Here's why Phil didn't bring his sword: he's not trained with it enough for the thing to be more than a hindrance when it comes to enemies that aren't slow, shambling, fragile, dumb zombies. In real combat, he's utterly useless with those things.

But he's not totally without arms. He knows well what the games are now, and whoever that murderous asshole on the roof is has made this one clear. As so befits the Snow Miser, he discards the stupid groundhog puppet and chucks it to the side, two spiked ice knuckledusters forming around his hands, feathers ruffled and guard raised as he hurries to find people he knows. Or anyone who looks worried enough.

No words, just action. Things are about to move.