As he stood watching, after Raoul and Christine left, their voices echoing as they sang a duet, the doors of his home burst open. He turned as the angry mob of the opera's cast rushed in, headed by the two managers.
"There he is!" Firmin shouted, "The Opera Ghost!"
"You shall pay dearly," Andre put in, "for the havoc you have wreaked upon this opera!"
"I think not, my dear Messieurs," the Ghost said and turned to escape.
"We would differ, Phantom," Firmin returned as their foe found himself surrounded.
Two men of the cast grabbed the Phantom from behind and allowed the others to punch him out until he doubled over in silent pain. They released him, the menace collapsing to the floor onto his knees, his face contorted into a pained grimace. As he held his arms over his sore gut, someone kicked him full in the face, forcing him flat onto his back. The assault on the Phantom of the Opera continued. Much as he tried, he could not fight back nor defend himself. Though he got in a few blows of his own, he could not hold them off long enough to draw his dagger and get to his feet.
Finally after an hour and what seemed an eternity to the infamous Ghost, there was a break.
"Let us see," one of the male chorus members said, "what lies beneath this mask of his."
He felt two strong men grab his arms and drag his beaten form to his knees, the male chorus member lifting his head up to tear away the mask.
"Wait!" Carlotta cried, "Let me do it! I will be the first to see who has continuously ruined my performances!"
The large Prima Donna came forward and tore away the white leather, a scream of disgust and horror escaping her lips. One of the men holding the Ghost took hold of his thick black hair and forced his head back for all to see his deformed face. The mob backed away in disgust, each with expressions of horror.
"Good Lord," Firmin gasped, his hand in front of his face, "That face…"
"He's hideous!" Carlotta got out.
Andre remained silent, gaping at the sight of their tormentor's face, staying just behind Firmin.
"Leave him be," he whispered.
"What?" Firmin turned to face his partner.
"Are you mad?" one of the opera's cast exclaimed.
"Look at him!" Andre continued, "Look at the creature! Perhaps we have done enough."
"Andre, you are surely mad!" Firmin glared at him, "This man… this monster has caused us havoc, wreaked destruction and cost us money! We have been blackmailed by him and coerced into obeying his demands, bowing to his every whim, indulging his fancies… in short we have been forced to run the opera his way!"
"Firmin," Andre went on, "Mother Nature has inflicted more damage than we ever could. Surely by what we have done to him combined with that… face is punishment enough for what he has done."
"This creature has killed!" his elder partner argued, "He murdered Joseph Buquet and Ubaldo Piangi! He must pay, must answer for their deaths! He deserves more than death! I must insist we put the creature out of his and everyone else's misery!"
Firmin approached the Ghost and knelt, lifting the monster's head and stared into the cold, sorrow filled eyes.
"Your reign ends tonight, Phantom," he said quietly, his voice low and threatening.
The elder manager raised his fist and backhanded the man who had destroyed a priceless chandelier and ran the opera through his threatening letters.
Blood spattered on the floor as it filled the Ghost's mouth, gushing from his nose. Firmin's chest heaved as he looked down on the menace, rage building within his breast like a blazing inferno, fuming. He grabbed hold of the lapels of the Phantom's coat, tearing him from the grasp of the two men who'd been holding him. A hollow crack sounded as Firmin slammed the 'monster' against the wall. He held him there, arm against his throat, and punched the supposed spectre as hard as he could in the gut.
"Please…" he pleaded, finding it difficult to breathe past the manager's arm, "stop…"
"Had enough have you?" Firmin queried, "Well, I haven't!"
He backed away, the Opera Ghost sliding to the floor onto his front, gasping for breath thankful for the relief. Suddenly, Firmin placed his foot on his back and applied the whole of his weight, his prisoner crying out in pain.
"S'il vous plait," the Phantom wheezed, "The… pain…"
"The pain too much for you now, non?" the manager inquired, gently.
"Com…passion," came the strained, painful reply, "I implore you."
"Compassion?" Firmin exclaimed, "You dare ask for compassion?"
He dragged the beaten freak to his feet and threw him against the piano, the keys reverberating with his slight weight as he slid to the floor.
"Where was the compassion when you killed Piangi and Buquet?" the enraged manager demanded, "Answer me that! Where was it when you killed them?!"
"Didn't…" the Ghost said, trying in vain to get up, "kill… Buquet."
"I've had it with you, Phantom!" he returned and turned to the mob, "Finish him, kill him, do whatever you wish with him. Just put the wretched creature out of our misery!"
The mob all too gladly continued beating his already sore, bruised and battered body until they grew weary and he hadn't the strength, until it was too painful to move and they left him for dead…