Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.

Author Note: And here is part three of today's three chapter upload.

I feel so bad for writing this chapter. I believe I cried when I wrote it.

Twenty Five- Indebted

Emilian whistled to himself as he tied Erik to another chair. Whether it was because he felt so calm about the whole ordeal, or if it was simply because he was a madman who found the ultimate sadistic pleasure in this kind of thing, neither one of the helpless men could tell. It was a chilling sound- tuneless but cheerful, a macabre contrast to the atmosphere in the grubby manager's office.

At least, Erik decided bitterly as he regretted not having risked it by turning on Emilian before he was tied up, the dumb fool had only managed to find them and not Christine- that would be a true disaster. If it were Christine tied to a chair and beaten bloody, Erik knew he would have turned on Emilian and probably had his throat cut by the dagger that had been pressed to his neck. Now, he snuck a glance at his companion and immediately was filled with pity for the boy- he was barely conscious and was green with the nausea of the pain, probably in shock having never experienced such a battering before. (Erik believed that the only time Raoul had been assaulted was likely the time that he had set upon him when they first found him lurking in the bushes) The amount of blood on his face was evidence of the blows he had received- he was drenched with it, his fair hair now tinged red. Erik tried to get Raoul's attention as Emilian sauntered over to the door, but the Vicomte was drifting in and out of consciousness, his skin covered in a film of sweat and his eyes drooping.

Had the stupid boy not put up a fight?! Erik felt a pang of guilt as soon as the thought entered his brain, knowing that a youth of Raoul's upbringing would know as little of fighting as Erik knew of a loving family. He felt infinitely sorry for Raoul- sorry that his association with the young aristocrat had ended with this, as it always seemed to with anyone he spent any amount of time with. With another glance at Raoul, Erik realised that the blood was still flowing unchecked from Raoul's wounds- fearing for the life of his rival and often lingering annoyance, Erik decided that- for his sake- he really ought to confront the madman who held them.

It was the insanity that made Emilian dangerous. Erik could overpower him undoubtedly- but madmen were unpredictable and irrational. Erik knew that all too well- for he had been one.

"Emilian." He spoke with venom, surprising the gypsy. "I know it is beyond the capabilities of your filthy origin, but please, let us be civilised about this. You have me now to wreak your thirst for revenge upon- let the boy go. He's a young fool, and your clumsy blows will bleed him to death. You really don't want the murder of a young and adored aristocrat on your head, trust me. Let him go."

Raoul looked up upon hearing these words, his face a mask of astonishment to hear Erik speak in such firm defence of him. He felt oddly moved by this attempt at a rescue and tried to sit up straight, to stop wallowing in the agony and to be of real use. Emilian was laughing before Erik's cold plea was even over, but it had a wondrous effect on Raoul's optimism.

"He won't die; I'll be done with you soon enough that at most he'll pass out, like the rich little pansy he is." Emilian gave a dark chuckle, idly swinging the perilously sharp dagger in his grip, which had blood on the lethal blade- Raoul's blood? Erik ground his teeth in fury. "Though I have to admit, Devil's Child, once again you have surprised me. I could swear by the fact that you and Monsieur le Vicomte are the furthest from friends that there could possibly be, due to a dispute over my soprano?"

"Your soprano? NO ONE OWNS CHRISTINE DAAE!" Erik spat, the words a cruel reminder to himself and to Raoul of all this pig had done and caused in his duration spent alive and tainting the earth.

"Oh, Erik, there is no need to become so enraged! I do own your precious Christine, and you cannot deny that. Her entire life revolves around me and my clan- ever since the Vicomte lost her in his drunkenness, she has been mine, and I will take back what is mine. She has done well, luring you back to me, Devil's Child. Perhaps I should reward her by marrying her?" Emilian paused and laughed as Erik snarled in fury. "Like I said, an odd set up indeed. Two rivals, working together to free the women you both adore- and with such theatrics! A chandelier fall, play acting, each with your own roles- a feat worthy of my own genius, gentlemen, I commend you for that if nothing else!"

Erik looked as if he were about to launch into yet another fierce verbal battle with this gleefully evil gypsy master, so Raoul struggled upright in his seat- as much as his aching ribs and tight bonds would allow- his gentle nature sparked into flame by the general air of superiority that this inhumane create seemed to radiate and lord over them. The pride he held in this evil came off him like a foul stench and it made Raoul sick to think that this man held a position of leadership and authority.

"Genius? Genius, Monsieur? Is that what you call all of this?" Raoul asked in a hard voice, exerting every inch of the authority he possessed. Erik could not help but roll his eyes, wishing that the Vicomte would make sure he could take the repercussions of speaking against Emilian before he opened his mouth. "You are a cruel man- a monster- and the way you live is even worse than that; it is barbaric and inhumane. You- you are more animal than man, controlling the people of your clan with your loathing and terror, pursuing some need for revenge as if you could ever know the meaning of justice and good!"

"Justice?!" Emilian snapped, his temper flaring up at Raoul's words. "You speak of justice- that monster you so readily join forces with murdered my father, left me a beggar and an orphan amongst my own people! I cannot ask the wretch such a question, but I can ask you, you snivelling brat- HOW WOULD YOU BEHAVE IF SOME WRETCHED GARGOYLE, SOME FOUL DEMON, KILLED YOUR FATHER LIKE A RABID ANIMAL?"

"If some wretch killed my father, I would seek revenge for his murder." Raoul answered coldly. "But if my father had done even half the atrocious deeds that yours committed- slavery, rape, torture, abuse, no doubt more- then he would cease to be my father. He would deserve whatever foul end befell him!"

Emilian let out a snarl of fury and kicked the desk into the wall, snapping the legs from another chair as he also booted that across the room, his face and eyes twisted and darkened with murderous insanity. His father was clearly a sore spot for him- Erik knew that the beastly Javert had likely tormented Emilian too when he was a child. It was the sort of story that would warrant sympathy and understanding, had Emilian not done all the foul deeds he had. Raoul shot a glance at Erik and saw that his companion's eyes were hardened and his face blank.

"Oh, Vicomte, you disgust me! So lordly and moral- what do you know?!" Emilian bellowed. "What of Erik, oh lordly, moral Vicomte?! Do you forget that he is a murdering animal too? He has committed all that is wicked upon this earth, the devil incarnate that he is, and yet you do not condemn him!"

"Erik's oldest and wisest friend once told me that men are like mirrors- they display and give out the good that has been shown to them, and the same for evil. He used this analogy to explain to me why Erik was the way he was- and hearing that, I am surprised that Erik was not the most evil being ever to live!" Raoul suddenly became furious. "But do you know something, you filthy bastard? Erik was shown nothing but contempt and evil, treated as if he were worth nothing, and despite that he broke free of his evil and now stands as one of the finest men I have ever and will ever know! The things he has suffered make your life sound like paradise! You have no excuse- NO EXCUSE!"

Emilian was more affected by these words than Raoul, or even Erik, had expected. His face crumpled a little, like a child, before the rage took him entirely and he belted Raoul across the face with a feral snarl, the act more out of the need to show his anger than the desire to actually hit him. Raoul's head snapped back, and wobbled uncertainly on his neck- Erik shot a darting glance at Emilian and was surprised by the sight that met him.

In his long and often violent life, he had been at the wrong end of a dagger just as many times as he had been the one holding it. He knew the emotional map experienced by each party in those crucial moments; he knew the anger and the hysteria, the cold and calculated calm, the deadly finale which all depended on the swing of hysteria that ended the emotional tumult- mad fury or pitiful resignation. But the odd thing was, that as he looked intently into the face of their captor- the son of Javert, the bully, the madman- Erik saw none of those hysterically heightened emotions. He saw honest feeling in Emilian's eyes- real pain, real hurt...it would seem that Raoul's words had dealt a staggering blow and now Emilian was stunned into nothing. He still clutched at the razor sharp dagger, but where before he had gazed upon it with bitter determination, now he looked down upon it as if he had no idea as to why he was holding it.

The beast did not deserve pity, but perhaps it was the way to end this madness and allow them to escape.

"Emilian." Erik tried again, this time speaking in a low and calm voice. The gypsy looked up with murderous anger, but it did not reach his eyes. "I know how you feel. Betrayed, worthless, as if you wish you could rewrite the past and it would all be so much better... you know that Javert was evil, Emilian, and he has scarred you as much as he scarred me. Don't let that continue to control you- he is gone."

Emilian was silent and still for a moment and the look on his face melted away into nothingness. Erik heard Raoul hitch a gasping breath- a pressing reminder that they did not have the luxury of time- and he fixed the full focus of his eyes onto the gypsy.

"Yes. He is gone. But why is he gone? Because you killed him! He was my father- and you killed him!" Emilian was ignited into full rage, his clutch on the dagger now merciless and trembling. If Nadir were here, Erik knew he would have rolled his eyes and made some offensive comment about Erik's lack of skill at negotiation. "You do not realise, you satanic scum, what impact your action had on me! If my father had lived, I would have been accepted in the clan! I would not have been some scrounging orphan- he would have forced them to accept me and respect me! You don't understand, you filthy scum, that I was never one of them! My mother was some whore from a village they passed by; she was a toy, a pastime, and I was not part of that pastime! My whore mother died giving birth to me and I was alone! You killed Javert before I had the chance to show him what I could do! Before I had the chance to earn my place! Things would have been different...but you strangled the life from him and sealed my fate!"

Raoul could barely comprehend what was being said through the hazy consciousness he clung to, holding on despite the pain. He tried to focus on the conversation but all he could hear were those pitiful words from Emilian and his exhausted brain refused to accept that he, the vile enemy, could have something close to an excuse for his actions. Erik had an expressionless look on his face, his eyes downcast, and Raoul sincerely hoped that he wasn't feeling sorry for Emilian. The sadistic brute didn't deserve it- he had done far too much now, he was beyond redemption.

"Things would have been no different. He was a monster, and you know it!" Erik spat, his anger sparked by the ignorance in Emilian's words. "You're deluding yourself, for the purpose of what? You have your clan, you have your acceptance, you have your power! You do not need us and you certainly do not need Christine- so untie us now and let us go!"

"Who's deluded, you or I? For I could have sworn that you were trying to order me around, Devil's Child, when in fact you are still property of this clan!" Emilian claimed wildly, starting to laugh as he gripped Erik by the throat and dragged his face up. "That's it, stare at me with those malicious eyes! I'm sure a few nights spent in a cage would destroy this new moral side to you, bring back the beast that lurks within! What do you say, Devil's Child? An angel and a devil in the same clan- think of how rich I could be!"

He brought the dagger to Erik's ear, the glint in his eyes a sure sign that he was about to sever it from the side of his head, but there was a sudden shout of fury and suddenly Emilian was sprawled on the floor, trembling in rage. Erik and Raoul turned in disbelief to see Pali stood there, also shaking with fury, standing over Emilian with no fear despite the huge dagger that the master held. Erik winced as Emilian leapt up and seized Pali by the shoulders, shaking him but somehow not managing to make him quake in terror. This seemed to enrage Emilian even further and he pinned Pali against the wall, bellowing at him, spittle flying.

"PALI!" He roared. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"I'm finally doing what is right- what I should have done all those years ago when your beast of a father held Erik locked in a cage!" Pali shouted back. "You can't own another human being! Your filthy blood lust has tarnished the name of our clan, of our heritage, and you have turned this life we lead to one of murder and evil and wrong! Your father held Erik back then and ruined his life and I cannot stand by to watch you do it again! Nor can I allow you to do this to Christine! You have lost, Emilian! For once the barbarian has not won!"

"Barbarian?! I am doing what I must- the only way is blood, don't you see?!" Emilian shrieked wildly. "I killed to get to the top of this stinking mess of a clan! I killed to win what was mine! I have drenched my hands in blood to be accepted, to hope that my father might be proud of me! It cannot be done without- we must fight, and conquer, till we are drowning in their blood else we will never succeed! Don't you see that Pali? Don't you?!"

As Emilian began to rant and rave, Erik began to twist his skinny, nimble body into various shapes in the hope that he might be able to untie himself. He had always been able to do it in the past, and he suspected that he could still, but it burned and ached to contort his body into such positions- when he was younger, he would have been able to dislocate bones and be out of these ropes in no time at all. But now he had to struggle and ache and have the skin of his wrists rubbed raw as he fiddled and wriggled in his confinement. Eventually his skeletal fingers won the battle and he found a gap in the knots to work free. His fingers were bleeding but it didn't matter, not then, for the rope fell limply to the floor and he sprung up and dashed straight to Raoul, working the ropes free in no time at all.

The threat of being incarcerated again, for him and Christine to be enslaved, had awoken the old Phantom mentality in Erik once again. He was unbeatable if he put his mind to it and he was almost laughing in triumph. Pali saw what had happened, and his eyes must have alerted Emilian, for the gypsy master dropped him and turned round with an enraged howl. His eyes flickered from Erik to Raoul, not certain who to lunge for first, and the dagger was back and firm in his grip.

"Emilian, for goodness sakes, just give up and let us leave!" Erik still tried to persuade him, reluctant to spill more blood given Emilian's mad rant- he also knew that a fight would likely be drawn out and tiring, and Nadir was probably wondering where on earth they were. "You know that this isn't what you want."

"What I want? You dare to try to tell me what I want?!" Emilian bellowed. "What I want is simple! I want power over my people! I want my slave soprano back! And I want you, you filthy wretch, to at last pay for what you did all those years ago! And if you do not tell me where Miss Daae is then I will slaughter the Vicomte and this traitor Pali too!"

"If it is a fight you want, Monsieur, then you will have one!" Raoul yelled, drawing a thin fencing blade from his belt and standing in a perfectly trained position, clearly a young aristocrat with a strong history of fencing. "Prepare to die, you monster!"

They leapt at one another, metal clashing against metal, and Erik felt his heart shudder at the scene playing out before him. Emilian was in no danger of death from Raoul- the fool was too young, too inexperienced and too weak from his wounds to compete with the brute force of the gypsy. Pali was still slumped by the wall, looking shaken within an inch of his life. Erik did not want to spill blood- but he knew if he didn't, then Raoul would most likely be butchered.

"Raoul!" he yelled, hoping that his voice would somehow penetrate the boyish excitement that had no doubt engulfed him. "You can't defeat him like that- drop your sword and run!"

"This swine will pay for all he has done!" Raoul simply snarled in return, yelping as Emilian's dagger licked his forearm. Blood immediately stained his sleeve. "I am owed his blood, we both are! Christine is ours, and he stole her from us!"

"Christine, Christine, she's all you ever care about, boys!" Emilian laughed madly, his eyes glinting, his arms wild. "Did you know that I have claimed more of her body than you ever will? She was so scared and weak and small, pressed against the ground as I forced myself upon her! Did you know that her terror is the sweetest scent? There is so much pleasure to be found in that unbroken body, and I will enjoy every moment as she cries out in terror, when she begs me to relent!"

The world went white, and Erik exploded.

"YOU BASTARD!"

Suddenly he was on top of Emilian, Raoul knocked aside and gasping as his sword fell from his grip. Erik grabbed this and beat Emilian about the head with the hilt, before sticking the blade deeply into the gypsy's thigh. The man screamed out in agony, before starting to laugh, ripping the blade out himself and slitting Erik across the arm. Raoul was trying to scramble back into the fight, but Erik turned and shoved him out of the way, stumbling backwards as Emilian descended onto him, his eyes glittering with joy.

"She screamed out your name, Devil's Child! She didn't realise it, but she did- as I pressed her against the floor and invaded her, she cried out your name, and you weren't there! You didn't come! What will she think when she learns that her saviour is in fact just as hellish a beast as the gypsies who held her?!"

Erik let out a yell of rage and he flew again at Emilian, and they toppled to the floor, rolling around as fists and feet and teeth were used in combat. Both felt the sharp impact of blows and Emilian's dagger kissed Erik's skin more than once. He managed to grip onto Emilian's throat, when suddenly the thin fencing blade appeared- Raoul. Enraged, Erik leapt up and turned to Raoul, pushing him out of the way of Emilian's dagger- but this moment's distraction was enough. The gypsy sent the blade ploughing straight into Erik's side and he screamed out in agony, falling to the floor, Emilian bending over him with that hideous dagger, saying something that he could not quite make out-

"This is revenge, Erik! This is revenge!"

And then Emilian was gone. The blade never came. There was the sound of a scuffle, and a muffled shout, and a brief yell of agony, and then Raoul was hauling Erik up, tears streaming down his cheeks- Erik clutched at his side and stumbled forwards, barely able to focus on anything but the searing pain- but then it all became perfectly clear and the pain ceased to matter. His hands fell forward as he dropped to his knees on the floor where Emilian lay with his throat cut and blood staining the floor, and where Pali lay slumped beside him, a dagger in his grip but Emilian's own dagger sticking out of his chest.

"He pulled Emilian away- they fought- I tried to save him, but he stabbed him!" Raoul was sobbing, distraught. "Oh God, Pali! Pali!"

Erik ignored the Vicomte. He crawled forward and pulled Pali's head onto his knees, seeing that the gypsy was still conscious, his eyes fluttering a little and his hands twitching at his sides. He saw Erik's face above him and he smiled, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. Erik didn't know what to do- he wiped the blood away, and removed his mask, for the tears were building up and escaping out and he didn't have to pretend in front of such an old friend.

"Pali." He said, his voice cracking, and he seized the gypsies hand. "I'm so sorry-"

"Don't you dare, Erik." He cut him off, his lips barely moving, his voice so weak Erik had to bend towards him to catch the words. "My debt, my guilt, is over. Now you must be happy, my friend, my brother. It's over."

Suddenly, he began to fit and seize and his eyes rolled, blood coughing up and bubbling at his lips. His head fell limp, his last breath escaping with barely a murmur, and Erik bent over his body, his own blood seeping onto Pali, their blood mingling. He took Pali's lifeless hand and kissed the palm, placing it against his deformed flesh and holding it there, pressing the memory of the touch of one who had always cared to that part of him he hated most. Then he let go and fell back, silent tears streaking down his cheeks.

Raoul could barely see for the tears that clouded his vision. He could see the mask lying on the floor, the hideous marred flesh stained with tears, and at that moment he hated himself for those feelings he had held as he had stood in the box at the Opera Populaire and wishing death upon the Phantom of the Opera.

He fell forwards, also onto his knees, and gripped Erik's shoulder. Erik turned, his face fully exposed but far beyond caring, and he took Raoul's hand from his shoulder, instead clutching onto it as if he could never let go.

"Erik-" Raoul began in a shaking voice, but Erik shook his head and closed his eyes.

He could not bear to look at the Vicomte, not when he held that expression. It was a look he had held once, many years ago- a look of horror, sheer horror, and a refusal to believe what was now inevitable. It was the shattering of innocence, naivety disintegrating, and Erik could not bring himself to see that in Raoul's eyes. He assessed the pain at his side, knowing that by some miracle the wound was not deep enough to kill, and he turned to look at the dead and sprawled Emilian, before picking up Pali's dagger- which had slit the beasts throat- and sticking it with as much force as he could muster into the centre of the monsters chest. He heard Raoul gag and whimper from somewhere behind him.

"We will have to find Nadir- I want to bring Pali's body to his people. I want to give him the respect he deserves." Erik said, his voice devoid of all emotion, and Raoul upon hearing this broke down into tears.

Erik did not say anything to this response. There was nothing to say. He merely stood up, took Raoul by the arm and held him upright, leading him out of the bloodstained room, away from the bodies and the stench.

Erik felt Raoul quake with the sobs of horror, and himself felt ancient with sadness, but still he did not say a word to his sworn rival- he merely guided him through the dark of the night, holding onto him with no intent to let go, just as he had wished someone had done for him all those tortured years ago.