Disclaimer: I do not own any version of the Phantom of the Opera (except my DVD and soundtrack) and make no money from this story.

Author's Note:

Rating's changed (to K+) due to violence and possibly very minor language (very minor). This fanfic is based on the movie version of Phantom (with Gerard Butler in it). This chapter actually seems to have more of a plot. If anyone doesn't understand the bit about Christine in this chapter then read "Regret" and things will fall into context. There are some dark bits in this chapter but there are some lighter moments (I think…there might not be, I can't decide), so don't worry. I'm sorry that I take so long to update, but this is a long chapter for me, so try to see that as compensation. Thanks go to MadameGiryMiranda for being the only person to review the first chapter, but as the story gets going hopefully that will change; thanks also for the two lovely people who reviewed my first ever fanfic "Regret", you really boosted my confidence. On with the chapter!

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave

when first we practice to deceive."- Walter Scott: Marmion

- Estelle Tiniwiel -x-

Meg Giry hurried through the streets and alleyways of Paris, frantically searching for the Phantom of the Opera, the one her mother had spent so many years protecting, but who was once again on the run from the law.

She knew that her mother had felt pressurised into revealing the location of the Phantom's lair to the Vicomte, because so many people had suffered at his hands, but also because she could have lost her job and been arrested for impeding the course of justice. This time she had chosen to protect herself and her daughter over an insane genius that she felt she had a duty towards.

Now, however, Meg was trying to renew the bond between her family and the Phantom, if only for her mother's state of mind. Meg had been fascinated by the Phantom, that was true, but he had hurt a friend whom she treated like a sister and had committed murder on more than one count. However much she acknowledged that the Phantom was not wholly evil, it didn't mean that she had to like him.

Meg had run down to the lair before the mob could reach it, desperate to make sure that they hadn't caught him. She had been both relieved and afraid when she saw him nowhere and the white porcelain mask lying on the table: she could not imagine what had possessed him to leave that behind, so she picked it up without anybody noticing, just in case. She could not help but admit that she also picked it up because it fascinated her, just as its owner had.

So now she was trawling the streets searching for the Phantom. And so far she was having no luck whatsoever.

The Phantom seethed as he listened to Christine beating a hasty retreat away from his anger and his hatred. How dare she come back, taunting him? But in his darkness he smiled slightly to himself: he would make them all rue the day when they had crossed him.

Searching around he found not trace of his usual white mask, neither could he find any spare masks that he might have had, as they had been taken by either the gendarmes or the mob; he would have gone up to the costume department to try and scavenge some scrap of material or other, but he knew that by now that whole area would be nothing but charred wood and ashes.

"Fine. They shall see me in all my glory: the true Devil's Child."

Grabbing his cape (which was only there because someone had mistaken it for a piece of drapery and therefore thought it not worth stealing) he once again exited his lair, to further prowl the streets of Paris, and reveal his demonic nature to the world.

"I could not find him, Maman."

"What? But why not? How difficult can it be to find him – it's not as though he won't stand out in a crowd!"

"Very difficult, considering the fact that he is well practiced in stealth and concealment and probably doesn't want us to come anywhere near him after we revealed him!"

Madame Giry paused momentarily, glaring at her daughter, before giving a stinging comeback of her own.

"He has reached cracking point. He will act as he has always felt he was and should be, as an Angel of Hell, and he will leave only death and despair in his wake. As far as he is concerned he has nothing left to live for anymore, and so will not care who or what should find him. He will go about scaring people as only he can, and he will spill blood as he goes. He will be easy to find: go back to the Opera house, and work your way from there."

Meg remained silent, contemplating the Phantom's state of mind, and then:

"Do you want me to die?"

Meg ran down the street, her senses on full alert. She had donned a hooded cloak to hide her face from any who might recognise her, so that she might ask the whereabouts of the Phantom without being reported: a middle aged woman cowering in front of her tiny house had merely stared in horror and pointed. That was enough for Meg, so she had carried on as quickly as she could whilst not exhausting herself.

Turning a corner she met a sight that she would never forget: a group of men, all over thirty, built like wrestlers and blind drunk. They were shouting taunts and harsh insults, throwing stones and broken bottles. Standing in front of them was a slender man, the right side of his face disfigured and broken. The thing that shocked her most was that he didn't look remotely frightened: he looked smug, scathing of their attempts to harm him, as though he was past the point where he could be harmed. He looked as though he was internally laughing at them. He was the Demon, the Angel in Hell, the Angel of Hell, the Devil's Child. She saw the fell spirit burning in his eyes, and she was afraid.

"Hey, scar-face, how's your love life?"

The Phantom laughed.

"Very well, thank you, sir," he replied, twisting his body slightly to avoid a piece of glass, "I no longer have anything to trouble me."

The men looked slightly put out by his apparent lack of indignation, but carried on nonetheless.

"Good lawd! He must be the ugliest son of Satan that waded through the cesspit of humanity," cried another, putting on a high pitched squeaky voice in an attempt to sound feminine.

"If you could call it a he."

The Phantom's face broke into an insane grin as he revelled in the anger coursing through his body, mentally laughing to himself at the unknown truth in their words, basking in the normally unwanted attention his ravaged face afforded him.

"Oh, gentlemen, if only you all knew."

Suddenly the laughter vanished from his eyes and his face darkened.

"I am the Devil's Child."

And he launched himself towards the men, flinging a noose around the neck of the largest man and snapping it cleanly. There were cries of horror and surprise from some of the men, quickly turning to anger and fear. The men fought back.

Meg looked on as the Phantom disappeared under a sea of bodies, roaring his hatred of his foes as he lashed out with hands and feet and pieces of shattered glass.

"I am the Phantom of the Opera, and I have passed the point of no return!"

Meg saw his face suddenly push through the outer ring of men, his arms held tightly as they rained blows down upon him, his voice filled with venom. She saw him knee one of them in the groin, draw back his arm and elbow another in the chest, and she saw him systematically begin killing as many men as he could.

It was only then she understood why her mother wanted to save him.

"Monsieur, over here! Follow me."

The Phantom could feel himself being borne down under the weight of the larger men, and decided that he could kill lots more people later, as long as he was alive to do so. He looked to the other little phantom hiding in the shadows at the corner.

"I do not follow anyone. But I will come."

A/N: Whaddya think? Read and review. Pretty please?