December, late 1800's
The streets of Paris were cold and dark on that winter night. The sky threatening a snow storm to rival Russia. A lone dark figure walked these dark streets, the lack of light making the shadows even deeper than ever before. The figure weaved through the sudden snow drifts littering the walk. The man himself was quite tall and built for the time, his tanned skin and obvious nobility a strange contrast in the pale upper-classes. But what made him even more odd in the foreign country were his almost white-blue eyes, a color that could be likened to electricity if it had been harnessed yet.
This stranger was headed directly for the famous Palais Garnier. A building under restoration due to its terrible chandelier crash and fire. Instead of walking into the still grand doors the black clad man made his way towards the rue scribe side of the historical building. Where he deftly nudged a brick with his shiny black shoe-a latch to a sliding door that reveled a hidden grate just big enough for a man of his size to fit through. Wherein he produced a small brass key roughly the size of a pinky finger, and inserted into the gates lock. Once unlocked, the man in black disappeared into the darkness once again. If anyone were on the street-there weren't but if- they would've thought it was a trick of the snow and shadows.
Below there was evidence of fire where the burning stage collapsed inward and got the items in storage in on the inferno. Ash on brick soon became stone which in turn soon became the steps and landing into a vast underground lake. A small black boat bobbed in the water which was tied onto a giant wooden nail sticking out from the stone where it was lodged. The man of shadows sighed inwardly, tilting his head forward as if the weight of the world crashed upon his broad shoulders. Slowly he paddled his way across the inky waters.
When the boat finally reached the other side of the lake the mans blue eyes were meet by a quaint little house, the coloring dull but otherwise wouldn't be out of place if you walked past it on the surface. The man tied his 'borrowed' boat onto a small dock, then proceeded to walk into the strangely located little house.
The Door was unhinged and barely standing against its frame. A small brush of the fingers sent it crashing into the small abode. Its insides were in the pinnacle of style for the present century, though everything that would've been beautiful was ripped and smashed, papers that seemed to be musical scores scattered about the room as if thrown into the air and stomped on. A few candles still held onto their flimsy flames, threatened to be consumed by the very wax it melted. A gun laid across the grand piano, most likely left behind by a mob. The man went about the house searching for its occupant he knew would be there. He followed the instincts hat weren't his own into a room filled o the ceiling with musical works and sketches of all kinds. Books scattered the floor, and a grand pipe organ dominated a whole side of the room, yet in the center a coffin sat upon a pedestal, the interior layered with massive Persian pillows and blankets Black silk curtains feel around the place of rest, yet no one was inside.
The man retreated at a leisurely place. Knowing the house inside and out without having been there. But then he found what he was looking for, in a room styled in a Louis Philippe theme, laying across a creme fainting couch was a broken and bloody figure, maxing out at 6'7'' and weighing in at a whopping 96 lbs. Was none other than the Phantom of the Opera.
"If you are here to kill me specter, Erik insists on you to hurry up, Erik's poor mother couldn't even look at him, how could such a good girl succeed?" The gravely timbre of Erik's once otherworldly voice not phasing the man in black, only saddening him.
"I am not here for your life Phantom, I am here for your soul."
"Take it, you may be able to scrape some off the walls." Erik turned on his side, away from the dark stranger who seemed to meld with it even better than Erik himself.
"I offer eternal life my friend. A chance to haunt your students dreams for many generations to come." a part of the blue eyed mans subconscious screamed at him, a part that wasn't his. Erik turned back around fully facing the man who intruded in on his house, a crime that would've been punishable by death.
"Why would Erik ever want to see 'her' again after this? Who are you?" The once Angel of Death sitting upright, ignoring the wounds inflicted by the angry mob not three days ago, his face exposed to the chilly air. A truly abhorrent sight to behold. The sunken eyes accented by kohl that was most likely used for Don Juan Triumphant. Every tendon and muscle almost visible underneath the thin skin. Also reveling the red and blue veins that transported the life within him. Amber eyes boring into bright blue. The formers owner spoke.
"I go by many names, I was born Vlad Tapes, many now know me as Dracula." the infamous phantom couldn't but help but chuckle to himself.
"Supposed that Erik didn't believe you, what then, monsieur Tapes?"
"So says a sixty year old deformed man who trapezes his way around a house of music terrorizing little ballet girls and throwing tantrums like a small child." Erik immediately stopped his laughter, and shot a glare at the vampire. "Yes, I believe we shall be great companions."
"How did you find poor unfortunate Erik?" Erik's age suddenly crashing upon himself when he found himself in the presence of something deadlier than himself, feeling as though he were back in the clutches of his gypsy master, Javert.
"I got quite hungry, and felt like something...exotic. Found a Persian of all things walking around. Their blood is incredibly sweet, but can sour fast if not drank right away, I followed him into an alley where he turned upon me, and I had a light snack. Don't look at me like that, hes strong enough to survive, another found him before I left. But viewing memories when I drink is among the numerous other things I can do. So I found you." The centuries old vampire grinned, his teeth elongating into a mouthful of razor sharp teeth, and sinking them into an unsuspecting Phantoms neck.
Erik was immediately thrown into a deep dark lake, the water infiltrating his lungs as he fought for air. He saw himself at different stages of his life, as a little boy with cloth covering his face and asking for two kisses from his mother. Almost a man working as an Architect and Assassin for the Shah and his mother. The completion of the Palais and his sentencing to death. He saw the lengths Nadir went to to protect him. He saw Reza. Christine as a little girl, and everything leading up till now.
Vladimir watched the writhing body on the ground and heard the mortal shouts and grunts become otherworldly. Erik was going to make a fine addition to the undead community.
"Don't worry love, your just dying." He whispered, turning around to leave and fetch a pretty little snack. The exchange of blood always making him feel a little off afterwards.