Erik listened to the lovers' voices echoing through the caves. Their voices became softer and softer, until even their echoes had abandoned him. Erik didn't know why he was so afraid. He had never been afraid of being alone before. Yet, part of him wanted to run. Part of him wanted to hole up in some corner, curl up and cry. But Erik refused to bow to that indignity.

"I've lost Christine," Erik thought to himself. "I'm not going to lose my pride too!" Erik's gaze was drawn to the many mirrors that reflected his lone figure.

All alone.

In a sudden rage, Erik put his fist through each of the mirrors, shattering them into billions of tiny shards. Then he screamed. He screamed pain and anguish. He screamed for God to strike him down where he stood. But only the sound of his own voice returning to him would answer. When the echoing stopped, another sound reached his ears…

The sound of angry voices…

Before Erik could react, the mob had entered his lair and, in seconds, had him surrounded. There was nowhere to go… no way to escape…

"There he is! The ghost!" Erik recognized the screeching voice as belonging to Carlotta. The mob advanced upon Erik, forcing him into a corner. They were all heavily armed with torches, clubs, pitchforks, and the like.

"You'll pay for your crimes!" cried the voice of Richard Firmin.

"Just leave me be…" Erik said in an agonized whisper.

"Give us one good reason! You wouldn't leave us be!"

Someone grabbed Erik from behind and punched him hard in the stomach. Erik gasped as the air was knocked out of him. The same fist connected with Erik's jaw, making a sickening cracking sound. Erik fell to his hands and knees as anyone who managed to get close enough delivered kicks and blows to his ribs, back, arms, and legs. Erik grunted in pain, but refused to cry out. He would not give them the satisfaction. The blows ceased momentarily. Erik stood up, slowly as first, but then he was on his feet, setting his jaw and not letting pain bow his proud shoulders.

"Haven't had enough, have we?" Andre spat, grabbing Erik by the hair and slamming his face into the nearest wall. Erik's nose exploded into a fountain of blood. His lips split open and his eyes blackened. Andre slammed Erik's face into it again and again, until blood was splattered all over the wall. Erik was spun around to face the mob once more, only this time he was met with gasps, moans, and Carlotta's piercing scream. Erik raised a hand to his face and suddenly realized why the crowd was so frightened. His mask fell off when Andre slammed him against the wall, leaving his deformed face exposed for all to see.

"Oh, God! It's a monster!"

"It's hideous!"

"Kill it!"

The mob surged forward again, beating Erik down to the floor. Firmin ripped open Erik's shirt, drew a knife and began cutting into Erik's exposed flesh.

"No! Stop it! No!" Erik screamed, no longer caring about pride. "Leave me alone!"

"Silence, monster!" Firmin shouted, drawing his knife across Erik's face, leaving a gash that hung open and oozed.

"Come on!" Carlotta shrieked. "Let's kill him!"

"No!" Firmin said, throwing Erik face-first to the floor. "I have a better idea. I'd rather see this demon live out the rest of his wretched days in misery!"

Erik's arms were grabbed and pinned to the floor, side-by-side, with his palms facing down. Firmin laughed as he took a lead pipe from another man and stood poised over Erik's outstretched hands.

"Please… Monsieur…" Erik gasped through split lips. Begging was something Erik considered as the worst kind of degradation, but he was desperate. "Please, don't Monsieur… Please, show some compassion!" Erik's pleas fell on deaf ears. With a terrible smile, Firmin swung the pipe down with as much force as he could muster across Erik's outstretched hands.

Erik screamed as a dozen tendons snapped and countless tiny bones shattered. He screamed in pain. He screamed in grief. He screamed with the terrible realization that his once-graceful hands – the hands that once poured out the sweetest of melodies effortlessly – were ruined.

Erik's screams did not go unheard. In her room, pacing and praying for Erik's safety, Madame Giry froze when she heard Erik scream. Something was not right. Grabbing her coat, she prayed that she would not be too late to reach Raoul and Christine before the couple left Paris forever…

Meanwhile, Erik knelt on the floor, holding his broken hands to his chest and sobbing. "Why!" he cried. "Why! Haven't I paid enough? Haven't you degraded me enough?" Erik continued to cry as he held his broken hands in front of his face. "Destroyed…" he whispered, his voice so haunted that it even made some of the members of the mob shudder. "They're destroyed… with them my music… my livelihood… IT'S OVER NOW! THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHT!"

The mob backed away in fear. Some fled the lair and returned to the world of light. Only Firmin and a few others dared to linger. "We're done here," Firmin said quietly. As what remained of the mob began to disperse, Firmin turned and swung the pipe at the back of Erik's head. However, poor aim caused the blow to be delivered to his neck and not his head. Regardless, Erik collapsed, unconscious.

"Sleep well, murderer…"