I know it's been almost a year. I'm sorry. No excuse could really explain what happened. All I can do is hope that all of you are still willing to continue on for the final chapters of this story. I do want to thank all of you out there who read this story, everyone who has reviewed so far. Reviews are always welcome. Once again, thank you for reading, I'm sorry for the near year-long delay, and I hope that you enjoy the chapter.

"The Angel of Death?" Matteo looked at Erik and lowered his dagger slightly. Then he scoffed, smug and unconcerned. "I think not, Monsieur," he said, "You're the little monster's latest victim, aren't you? I'm impressed, Thelxinoë, that you could cast such a long lasting spell."

"No enchantment, Matteo," Erik replied, sword still level with his opponent's throat, "I came here of my own free will, same as you."

Matteo shook his head, smiling. "Well, that's a real shame. Because, you see, Monsieur Angel, that means I have to kill you, same as her."

"Would you stop chatting and just kill the bastard already?" Parthenope entered the room, the front of her dress stained with blood. She was casually wiping blood off her face and arms.

Matteo's eyes narrowed. "I see you're not alone. And, I'm sorry, but it's the monsters that will be killed here." He looked directly at Erik. "The monsters, and the foolish humans who choose to join them."

"Too late for that, Rossini." Parthenope sang with the severe gravity of a battle drum. "Those silly guards you stationed outside the door are already dead."

Erik's eyes flickered towards her for a moment, then shifted back towards Matteo. It explained the blood on her dress. He knew that he certainly had not killed the guards. A low growl escaped Matteo's throat. "You'll pay for taking their lives with your own, siren."

"Oh, I didn't kill them, if that's what you're implying," Parthenope sang, "no, they…they came to a…sudden realization, if you will." Her eyes locked with Matteo's, steely and cold. "You see, they all came to the sudden realization that their lives weren't worth the flesh on their bones." Even Erik felt a chill run down his spine. Parthenope's song continued. "They decided that the world would be far better off without them. They had their swords right in their hands." She sighed, passive "How easy it was for them, really, how easy to simply end it all, right then and there."

Matteo, was silent for a moment. "…I see." He looked back at Erik. "I'll remember that ease and it many applications when your turn comes. At the moment, however, I believe I have to contend with this so-called 'Angel'." He stepped forward, too casual. Erik could see the swagger beneath his relaxed façade. "On inspection, Monsieur, it doesn't really seem like a fair match, you with your fancy sword and myself with naught but this knife." He sheathed the knife in his belt and reached towards the coat loosely draped on the chair. He pulled a sword from behind it, the metallic ring unearthly loud in the quiet of the room. He smiled and looked back at Erik. "This is a more appropriate choice of weapon, don't you think?" And he lunged.

Erik quickly parried, twisting his blade around Matteo's sword, like a snake of liquid mercury, and darted the tip towards Matteo's throat. Matteo leapt back, parrying the blade and reposting with a strike of his own.

Back and forth the blows continued. Each time that it seemed one was gaining ground, the other would lash out with a counterblow that would set his opponent back. So far, not a single blow had reached its intended target. Erik could see the sailor starting to sweat through his shirt. Matteo was a frustratingly skilled fencer, but Erik knew that in a duel such as this the difference between life and death often came down to a test of endurance. Even the most skilled fencers tired quickly unless they learned to reserve their true strength and skill for when it would really matter. At last, in a desperate effort to force Erik to drop his guard, Matteo swung his blade towards the ceiling, hoping Erik would follow it and provide an opening. But his movement was too large. He was tired, and he had neither the control nor the precision to execute such a feint without leaving his ribcage open to attack. Erik seized the opportunity, lunging forward with all his strength to deliver a first and final strike.

Matteo grinned and slashed upwards with his left hand. Too late, Erik realized that the sailor had once more unsheathed his knife. Cursing, he jumped back to avoid the blow, but not before the knife's tip caught underneath his mask, tearing the mask from his face and sending it crashing to the floor.

Matteo stopped, seemingly frozen. Erik watched as his face contorted from triumph, to shock, to horror, to disgust. He took one step back. "What…what in hell's name are you?" He produced a sound that was a mixture of a scoff, a spit, and a growl. "So, one monster comes to help another, is that the case?"

Erik lunged again, taking advantage of Matteo's dropped guard. The sailor swore and leapt back just in time to prevent serious injury, watching as Erik's blade sliced through his coarse shirt like paper. Then he growled and barked, "A savage monster, too! Thought you'd catch me off guard, eh, you demon?" His face spread in a wild, savage grin. "Think again, bastard!"

But it was clear that Matteo had been caught off guard. Erik doubled his ferocity, slashing in again and again, slicing the sailor's shirt to ribbons, with each lunge striking closer to his chest. At last, the sailor stumbled. Exhausted, he staggered under the force of a downward blow. Swiftly, and with a shout of victory, Erik's blade flashed around Matteo's hands, knocking his opponent's weapons to the ground. The tip of Erik's sword shot out like a viper, slicing through fabric and flesh as it sank into Matteo's exposed chest. Erik put his full force behind the strike, driving deeper into Matteo's skin and muscle until Erik felt the grating resistance of the sword grazing against hard bone. He pulled the sword out of Matteo's chest and leapt back, ready to strike again if necessary.

Matteo staggered, grabbing the chair for support. Parthenope moved behind him and pulled her dagger from her belt. "It's over, Rossini," she sang, "make it easier for yourself and give up now."

"Over?" Matteo gasped and laughed. "I think not, siren!" He reached towards the desk. Too late, Erik saw the gun in his hand, saw him pull the trigger.

Parthenope screamed in anger as she fell to the ground, blood pouring from the wound in her shoulder. Erik started to run towards her, but Parthenope pushed herself up and shouted, "You idiot! I'm fine! It's Rossini we need to worry about! He's escaping! Catch him, quick!"

Erik ran out the door, past the bodies of the two dead guards, and looked around for Matteo. But the sailor was nowhere to be found. Erik cursed under his breath. The sun would be rising soon, and it would be impossible for him to find Matteo in that blinding sun and the sea of Parisian humanity. Besides, with the wound Erik had put it his chest, the sailor wouldn't be able to run far. With that wound, the sailor would have to seek out medical treatment, and thus would be delayed in his travel for at least one more day. Erik sheathed his sword and walked back inside.

Parthenope had gotten up and was sawing through the ropes around Thelxinoë's wrists with her dagger. The process was slow with only one good arm, so Erik took over for her while she began tying a makeshift bandage around her shoulder. He removed the gag from Thelxinoë's mouth. She coughed before regaining her voice. "Are you alright?" Erik asked her.

"Yes," Thelxinoë responded, "yes, I am, thanks to you." She looked up at him and started crying. "Erik, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry, I didn't mean, I didn't want to hurt you at all, I wasn't thinking, and—"

"Thelxinoë, it's okay. You're safe now." Erik tried his best to calm her. "Matteo cannot hurt you anymore. You're safe."

Thelxinoë shook her head. "No, no, it's not okay, it's not okay, I shouldn't, I shouldn't have taken, have taken off your—"

Erik placed his hand gently over her mouth. "I understand," he whispered, "I understand. You don't have to say anything more. You don't have to apologize." He took one glance at the complicated knot securing the ropes about her wrists and decided that Parthenope had taken the right approach in simply trying to saw through the ropes. He took Parthenope's dagger and continued where she had left off.

"What, no thanks for your aunt?" Parthenope was standing as he finished sawing through the ropes. Thelxinoë ran to her and embraced her, sobbing into her shoulder. Parthenope's face softened. "It's okay, Thelxinoë, you're safe now." She was holding Erik's mask in one hand. She held it out to him. "Hey, Monsieur Erik, do you want this back?" Erik nodded and took the mask, placing it back on his face. He could feel Parthenope's gaze on the back of his neck. He responded as she and Thelxinoë finally detached from each other. He saw Thelxinoë walk behind him out of the corner of his eye. "I know. Rather ugly, isn't it?"

"Actually, I was just thinking that it's not the worst I've seen. Believe me, there are plenty of Cyclops that would give you a run for your money."

"Hm. I'll have to remember that. How's your shoulder, by the way?"

"That bastard Rossini put a pretty decent channel in it, but it should heal well enough. I was only grazed, really. It doesn't seem like he hit anything vital." She sighed. "I can't believe that you let that bastard get away. Although, with that wound you gave him I doubt he'll be running far."

"That, I suppose, was the idea," Erik replied. "But, in any case, we ought to return to the opera house before the night ends." He turned around. "Thelxinoë, we should go—" He stopped and swore violently.

"What? What's wrong?" Parthenope turned in the same direction and swore in a language Erik had never heard.

Thelxinoë was gone.

"Damn it all to Tartarus! Damn it!" Parthenope's eyes were wild. "It's that Matteo bastard! He must have come back and taken her when we weren't looking!"

"To hell with that!" Erik ran out the door, sword unsheathed, with Parthenope flying behind him. With any luck, Matteo and Thelxinoë wouldn't be far.

Matteo swore as he staggered down the alley. He winced and leaned against the wall, one hand held to the wound to try to slow the bleeding. That masked monster had wounded him badly, although, with any luck, he had missed any vital organs. As it was, it would take a while for him to fully heal. He would have to wait, search again for Thelxinoë. Surely she would leave town now. He smiled. Or maybe he would get lucky and she would think he was dead. Or that her little monster friend could protect her forever.

"Matteo."

He stopped. "Who's there?"

"It's me, Matteo."

He turned around. Thelxinoë. Thelxinoë. The siren herself was standing barefoot before him, her wings out, feathers in her silver hair.

"Can't we work this out Matteo?" she sang, "Can't we find some way to settle our differences?"

"There is no way to work this out." Matteo snarled. Just what was she playing at? "You killed my father. You monster, you killed my father. Do you think that's something I can forgive so easily?"

"No, Matteo, you have it all wrong." Thelxinoë shook her head. "I never killed your father. Yes, I lied to you. Yes, my mother was a siren. But my father was a sailor, Matteo, a sailor just like you, just like your father."

"Liar!" Matteo barked, anger rising in his throat. "You aren't human. You're a monster. All that you do is hurt people. That's all any of your kind do!"

"That's not true. That's just not…" Thelxinoë was crying, looking down. She wiped her face with her left hand, her right hand was behind her back. She was biting her lip. Matteo felt no pity for her. She was a monster. She deserved far worse than tears. "…If you can't, if you can't forgive me," she sang through the tears, quietly, "if you can't forgive me," she looked directly into his eyes and took a deep breath, "if you can't forgive me, Matteo, then kill me now."

Matteo froze. "What?"

"Kill me now." Her voice was stronger, louder. "I still love you, Matteo. I'm still in love with you. And if you can't forgive me for my lie, if you really do think of me as nothing more than a monster, then kill me now."

Could this be true? A savage grin slowly spread across Matteo's face. "Yes…" he murmured, "yes, yes, YES!" His wound, the blood pouring from his chest entirely forgotten, he lunged for her, his arms outstretched to strangle that monstrous throat, to silence and kill the demon voice once and for all.

The knife stabbed into his chest, directly into his heart. Matteo looked down. His own knife was buried to the hilt in his flesh, almost invisible in the darkness and blood. He looked up at the siren one last time, saw the tears on her face, and fell. The world grew dark and cold as he heard the siren's final whispered song.

"I'm sorry, Matteo."