This chapter and the last are definitely darker, and I hope that hasn't pushed any of you away. Everything will eventually make sense, I do promise!, but there will be some more darker chapters in the future. However, because of this, I have decided to post two more chapters really early (you're welcome) to kind of answer some of your guys questions. So this chapter and the next are new!

This chapter does describe assault, so please read the first half with caution! There is also a section written in Farsi. I, unfortunately, had to use google translate. I know how rubbish that can be, so if anyone knows Farsi and wants to correct the sentence I would LOVE to learn. Thank you for the reviews :)

Chapter 13: The Phantom Protector

Night fell quickly on the campsite. The women had done their best to stretch out to sleep amongst the small cage, but all ended up laying against each other in uncomfortable, twisted forms.

Regardless of her aching back, Christine could not sleep. She closed her eyes, still able to see the dancing of the fire through her eyelids. She focused on her breathing, trying to block out Firmin's screams that still rang in her ears even though he was now in a deep slumber. Matilda had explained that as horrific as it was, burning the wound shut was probably the only thing that kept Firmin from bleeding to death. Carlotta had been quick to add that not cutting off his finger in the first place would have been the better alternative.

Now, she listened to Matilda's snoring and lost herself in her imagination. No matter what she tried to dream of, her thoughts circled back to one thing: the shadow's eyes. Everywhere she looked, they were there. They hid in the corner of her periphery. She couldn't run from it, she couldn't escape. She was running up the hill again, reaching for anything to pull her up. No matter how much she ran, no matter how much she screamed, she couldn't escape. She could hear him behind her, feel him get closer.

"Christine." A voice called.

Christine looked around in her dream. All she could see was those haunting eyes. She ran further up the trail, but felt as though she was running in place. She whimpered. She had to escape.

"Christine." The voice called again.

She knew that voice. It was smooth, soft, and warm. For just a moment, the amber around her dissipated and she saw the silhouette of a man in front of her. His back was to her, his body encapsulated in a bright halo. She was unable to take her eyes off the thick curly hair she had played with as a child. It was her father, but the voice did not belong to him.

"Christine."

"Angel?" She muttered in her sleep. Her eyes shot open. That voice. That voice belonged to her angel. Her angel of music. She searched the campsite and the shadows of the mountain., but saw nothing. She sighed. This was twice she had heard him now. Was he here to save her? Was he finally coming back for her? Or was clinging onto some form of hope again a lost cause.

"Angel..." she muttered again before dozing back to a peaceful sleep.

She was awoken again by muffled scream.

All the women lurched upwards, staring towards the back corner of the cage. Jammes sat trapped in the corner, flailing her legs frantically. One large hand covered her mouth as the other wrapped around her stomach to pull her against the bars. Christine sat in horror as she made eye contact with the soldier behind her, the same soldier that had given them water earlier.

She wanted to scream, but her throat sealed itself shut. She sat frozen, unable to move. Why couldn't she move? Jammes was her friend! But instead of leaping to her friend's aid, Christine felt her body grow numb. All she could do was watch as his hand slid across her chest and his tongue slobbered on her cheek.

A flash of green and blonde curls pulled her from her frozen state. Just as Sorelli and Matilda reached forward to grab the young ballerina, Meg Giry lept over them, sticking her leg out of the bars to deliver a powerful kick to the man's face. He yelped in pain and fell to the ground, releasing Jammes of his hold. Sorelli pulled Jammes to the other side of the cage, holding her tightly in her arms.

One day, Christine thought, she would be as brave of Meg Giry.

For a moment, Christine thought they had fought off the assailant, but her hope was dashed when she heard Meg scream. Just as Meg was about to step back towards the women, the soldier lept up from the ground and grabbed her leg. He snarled at her and pulled her all the way against the bar, her exposed leg now sticking out completely. Meg fell backward and yelped in pain as she twisted her opposite ankle on her awkward landing. The terror that had once consumed her dissipated and Christine reached for her friend. She hooked her arms under her shoulders and pulled with all her might. Her eyes drifted to the soldier, trembling when she saw the maliciousness in his grin. He chuckled at her apparent fear.

The man yanked at her leg again, causing Meg to scream and fight to break free of his grip. The rest of the woman grabbed onto her, all screaming for help that was never going to come. Christine tried to kick the man's arms, his chest, his shoulders, anything but it was useless.

"Leave her alone!" Madame Giry begged. Her cries fell to deaf ears. The man was stronger than all of them and he laughed as they struggled to pull against him. Christine watched as one his hands snaked up Meg's leg brushing against her upper thigh.

"No! No! Stop!" Meg screamed.

Christine acted quickly. She grabbed his wrist through the bars to prevent his escape. She bit the back of his hand as hard as she could, instantly tasting the tangy mixture of sweat and blood.

The man yelped and recoiled from the women. As a cohesive unit, they all pulled Meg to the back of the carriage next to Jammes. Christine exhaled. Oh thank-

With a sudden, unforeseen force, Christine crashed into the bars of the cage. The soldier had recovered yet again, slapping her across the face so hard she saw stars. She could still feel the sting of his open palm against her already achy cheek when he grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her face between two bars. She stared into his black eyes and could only see the flames of anger.

He muttered something to her in Persian. Whatever it was, it chilled her to the bone. She forced her eyes shut. Only if she could focus enough to sing a tune in her head and be far away from this place.

Then she heard an unexpected noise. It was a wheeze, or maybe a cough. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

The eyes of her attacker had changed. They were wide, terrified, seemingly about to pop out of his skull. His mouth was open and trembling as if something was lodged in there, but Christine saw nothing. His other hand now gripped at his throat where Christine saw a thin rope.

A lasso.

He was pulled backwards and Christine screamed as the choking man pulled her hair. Madame Giry grabbed the soldier's hand and pulled at his fingers until she was free. They both collapsed backwards and Christine grabbed the back of her throbbing head. She looked up to see her attacker was sprawled on the floor, struggling to free himself of the lasso.

Behind him was a tall shadow.

Christine froze with fear. He stood still over the top of the man. She would have thought he was a statue if it wasn't for the tension she could see in his hand as he pulled the lasso tightly.

No one moved. No one said anything. The shadow glanced up at the trembling women. There was rage in his eyes. It burned like a fire.

Christine couldn't tear herself away from those eyes, but not because she was enraptured by them, but if she did, she would have to watch that man die. She had already seen one man nearly die from this contraption. She trembled as she heard his choked gasps as he fought for the little air he could breathe in. It reminded her of Firmin's screams. They rang in her ears, drowning out the soldier's cries. It hurt. She wanted it to stop. She needed it to stop.

Quickly, she pushed Madame Giry's hands away and leaned against the bars, hoping to find reason behind the flames in the Angel of Death's eyes. It didn't matter that the soldier was a monster, he did not deserve to die. She couldn't watch him struggle like Firmin or see his shaking body grow still and lifeless.

"Don't kill him." She begged. "Please don't."

The shadow's head snapped up to stare at her. The glint in his eyes had changed. He almost seemed confused. Christine looked at the dying man, her hand covering her mouth. He had no intention of letting this man live. She could feel his determination, his rage, and his cruelty.

Yet, in a single fluid movement, the shadow removed the lasso. The soldier coughed and inhaled deeply. His red face began to return to normal and Christine could feel her heart beat again. She released a deep sigh, all her breath she had been holding in finally leaving her tense lungs. The shadow stood.

شما به این زن مدیون زندگی خود هستید رحمت اوست که امشب شما را نجات می دهد.

The shadow growled, his voice deep and fierce. His tone spent a shiver down her spine. How was this the same man whose voice captivated her yesterday? The terrified soldier shuffled to his feet and ran to the camp, his coughs echoing behind him. The shadow watched him run before turning towards the women. They huddled closer.

"He will not touch you again." The shadow informed. Most of the women gasped, shocked that he too spoke french. Meg glanced at Christine then back at the man.

"Who are you?" Madame Giry dared to ask.

The Angel of Death straightened. "I am a confidante to the Shah of Persia, a member of the Mazandarian court assigned to bring you to the Capital. I am known as the Angel of Death."

The women gasped. The Shah? The king of the Persian Empire? Christine knew little to nothing about the Shah except that he was considered a tyrant. Raoul had spoken of him once, calling him a misanthrope to human morality. He told her how he and all who served him were ruthless savages. She shivered. They were going deeper into Persia, further away from the safety of the west. How would they ever escape now they were in that tyrant's clutches?

"Why? What do we have to do with the Shah?" Matilda whimpered.

"That is what I wanted to ask all of you." The Angel of Death replied. He stood before the women, placing his lasso in his pocket. Christine watched with bated breath as his hand returned empty from his large pocket. She never wanted to see that lasso again. "Your managers have been friends of the Shah for many years. How many of you were aware of this?"

None of the women replied, all looking at each other to see if anyone would react, but none spoke.

"None of you? I find that difficult to believe."

"The Shah of Persia? But that makes no sense! How would they know each other?" Sorelli whispered to Jammes.

"Do not overlook the greed of men, mademoiselle. It has no borders."

Sorelli jumped, unaware that he could hear her. "But we know nothing of the Shah. We are just a travelling opera." She stammered.

"You mean to tell me you travelled all the way to a distant land without questioning as to why you came so far? What other operas do you know that have travelled so far east? Hm? Then you are either lying to me or are brainless sheep. I despise both."

"This is our job." Madame Giry corrected. "Of course we questioned it, but if we disobeyed we would be without work for months, possibly permanently."

"So you turned a blind eye, none of you caring about your honour or life in the matter?"

"How is this a question on honour?"

"Your managers have brought you along a sinful mission, madame. One that has cost the lives of many. Though you claim to know nothing, your consent to travel with this opera was signed in blood."

The women gasped. Christine felt her cheeks grow pale. What had she done that had cost the lives of others? She thought back through her journey, but never did she get the indication that people had died because of them.

"This doesn't make any sense." Madame Giry murmured. "What do you mean it was signed in blood?"

The shadow ignored her. "Your managers have been trading with the Shah for many years now, a task that would have been impossible for the two of them to do on their own. It would only make sense that they would bring along these assistants. Among you is a rat, and I will find you." His voice was a low growl, one that silenced the women into a state of fear. His eyes briefly connected with Christine's. She wished he didn't wear a mask so she could interpret the emotions she saw there. But just as quickly as his eyes fluttered to her, they turned away. "Your managers have betrayed the Shah. They thought they would find forgiveness here, but they will find none."

"Please, monsieur, we are innocent!" Matilda cried.

The shadow interrupted her. "Collateral damage." He corrected.

"-We have no part in this plot."

"That is to be determined when we reach the palace. Though I will warn you, revealing yourself now will save you and your friends from considerable pain."

Christine stared at every woman in the cage, searching to see any signs of betrayal. All she saw were wide, terrified eyes and trembling fingers. What did he mean by a rat? Who here could even participate in something so horrid?

"None of us are this rat you speak of." Sorelli pleaded. "Please let us go!"

"I am afraid I cannot do that, regardless of how I feel about your predicament. I am to take you to the Shah, that is my assignment."

"What happens when we arrive?" Madame Giry asked.

"It depends. Once I find this rat, your situation depends on your usefulness."

"Usefulness?"

"Yes, the Shah has other plans for you, for those of you innocent in this betrayal. Rumours of the Opera Populaire's breathtaking performances travel far and wide. When they come waltzing into your kingdom, it is only natural to want a preview."

"A preview?" Meg trembled, gripping her now swollen ankle.

"Yes. You are all still alive because he is curious if the rumours of your talent are true. You will perform for the Shah of Persia when we arrive. Then, he will decide what to do with you."

The women gasped and huddled closer. They murmured questions and fears, holding each other tightly.

"Will-will he then release us?" Sophia quivered.

The shadow hesitated, putting his hands behind his back. "The Shah is angry. He has been betrayed, lied to, and used. There is no telling what he will do."

The women grew silent, terrified of their new reality.

"However, if you impress him, I am sure he will let you live. But do not be fooled. He has invited the world's best poets, musicians, and artists to his palace. As a King, he has seen the elite. If you want to survive, you must meet this standard."

Their travelling performance of Hannibal was indeed impressive, but mostly because a large production had been minimized to its barest components and put on the road. On top of that, Christine thought, their stage and props had been burned to the ash. How were they to impress a king after a day of torture and imprisonment with no supplies and no hope?

"I sympathize with your situation. Therefore, if you desire it, I will help you."

It took a while for someone to respond, all confused and hesitant to accept. "Help us?" Jammes whispered.

"It is your incompetent managers and their assistants that are the fools. They thought they could best the Shah, but he is much more powerful than you could imagine. However, enough innocent blood has been spilled. Despite what you may believe, I do not enjoy torturing and killing the innocent."

He clasped his hands behind his back, slowly stepping closer to the cage. "You were dragged along in your managers' futile attempt to reconcile. As unfair as it seems, there is salvation. If you want to survive you will have to impress the Shah with your performance. It may be surprising, but I too am a musician of sorts. Additionally, I know the Shah and his tastes. I know what will please him. I am your only chance at survival. If you want to survive, you will rehearse for the rest of our journey under my supervision. You will obey every critique, every word that rolls off my tongue. Any resistance against me will ultimately be against your little chance of survival. Do I make myself clear?"

The women were dumbstruck. Mere hours ago, they had watched this man torture their beloved manager who he had just accused of betraying the Shah or Persia. Then he asked to be their musical instructor? Christine's mind was spinning. She had so many questions, but she couldn't grasp any of them to ask him. The women looked around and ultimately to Madame Giry. Of all the women in the cage, she held the most seniority. If anyone was to make a decision, it would be her. She noticed this, looking at the terrified women around them. Christine saw the uncertainty in her eyes. Clearly, Madame Giry did not enjoy being threatened and controlled, but what other options did they have?

"Why should we trust you? You nearly killed our manager earlier."

The Angel of Death sneered. "Your manager was the one who pulled the knife. It was an act of self defence. He was lucky I only chopped off his finger."

Firmin pulled the knife? Christine thought. She put her hand over her uncontrollable heart, lest it leap out of her chest in anguish. Her head ached from the confusion. Why was nothing as it seemed? Was he lying? As horrid as he seemed, he seemed to be genuine.

Madame Giry shook her head. "That cannot be."

"Shall I drag him over here to confirm my story? I may be cruel, madame, but I am not a liar."

Matilda gripped Madame Giry's arm. "Antionette. Firmin does carry a knife."

Madame nodded. "I know." She turned back to the shadowed man. "It doesn't seem like we have much of a choice."

"That is the greatest lie of them all. We are all responsible for our actions. We always have a choice."

His eyes flickered back over to Christine's. She felt herself curl inwards at his gaze. She didn't agree, but a feeling of uncertainty crept through her heart. Why did he look at her like that?

"What do we need to do to impress the Shah?"

The mask clouded the Angel of Death's face, but a hint of a grin gleamed in his eyes. "I saw your performance last night. I will say, it was very impressive indeed. However, it is not perfect. There is one change that will greatly improve it, along with your chance of survival. I recommend a change in your leading lady immediately."

Carlotta, who had been silent for most of the encounter, gasped. "Me? But Signor, I am the Carlotta Guidicelli! You may not know me but I-"

"You are an unbearable toad that will do as she is told." He bellowed. His voice seemed to echo off the walls of the slope. The deceiving calmness of his voice was replaced by a fierce roar. "You do not demonstrate the tact and skill to be a leading soprano, despite what your tone deaf entourage might tell you. No, you would better thrive as a chorus member. Hidden out of the light where no one has to listen to your wretched croaking. My first critique is to switch the leading lady to a talented singer, one who can actually sing."

He turned to Christine. "Christine Daaé will play Elissa and your first rehearsal begins now."

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Phantomgirl24: Yes, the last chapter was really intense (hopefully not too intense). There will be a lot of talking in the next chapter but they have a LONG way to go. Thank you so much for your review!

Guest: It is a little different. I have had this story stuck in my head for a long time now, but it definitely deviates from the original. Thank you for your compliment :). Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Lucyole: Oh absolutely! Even when I was writing the last chapter I was cringing. It is definitely gruesome and creates a lot of misunderstanding. I think the next chapter will be more up your alley as it answers some questions. Christine definitely becomes a bit more strong willed throughout this process, and she does step up her game. But it will take some time. Thank you for your reviews :).

Guest: Thank you! I was worried the pacing would be a bit too slow, so thank you for the review. Hopefully this chapter answered some more questions.