Dear Readers,
I welcome you to my story, The Angel's Lair, and do hope you enjoy it. Currently, I am merging two different shows and hoping the final results will be satisfactory. The first show being Teen Titans, and the other being a mix between a movie and the books, The Phantom of the Opera. I had imagined that Raven and the Phantom would be a good pairing, as they seemed alike somewhat. For those of you who have not seen the movie, read the book, or have no clue what The Phantom of the Opera is, don't worry. I will explain in detail who this masked madman is and what his past has held. As for pairings in this story, expect Raven/Phantom, Robin/Starfire or possibly Robin/OC, and if I feel daring enough, maybe even Slade/OC or Slade/Meg. Don't worry, you'll become acquainted with the POTO(Phantom of the Opera) characters as the story progresses. For now the rating is "T" but it might POSSIBLY escalate to "M" in much later chapters. This is, in away, a one shot. Though I will probably continue with it, I currently am writing 2 other fanfics (Harem and Her Curse, both POTO fics) and they are my top priority. I ask you to review with your thoughts and, please, no flames.
Your Obedient Servant,
-Kodu-
The Past
Jump City, 2005
"Teen Titans, GO!" Robin yelled over the roar of machinery, pointing his retractable bow staff in the direction of a retreating shadow. Mere moments before he had defeated the last of Slade's many robots, artfully dodging the metal arms and blades of the automated car assembly line. Beast Boy transformed into a growling green wolf, hackles raised and snout lowered to the ground, tracking the villain's scent. He gave a half bark half howl and set off into the pitch black before him, the rest of the team close behind.
Starfire lit up a starbolt and held it aloft for light as the team ventured down a deserted passageway. "Creepy, man," Cy commented, jumping slightly at a small yelp from the Tameranian beside him. "Just s-spider w-webs.." she stated softly, her voice quivering.
"We can't let him escape," Robin pointed out, moving a little more quickly down the tunnel. A noise sounded in the distance and the Boy Wonder picked up his pace. "This way!"
The rest of the Titans followed their now-running leader into a large, cavernous room dripping with dampness. There, on the far wall, was Slade, his demeanor straight and rigid and his hand clutching the stolen item.
"Ah, how nice to see you again, Robin," the masked man taunted, completely ignoring the others.
"Give it up, Slade. There's no escape." The boy took a step forward, bo staff drawn, and slowly fell into a fighting stance.
The maniac smiled with his eyes, as his lips weren't visible, and brought out his own staff. "Robin, you insult me."
Instead of preparing to battle, Slade tapped the thin metal pole twice on the wall behind him, the sound echoing through the cavern. Suddenly a harsh, grinding noise flooded the room and the wall behind the thief began to open slowly. He took a step back, almost completely enveloped in darkness, and gave his pursuers a smug look. "Until next time," he said, humor tingeing his voice.
"No!" Robin shouted, lunging forward while at the same time realizing he would never reach the hidden passageway in time.
Suddenly a streak of black shot past him and found its way into the secret hallway before the door shut.
The team leader turned around, seeking proof for what he had already guessed to be true.
Raven way missing.
Raven had gone after Slade.
> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >
Watching Robin's frustration at being defeated, seeing the others distraught features at having lost the villain once again, looking at Slade's smug face, had snapped something in Raven.
He would not escape again, and she would be sure of it.
Even if she had to fight him on her own!
Without a second thought, the sorceress had flown past the others and into the darkness beyond. She heard him up ahead, his breathing seemingly loud in the eerie silence that followed the closing of that heavy, cement door.
And he knew she was there, too. Raven could sense it.
The passage lead out into a single dusty room. It was fairly dry, drier than the previous cavern, for sure. But it was still quite damp and uncomfortable.
Slade stood in the center of the room facing Raven, his eyes void of any emotion and, as he spoke, it was pure ice.
"Well, well, little one. It seems you have caught me."
He mocked her openly, fully aware of her powers.
Also fully aware of her weaknesses...
Raven clenched her fists and willed her fury to leave her. No anger, no anger, no anger, she chanted over and over again in her mind.
"You've lost," she stated in a monotonous voice, her piercing jade eyes staring daggers into his heart. "It's over, Slade."
"Oh no, child. It's just begun." With that he lifted the object in his hand and aimed it at the girl.
Before she could react, a blinding white light came from it's contents, completely engulfing her.
Raven dropped to the floor, possible unconscious, but probably worse.
Paris, France, 1871
A black clocked figure slumped to the floor of the tiny, dark room, his hands covering his face as he wept openly. Angrily he growled and tossed the white porcelain half mask that had previously covered the right side of his face as far away from him as possible. What a fool he had been! Thinking that such a pure, innocent, beautiful angel could ever...love...him...a demon!
The Angel in Hell.
The notorious Opera Ghost.
The infamous Phantom of the Opera.
Her...her...Angel of Music.
A sob escaped his throat as he crawled across the room weakly and picked up the mask, tracing the area around the eye hole.
"Oh, Christine..." His melodious voice broke as he whispered her name reverently, as if it were a prayer.
So much had happened in the past days. It had all started when he decided to show his face to the young chorus girl of the Opera Populaire, the most famous Opera House in all of Paris. No, it had started before even that. It began the day he spoke to her...
Crying out desperately, a little girl no older than seven lay on the stone floor of the small cathedral of the Opera House. No one ever went there, so she was left all alone in her misery. A single candle was lit on an alter with a picture of a strong, well-built man with kind eyes laying under the flickering light.
"L-little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her f-father p-promised her he would send her the Angel of Music. H-her father p-promised her..."
Even as hot tears trailed their way down her cheeks, little Christine couldn't help but smile at the stories her father would tell her on cold, winter nights after playing haunting melodies on his violin for hours. Some were about the ghosts and goblins that haunted the land. About the little people who came out on nights of a full moon to dance around the fields of clover and dandelion. But mostly they were about Little Lotte and her adventures.
Little Lotte loved music and listening to her father play the violin. She also bared a remarkable resemblance to Christine that the young girl had taken note of.
Christine's father had been a good man and, though very poor, he had always loved his daughter unconditionally and had given her the best of homes. She remembered traveling the countryside with her papa, playing on the streets as people flocked around them just to here his enchanting songs. Spending nights in barns and open fields, just curled up against her fathers chest for warmth. Eating meals in the homes of hospitable people who gave them food for a good song or two.
And she remembered, too, when he lay dying on his bed, the slowly fading candle on his nightstand much resembling the flicker of his own life as it burnt out. He had died of illness. And it had not been fair.
She remembered how he promised to send her the Angel of Music. "When I am in heaven, child, I shall send you the Angel of Music."
Well, it had been months and still Christine had not seen this Angel. She had been taken in to train in the ballet of the Paris Opera House by Madame Giry, the kind - yet strict - ballet instructor. The closest person to her was the Madame's little girl, Meg Giry, but even Meg didn't fully understand how she felt. True, Meg had lost her father, but at least the little ballerina still had her maman. But Christine was an orphan. She had no one.
A bitter laugh escaped from the young girl's parted lips. "Angel of Music," she said in a disbelieving voice. "Why did you taunt me, papa? Now I am truly alone. No Angels, no maman, not even you! Oh, how wretched of you to lie to me, papa! How wretched!"
The sobs that followed seemed to last forever.
The Phantom had heard those sobs, ringing pitifully throughout the hundreds of secret passages which threaded throughout the Opera unnoticed. He had heard, and he had followed them.
Such a pitiful sight, the little thing before him. His heart twisted in a strange new feeling. What was it? Antoinette Giry might have called it compassion.
"He is no wretched man," the Ghost said, manipulating his voice to sound as if it came from the far wall, away from the grate in the ceiling which he peeked out of to watch the little girl. He was a master of ventriloquism.
Christine gasped and looked over at the wall in surprise.
"A-angel?" she whispered fearfully.
The Phantom was taken aback. He had been called many things - Phantom, Opera Ghost, monster, beast, wretch, demon - but never and angel. He nearly laughed at the irony of it all, but held his tongue in check.
"Yes," he lied. "I am your Angel of Music."
And she had trusted him, the Ghost thought sadly as he sat helplessly on the floor, leaning up against the fireplace which was dead and lifeless. She had trusted the vile, retched beast.
Things escaladed into horrible proportions after that. He had offered her singing lessons as her heart was set on becoming Prima Donna one day. She had trained well under him, following his instructions word for word. Everything had been fine, as she had not seen him face-to-face.
Not yet, at least.
The Phantom grimaced as he remembered her performance of Hannibal. How he had grown mad with rage as Raoul De Chagney, her childhood sweetheart, had congratulated her on her singing. And she had flirted with him! Until, that is, he offered her to dinner and she refused, saying her Angel of Music wouldn't approve.
"No, Raoul. The Angel of Music is very strict."
"Then I shant keep you up late! Two minutes, Little Lotte."
"No, Raoul. No!"
The ignorant boy had shut the door on her pleas, causing the Phantom to shake with rage. How dare he ignore her like that! Reaching for the mechanism that opened up the door disguised as a mirror in Christine's dressing room, the Phantom was ready to meet his pupil for the first time in person.
He sang to her, his voice ringing throughout her room and instantly catching her attention. He had the voice of an Angel.
The Phantom snorted. The voice of an angel and the face of a demon.
That night he took her down to his lair, leading her through the winding passage of the underground maze, and sang to her of the music of the night. His music. She was so afraid of the dark, poor young girl. He had wanted to change that for her. To show her the beauty of darkness.
That night she had fainted as he showed her one of the many things he created for her in his obsession: a mannequin of her dressed in a wedding gown.
He laid her on his swan-shaped bed, covering her with thick, silky sheets, and pulled the black curtain which surrounded her bed for privacy.
Just to have her near him brought inspiration to his fingertips. The Phantom remembered sitting down at the organ after she had drifted off to sleep and playing out beautiful melodies, thoughts of her filling his mind. He was so lost in the music he hadn't noticed her approach him. Not until it was too late.
She had ripped off his mask, making him furious. Pushing her to the ground, the Ghost had poured out his rage on her.
Things had went from bad to worse.
He had taken her back up to the surface, demanded she play the lead role of the new play Il Muto, and when the demands were denied he strangled the head fly master, Joseph Buqout, with his Punjab Lasso.
Christine was terrified of him after that, and that fop Raoul took advantage of her fears. He professed to her his love and told her she would be safe in his arms. They sang to each other of love and happiness, unaware of his presence just behind a statue on the Paris Opera House.
The Phantom had later forced the managers to perform an opera he had written - Duan Juan Triumphant - and demanded Christine play the lead female role of Aminta.
He had killed the leading tenor of the opera house and taken his place on stage just to sing with his young pupil for a few glorious minutes.
Mon Dieu, he had seduced his love, taken her down to his black hell of a lair, and tried to force her to marry him!
The Ghost clenched his fists, ashamed and despairing at what he had done.
It had seemed reasonable at the time, but now that his mind was clear, he realized he had been acting in blind rage and insanity.
Her lover, the De Chagney boy, had come to her rescue but instead fell into the Phantom's trap. He threatened his life. Made Christine choose.
"Buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me and send your lover to his grave! This is the final threshold. This is the point of no return!"
But how could he hold his Angel hostage like that? She chose him, kissed him, and he had broke down and let them go.
Let her free.
Shakily rising, the Opera Ghost ran and hand through his hair as the last of his tears fell from his face. No more crying, no more mourning. She left and she's not coming back.
Suddenly a noise - like something falling - sounded in the main living room, causing the specter to jump into action.
He donned his porcelain white mask and cloak, taking the fedora as well as an afterthought, and ran into the room.
There, on the floor, was a girl donned in a purple robe.
A few translations:
Maman - Mother.
Mon Dieu - My God.
Raoul De Chagney - Viscount. Very wealthy.