Hey guys! This is my first actual Fanfic and I am super excited to share my story with you all! I am incredibly nervous but I would love your feedback with this first chapter. I have most of it written, so I plan to update once a week if people enjoy it. Christine is older (18) and her father died just over a year ago. Erik's backstory is also a little different through mostly follows Kay's story. Since this is my first, I would love any suggestions/recommendations (but constructive criticism please :).
I took a lot from Kay and ALW for this as well as added my own creative twists. Right now it is rated T. Not sure if I have the courage to jump to an M for some smut, we will have to wait and see. But, there are some violent scenes and I will do my best to warn you all of them...such as this first chapter! (Some scenes of torture)
Of course, I do not own Phantom or any of its characters. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: A Rancorous Request
A shadow walked briskly through the palace corridors, his shoes nearly silent against the elegant tile flooring. He navigated them easily, having lived in the palace for many years now. He had been here so long, in fact, that he barely noticed when each guard stiffened as they felt his menacing aura draw nearer. He barely cast a glance at them, too preoccupied by the strange request he received only moments ago.
He had a meeting with the Shah of Persia.
The shadow was used to meeting with the King. He was his personal entertainer, taking any guise necessary: assassin, torturer, magician, architect, and confidante. Over the years he had slowly woven his way into many of the Shah's inner circles, proving to be a resourceful, almost necessary member of his court. It had taken years of deception, tenacity, strenuous willpower, and an immeasurable amount of blood to get here. All of it completed with irrefutable skill and a conscious dissociation.
He stopped in front of the throne room door. The guards stumbled quickly to open it. As they shuffled madly, he studied the pointed arch. It was decorated with golden shavings and ivory. The designs around it depicted the many victories of the Persian Army many centuries ago, a reminder of their long-standing power. Yet, he couldn't help but notice the flaws in the design. The angles were slightly uneven, but uneven nonetheless. He saw the early fading of the ivory from the clumsy cleaning of the incompetent staff. His stomach twisted at the thought of such brilliant architecture going to waste because of a few ignorant men.
The doors opened and he entered, instantly aware of the fact this was not a private conversation. The Shah sat on his throne; a round gold and mahogany frame decorated with elaborate silk cushions. It was wide enough that a few people could fit if he desired. Yet today, he uncharacteristically sat alone. Next to him stood two of his personal guards. They were both burly and well trained. The shadow would know, he was the one who trained them.
This was a normal sight, but today there was another. As he walked the long hallway to the throne, he glanced at the twisted and broken man before him. He was laying on the floor, his body wheezing with each agonizing breath. As he walked closer, his stride unhindered, he began to notice more details. A pool of blood lay underneath him, mostly likely from a furious lashing. His legs were askew at the the shins, clearly having been broken in multiple locations. Now his legs resembled a grotesque zig-zag. The wide eyes of the man and rattling of his chest proved he was teetering on the edge of life and death.
The shadow passed the body and knelt before the Shah. "You called me?"
The Shah did not respond immediately, instead tapping his nails against the armrest of his throne.
"Yes." He finally sighed. "I grow weary of this traitor's resilience." Even though his tone was calm, the shadow had gotten used to reading the inner emotions of his King. He could see the anger in his black eyes that was intensified by a thin layer of black eyeliner. When he was in thought, as he seemed to be now, the Shah would stroke his long black beard. The shadow tried to decipher his thin, albeit stiff posture to determine if he was furious or frustrated.
The Shah seemed to have read his mind. "And I am angered by his audacity to wheeze all over my floor. It has been nearly an hour, my angel. Yet the man does not die."
The shadow clenched his jaw. He was in the middle of fine tuning his latest piece, a melody that had been haunting him for some time now. Was he really forced down here to kill a near death imbecile?
"Do you wish me to finish the deed?" The Shadow seethed.
The Shah clicked his tongue. "Impatience will get you nowhere, dear angel. If you desire, you may. But that is not why I called you here."
"Then please, take your time in explaining yourself." The shadow retorted. The guards tensed, clearly angered by the shadow's brash response. Many had chastised him on his tongue, yet his apathy and self loathing lead him down a path of indifference. He welcomed death and wasn't afraid of the pups he had personally trained nor the aristocrats that relied on them.
The Shah chuckled a mirthless laugh. "Do you recognize this man?"
The shadow looked at him. He studied the body's round face as it seemed familiar. His grey hair and beard were too ragged and thin to belong to royalty, as they clearly were not well kept throughout the man's years. At first, the shadow did not recognize the man until he saw into his brown eyes. They were terrified, just as terrified as the broken man had been many years ago when he first saw the shadow at the Opera Populaire.
"Joseph Buquet."
"Correct. Your friend from that french opera. One of my spies found him selling some of our product to some Serbians a week ago. The lack of funds coming from your little project doesn't seem to be from a lack of buyers, but more so because our product is being sold somewhere else." The Shah stood, gently clasping his hands together. "To our enemies, nonetheless."
The shadow grumbled under his breath. He was aware that something was peculiar about the slow loss of interest in Paris, an issue that was blamed on the economy and other interests. But the Shadow had cast them aside. He was too invested in other projects to worry about such a minute loss.
"To make matters worse, this pig does not bear all the blame." The Shah dug his heeled boot into the traitor's jaw. Buquet groaned in agony. "Your managers have been working with the Changy family. You are aware of their support of those pestering rebels, are you not? They support those barbarians invading our empire merely because we refuse to play along with their political games." Buquet whimpered as the Shah forcefully pushed off his face to move closer to the shadow.
"I am growing to despise that family almost as much as you do."
"I would be happy to finish them." The shadow seethed.
"No. Not yet. Too direct. They do have friends in high places. Our attack must be strategic. I rather enjoyed your plan to bring those fools here to Persia, to remind them of their place. The Parisian atmosphere does seem to be bolstering their sense of security. However, the summer is too far away."
"Meaning?"
"Send another of your famous notes to your managers. Inform them that there has been a change of plan. Tell them that their European caravan tour must begin immediately."
The shadow scoffed. "They would never agree to such a thing without raising suspicion."
"Exactly. So let's draw them in. Tell them that we want them to deliver a large shipment back to France on their journey or that we will need them to deliver ammunition to some of our contacts near Greece. Tell them what you must, but make sure it is an offer they cannot refuse."
The shadow shook his head. "Do you not realize how difficult it was to convince them to travel all the way to Persia? It is a near two month journey, one way, and not a luxurious trip. Now you want me to have them sell weapons? They are actors, businessmen, cowards, not mercenaries!"
"Yes. But you are forgetting the most important part. They are greedy. A sin of man that cannot reform overnight. Let them come. Let them alert their patrons of our terrible plan and let them prepare to intercept the caravan on their return. Let them think they can escape, rich and free of our burden. I want to personally see the light fade from their eyes when they realize their mistake."
The shadow mulled it over. A quick change in plan could easily fail. What was stopping them from refusing or have someone else send the product? Worse, he thought, this could lead to more support for their enemy nations. Yet, the shadow wondered, it couldn't be too difficult to ensnare their greedy friends with an enticing offer, one they simply could not refuse.
"If they take the bait, what will we do when we capture them?"
"I have a few ideas. Rumours of their betrayal have spread to others already. Their painful deaths can remind our dear expediters of the importance of loyalty. If anything, it could remind our enemies of our power."
"What shall I do with the rest of the crew? They would bring the cast and stage management along, possibly up to 20 others."
"Hm, I cannot decide. Of course, they may be useful in coercing our dear friends for information. But I do not know what would be more profitable; their severed heads given to the Chagnys or imprisoning them for other benefits. I guess that will depend on the quality of the stock."
The Shah chuckled to himself. He turned back to his throne. "Finish him off, my Angel of Death. Then, put our plan in motion."
The Angel of Death looked at Buquet. Their entire conversation had been in Farsi, yet he still seemed to realize his fate. He tried to move, fight back, beg for mercy, but could only produce desperate wheezes.
The Angel of Death came over to him, knife in hand. Acknowledging the little respect he had for his former acquaintance, Joseph Buquet's death would be quick.
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Again, I would love some constructive criticism. Thank you all so much! :)