A/N: 100,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 thanks to TheTamster for helping me construct this chapter! Could not have done it without her! And a million thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! It means so much to me! As always, I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters.
Erik allowed the Vicomte to lead him to another room, where several racks of swords were kept. "Choose your weapon…" Raoul had already selected his, and Erik recognized it from their initial sword fight. He soon had his own choice in mind, and the two made their way out the back door into the garden. Those who had been present when the challenge was made now stood at the windows, several saying quick prayers that no one would get hurt too badly. It was all they could do; both men had such a determination in their eyes that any word of protest would have fallen on deaf ears. Alyce glanced over at Antoinette, hoping for some sign of hope, but the ballet mistress's face was grim. Fighting back tears, she turned her attention back to her rescuer and his opponent, whispering a third and fourth prayer.
As Erik stepped out into the late March air, part of him immediately longed for the warmth of his cape. However, the sun was still very high in the sky, causing the remaining snow under his feet to melt into a soft, wet slush. His trick of silent footsteps would be impossible. He glanced toward the mansion where several eyes were now staring. He had an audience once again…and two pairs of those eyes meant so much to him that all the others seemed to disappear. No turning back now…this game is at its end.
The two men faced each other over the snow-covered ground, swords at the ready and each waiting for the other to make the first move. Taking the Phantom's reluctance to strike the first blow for weakness; Raoul charged in with a slashing blow that was meant to open up his opponent from shoulder to waist. Erik saw the younger man practically scream what he was going to do and side-stepped, letting the youth skid to a messy stop in the wet snow.
The Phantom whirled around and instead of waiting for the younger man to recover, kicked the back of his knees to send him sprawling on the ground. Raoul kept a tight grip on his sword as he spit out a mouthful of slush and dirt. The Vicomte attempted to get to his knees only to find himself to be sent to the ground again by another well-aimed kick to his backside. This time he stayed down and waited for the Phantom to get closer to gloat.
Erik approached the prostrate youth cautiously, years of experience having taught him to never underestimate his opponent. "Get up," he growled carefully watching Raoul's sword arm.
Raoul saw his opening and twisting his body suddenly, swept the Phantom's legs out from under him. Erik landed on his backside and almost had his sword jarred loose; his body was still aching from the lingering sickness and now the cold was seeping into him as well. He scowled at the Vicomte and thrust his sword at the man's legs.
The younger man back-peddled as soon as he saw the scowling countenance of the unmasked Phantom and instead of his leg being slashed open, only had his pant leg ripped open. Raoul swallowed hard, a bare-faced Phantom was difficult to look at and an angry one even more so. Breathing heavily, he stood up and approached his still seated foe.
The Phantom knew he had to buy time so he could get up again as well, so he grabbed a handful of slush and threw it in the Vicomte's face. Raoul staggered backward, as the stinging ice struck him full in his handsome face. He shook his head and quickly wiped the slush from his eyes. When he looked up again, the Phantom was already on his feet.
Erik closed the short distance between them and they crossed swords finally. The steel of each man rang out from the blows, neither man asked for or granted the other quarter. Swords flashed and soon each was bleeding from several superficial wounds.
Growing tired, the Phantom knew he had to end this quickly if he was to come out on top. Their swords came together again and he slammed his left shoulder into Raoul's sword arm as he twisted his blade upwards with his own sword. Raoul's hand opened up from the blow and his sword fell to the ground. Erik used his larger size to his advantage and both men fell.
Raoul lay gasping in the snow as Erik rolled off of him. The youth reached for his sword only to feel the sting of cold steel as the Phantom slapped his arm with the flat of his own sword. The Vicomte grimaced and tried not to cry out as his hand spasmed in burning pain. He flailed out blindly with his left hand and boxed the Phantom's ear, causing him to fall backward as he saw stars.
The younger man rolled to his knees and holding his right arm close to his body lunged at the prostrate Phantom. Erik's eyes snapped open as he felt the Vicomte's forearm press against his windpipe. His left hand shot up and he cuffed Raoul's ear before landing a glancing blow across the younger man's cheek with the basket of his sword.
Erik pounced on Raoul and they rolled upon the ground, each trying to gain the upper hand. The Phantom's strength was waning and he could feel the sickness returning as he began to sweat. He drove his knee into the Vicomte's soft belly and was rewarded when he heard the man's breath rush out of him as he fell backward into the snow.
Breathing heavily through his mouth, Erik got to his knees and grabbed his sword from where it lay in the snow. He saw the other man start to struggle to sit up while he tried to regain his breath. The Phantom lunged forward and slammed his fist down on the younger man's chest, effectively knocking the breath out of him again. He straddled the Vicomte, pinning the man's arms to the ground with his shins.
Chest heaving, he held his sword over Raoul's heart with both hands that he kept from shaking only by force of his iron will. Raoul's eyes grew wide and his breath noticeably hitched as he believed himself mere moments from death at the hands of his hated enemy. Erik leaned forward, glaring at the man who would have killed him at first opportunity and growled, "You needed Christine to stop you from killing me. I'm stopping myself. This war between us is over."
Then the Phantom stood and turning his back on the defeated Vicomte, walked back to the conservatory door. He dropped his sword to the floor with a clatter as he entered the silent room. Two more steps and he collapsed, exhausted. A flood of urgent voices rushed at his ears, the footsteps no quieter nor fewer in number. "Get him back upstairs! He'll catch his death of cold from that draft!"
"Bandages! Someone, fetch some bandages! And some clean hot water!"
"You men, grab his feet! You two, take up the shoulders!"
"Raoul…don't forget Raoul!" Of all the voices that Erik heard before losing consciousness, Christine's proved to be the most urgent and the one that stuck to his mind long past the moment when he allowed the sleep to overtake him once again.
A/N: More soon! Please feel free to review! Stay tuned!
