Well, okay, I'm going to give this another shot. Please have mercy, I wasn't planning on posting this story until at least the summer, or probably some time after that. I know that it seems crazy of me to start another doggone story when I have two that I haven't even finished. I will try to do my best to get those story done. For now, I hope you'll enjoy this just as much. Okay, so it's not strictly X-Men, and you may need to know a little Phantom of the Opera to really understand this. But please, give this a fair shot. If you really think it's terrible, then I'll remove it and wait to work on it a little more, after working on those other stories first. You don't absolutely have to know Phantom in order to be able to follow the story, but it certainly would be helpful. Well, probably people who do know anything about Phantom will be reading this anyway, so I'll just shut up about that. Anyway, read, review, tell me what you think. I need feedback. I want feedback. I GOTTA HAVE IT! silence Eh- hehe, sorry about that. I'll just . . . leave you alone now. Okay, enjoy!
Disclaimer: Don't own X-Men, don't own Phantom. Phooey.
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Erik released a heavy sigh. Good Lord, what am I to do?
All the lights in his home had been turned off. Dull commotion resonated through the levels above him.
Why don't I just die already?
He covered his face with his hands. For almost a week now he had taken in neither food nor water, and now he had laid himself down to rest. He knew his end was soon to come. And yet it didn't. Having no idea how long he had been lying in his open coffin, he could only surmise that at least half a day had passed. Maybe even a full day. External light had no way of reaching the cellars of the Opera House. There was no telling of night and day by any natural means, except to return to the surface. He usually kept a pocket watch on him, but today he was sure he wouldn't need it anymore. He could still visualize standing over the lake in his boat, the golden pendant slowly twirling above the glassy surface. Erik confessed even to himself that had anyone dared to come down to his domain at that moment, the watch's case would have been easily spotted, even in the darkness. But he was no longer concerned about that. Before long he would no longer have to deal with any of these miscreants. Perhaps they would one day find his body, but he would be long gone.
He remembered glancing at the antique one last time. It had been his mother's, a gift from her father. It was the last thing he held close to him that continued to remind him of her.
"It is finished," he had whispered softly, allowing the sacred chain to slip from his grasp. The trinket made a gentle plop before disappearing into the murky depths.
Now he had locked himself into his own house. His crypt. And what once served as a bed would now serve its ultimate purpose: the cradle of his eternal repose.
And yet the desired end did not come. He tried to be patient, but the wait seemed to be an eternity in itself. Why wouldn't this confounded corpse of a body release him?
Why? Why must Fate be so cruel to me? Why must whatever greater power that dwells beyond our comprehension insist I suffer to the very end?
Erik's mind could not stop buzzing with such questions. Had life not been hard enough? To be born with this hideous face, never to be loved by anyone, not even by his own mother; to have his one chance at happiness be torn away from him, giving him false hopes and dreams; had these trials not been enough?
Apparently not, the 'living corpse' thought bitterly.
The commotion above did not cease. Some strange business had launched the entire opera house into a turbulent state. He only wished for the business to end so he could allow himself to sleep. Perhaps in sleep death would come faster.
He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for all to fade out. Just to let go. It seemed so easy for others. Why not for him? He wanted to go. He was ready, more than any man could be.
Perhaps that is it, he thought. Perhaps God or Fate or whatever knows that I want to die, and It won't let me have my way. But It can't hold me here forever. I may not be like most mortal men, but I am mortal, and It knows that. Sooner or later my time will come. He cracked a thin smile in spite of himself. At least in this way, It cannot win.
Suddenly, a strange sound came from the parlor. Even though Erik had closed the door to his room tight, and the door being nearly a foot thick, he could still hear a unnatural buzzing sound. It was no insect. It sounded more like . . . some kind of machine. But no machine that the musical genius had ever encountered before. Was it those operatic denizens, those imbeciles that couldn't shut up for five minutes?
He waited several moments for the sound to stop, but it didn't. After waiting a little while longer, Erik let out a low groan and pulled himself out of his coffin. For the love of Pete, is it always something? I swear, if it's them, I'll noose them all, even though I'm lying on my deathbed.
He released the latch for the door and thrust it open. And he beheld a sight that left even he, the great Phantom of the Opera, completely flabbergasted.
A large ring of light was floating right in the middle of his parlor. Could he be delusional? He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The strange spectacle was still there.
Suddenly, all of his senses were on alert. His mind was drawn out of it's numbed state. Someone else was in his house.
Without a moment's hesitation, he reached for his lasso. He had intended to be buried with it, as it was his only source of protection and prized weapon. Who knew? Maybe he would need it when he went to hell. Egyptian pharaohs were often buried with objects and possessions they would need in the afterlife.
Despite the fact that he had been dying of thirst and hunger, and a third factor which he refused to recall at the moment, his body immediately went into stealth mode. He moved with fluidity, grace and agility. He was more thankful that he decided to turn off all the lights in the place, both candle-lit and electric. Darkness was one of his few allies, and his ability to see in the dark was a great downfall for his rivals.
He could now detect the sounds of the movements of the intruder, who at this time had slipped into drawing room. That was the room where Erik kept most of his paintings. He could tell just by listening that the intruder wore soft-soled shoes and was carrying a large bag. And he knew what the bag was filled with, just by looking around the room.
Erik ground his teeth. NO one steals from the Opera Ghost!
He snuck his way into the next room, even more softly than his uninvited guest. Despite the black attire, Erik could easily make out the shape of his man through the shadows. Every carefully and quietly, while the thief filled his bag with the rare treasures, their owner was prepared to wreak his revenge.
Suddenly, just before the noose of the lasso was thrown, the thief abruptly turned around. He had managed to put his arm up just as the noose fell around his neck.
Dammit! Erik's plan had been foiled. Either the thief was the subject of dumb-luck, or he was informed as to how to defend himself from the ghost's 'magical lasso.' But Erik wasn't one to waste opportunity. With a tug of unpredicted strength, he tightened the noose around the thief's arm and neck, pressing the elbow hard against the collarbone. The tug threw the thief off balance, and distracted him from trying to free himself. His body lurched forward, and was quickly reeled in by the Phantom's strong hands. When the thief's body reached him, he firmly placed his foot on the intruder's throat.
"Come for a gift, eh? I'll give you a gift. The gift of death."
He began to crush the thief's forearm further against his throat, ready to choke him and break his arm. Suddenly, the thief's other hand came up and grabbed its attacker by the ankle. Erik quickly pulled his foot away and regained his balanced. He was, however, surprised by the speed of his opponent. In the small window of time it took for him to catch himself from falling and turn around, the thief had freed himself from the awful contraption and yanked at the noose end of the rope, hoping to pull the same stunt the Phantom had just did to him a moment ago.
But it was different with the Phantom. Instead of letting himself lose his balance, he used the jerk to gain momentum and throw himself at his rival. He hit the thief hard and both landed on the floor. After rolling a few times, Erik came out on top while still holding the other end of the rope tightly in his hands. As he began to drag the thief across the floor, the thief also jumped to his feet, and began to tug at the other end. The tug-o-war was getting nowhere, and Erik could see it. Then, just as each was tugging his hardest, the Phantom let go off the rope. The thief tumbled backward, letting go of the noose in the process.
Erik couldn't help but smile at his tactic as he reeled his lasso back to him. Then he realized that strange buzzing sound had returned, and was quite close to his ear. He slowly turned around.
He was standing right in front of the floating ring. A rainbow of brilliant colors radiated from the ring's middle, which burned a hot white light. Erik shielded his eyes as his glowing pupils quickly shrank, but he continued to stare at the miraculous phenomenon. He couldn't begin to imagine just exactly what this device was.
And he didn't have a chance. Erik suddenly felt himself being pushed through the ring, the bright light consuming him. It was like falling through a bottomless pit, accelerating so fast you couldn't tell how long you fell. He felt his stomach drop into his gut with dread. He didn't fear heights of any kind, but this was different. He wasn't falling from a great height. He was moving through space at an incalculable rate. His natural reaction was having his organs turned upside down. Fortunately, the experience only lasted a few moments, though at the time they seemed much longer.
Before he could think, the Phantom could feel the hard, cold ground beneath him. He barely had time to put his hands out in front to break the fall. The shock ran through both his arms into his shoulders and chest. He managed to push himself up and over, just a little, so he ended up going into a summersault. He landed flat on his back, his eyes facing toward a starry night sky.
He didn't dare move. Had this all been an illusion? Had he not fought the thief at all? Was he really . . . dead?
It took him a few moments to prop himself up. It seemed to be an alley; a dark cold one at that.
Well, if this is hell, it's not quite as bad as I thought.
The thought barely passed through his mind when something hit him on the back. He was launched forward a little, but he managed to catch himself with his hands, then push himself onto his feet. Turning around and looking down, he saw the thief. Apparently, the thief hadn't been so lucky. His head was crook to one side at a very unpleasant angle.
Erik's eyes moved from the fallen thief toward his place of entrance. He was able to catch a glimpse of the strange ring just before it vanished into air. Several moments passed. Erik was frozen, cold and weary. He could see his breath forming a cloud around his mouth and through the nostrils of his mask.
Don't panic. Don't panic. Just stay calm. This is not the time to be losing your head.
Behind him – or was it around him? – he could hear the sounds of sirens, screeching rubber tires and honking horns. But he did not recognize these things. Not yet, but he knew he had to. Whatever this place was, he was trapped there, and he had to adjust. All thoughts of dying were beyond him now. At least before he could die in the comfort of his own home. Now it was different.
Good Lord, what am I to do?
He suddenly realized the irony of the situation. Had he not said that just a little while ago? How long ago had it been, anyway? A few minutes? An hour? Two hours? Times was completely lost to him at this point. Everything was disoriented. As he tried to sort everything out in his mind, he stepped out of the alley. One thing was for certain: his old fear had returned. As soon as he had stepped onto the cement sidewalk, he drew his cape across is face, almost completely concealing it. He chided himself for his self-consciousness, but it came as no real surprise. Would this strange world be any different from the last? Would he be able to find kindness and understanding here where there was none before?
One can only pray, he thought with a heavy sigh as he moved quietly down the street.
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Read. Review. I'll say no more. Except PLEASE!