out dramatically around their waist. Every part of their outfit was lined in fur and opulence, from knee-length boots to jewelled belts and necklaces. They brandished a crystalline violin and bow, glinting in the sunlight as if carved from pure ice. Fileran squinted, trying to narrow down the sense of familiarity he felt. He couldn’t quite put his finger on how, although he was sure he’d never seen this beautiful, terrifying figure before, he recognized it. He heard Mirina’s soft, fearful gasp as his younger cousin stepped behind him for safety. “W-Willow! What happened to you?” Sure enough, the figure was their friend and fellow performer, Willow, twisted into an unnatural, almost unrecognizable form. She strutted up to the trio. “My dear, I’m afraid your friend isn’t around at the moment. This vessel was graciously donated to me — after I made a few improvements, of course.” It was Willow’s voice speaking, but something else -- someone else -- spoke alongside her. Their voice was dramatic and haughty, starting low but rapidly crescendoing to birdlike shrieks. It echoed with power, sending shivers down the trio’s spines. “And who, exactly, are you?” Fileran’s voice was intentionally clipped so it didn’t crack and reveal how terrified he was. The figure curtsied. “Oh, pardon me — I haven’t introduced myself! I am Eira, Lord of Frost and Despair. Though you may call me your doom.” Burgundy nudged her companions. “Isn’t that the guy whose only claim to fame is failing so hard at his job that we made a holiday out of it?” Mirina glanced towards her, silently willing her to shut her mouth before she got them killed. The Demon Lords -- even one as notorious for failure as Eira -- weren’t to be taken lightly. “SILENCE!” Eira squawked. “Yes, it’s true that my prior attempts weren’t exactly…successful. But that’s all going to change very, very soon.” Burgundy shrugged. “Not if we kick your ass first. Doesn’t seem that hard, to be honest.” Eira put a hand over his chest indignantly. “You couldn’t possibly be suggesting that a trio of mortals would stand a chance against me? My dear, I’d keep your ego in check if I were you.” “Speaking of egos,” Fileran tutted, “You might want to take care of your own first, darling. Considering your track record with this sort of thing, of course.” The demon leered at Fileran, sizing him up. “Mmm, another mortal with more courage than sense, is it? Well. I find your confidence amusing, truly, but I fear it’s sadly misplaced. I can assure you that this time, history won’t be repeating itself. But enough talk -- let’s prove it, shall we? He raised his violin to his chin, placed his bow upon the strings, and a single note rang out across the grounds. The snowflakes and hailstones suspended themselves in midair, the world itself watching Eira’s next move with bated breath. Then, he began to play. The trio rushed for cover as the storm lashed and swelled, spurred on by the melody. All around them, ornaments and decorations were dislodged from their perches and thrown violently against the ground, shattering into festive shrapnel. Garland was whisked away into the sky, and stalls were crushed beneath piles of snow and hail. In minutes, their beautiful, meticulous Festival grounds were in ruins. All their hard work was destroyed in a mere fraction of the time it had taken to create it. “Oh my stars, this can’t get any worse, can it?” Fileran asked with a dramatic hand to his forehead, tempting fate. Not a second later, he heard a sickening creak as the metal beams of the stage keeled over and collapsed in a noisy, crumpled heap. “I meant that rhetorically!” “Fi? Do me a favor and never speak again,” Burgundy grumbled. The demon’s song drew to a close, replaced with a peal of wild cackling. “Oh, wasn’t that just wonderful? Every scrap of that insulting Festival -- gone! I haven’t had this much fun in years! And best of all, I’m just getting started. This little storm of mine will tear through Mistvale, leaving a trail of beautiful destruction wherever it goes! Your pathetic little holiday doesn’t stand a chance!” From the corner of her eye, Mirina saw Fileran reaching into a hidden pocket in the inner lining of his jacket, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of an iridescent throwing knife. Before she could stop him, it was hurtling towards the demon. With a flick of Eira’s bow, the knife was firmly embedded in a wall of ice, nowhere near its target. Eira’s eyes narrowed towards his would-be assailant, and Fileran swallowed roughly. Before he could even think about running or hiding from the imminent attack, a bolt of frigid magic pierced his heart. He stumbled back before freezing mid-motion; his body transformed into cold, lifeless ice from the inside out. “Fileran!” Mirina squeaked in fear. Burgundy’s cheeks flushed with anger. “Turn him back. NOW.” Eira grinned, his pointed teeth like icicles. “No.” Burgundy rushed towards the demon with a primal growl, arms flailing to tackle or punch him, whichever became more convenient. She didn’t care so long as it was painful. He hurt Fileran, and now he had to suffer. However, as soon as she came near enough to pounce, Eira vanished in a swirl of glittering snow and mocking laughter. With nothing to latch onto, she lost her footing and fell flat on her back, knocking the wind out of her. Mirina rushed to her, helping her hobble back towards their hiding spot. As they struggled against the slippery ground, they heard an earsplitting zap and the distant blare of an alarm, followed by the lights dotting the Magispace’s landscape instantly going dark -- the first casualties of the snowstorm’s reign of terror. As the lights vanished, so did the friends’ hope for their perfect Festival.