The gilded halls of the Opera Populaire echoed with Rose's cry as Cal's hand struck her face. But before he could strike again, Erik's voice filled the air.

"I would choose your next actions very carefully, monsieur."

The Punjab lasso whistled through the darkness, but Cal was ready. He spun, firing his pistol into the shadows. Erik emerged like a wraith, dodging the first shot, but the second bullet caught him in the side. He stumbled but didn't fall, his golden eyes blazing with fury behind his mask.

"First blood to you, monsieur," Erik snarled, pressing his hand against the wound. "But the night is young."

They crashed onto the main stage, Erik's blood leaving dark stains on the wooden floors. Cal fought with the precision of a boxer, but Erik moved like a dancer despite his injury, each step calculated even as pain tore through him.

"She belongs to me!" Cal roared, drawing a knife from his boot. The blade caught the stage lights as he slashed at Erik.

"She belongs to no one," Erik growled, but the bullet wound had slowed him. Cal's knife found its mark, plunging deep into Erik's shoulder. The phantom staggered, his mask falling away as he collapsed to one knee.

"Erik!" Rose screamed, fighting against Carlotta's grip.

Cal circled the wounded phantom, triumph in his eyes. "Not so powerful now, are you?" He kicked Erik hard, sending him sprawling. Blood pooled beneath the phantom's black clothes, his breathing ragged.

But even wounded, Erik was lethal. As Cal moved in for the kill, Erik's hand shot out, catching Cal's ankle. The larger man crashed down, his knife skittering across the stage.

Rose finally broke free from Carlotta, snatching up Cal's fallen knife. "Get away from him!"

"You'd choose this monster over me?" Cal spat, drawing another pistol from his jacket. The shot rang out, catching Erik in the chest. The phantom fell back, a terrible sound escaping his lips.

"No!" Rose rushed to Erik's side as he lay bleeding on the stage. His unmasked face was contorted in agony, blood seeping from multiple wounds.

"Rose..." Erik gasped, his golden eyes struggling to focus. "Run..."

"Never," she whispered, pressing her hands against his wounds. "I won't leave you."

Cal advanced on them both, his face twisted with rage. "If I can't have you, no one—"

A second Punjab lasso caught him from behind, yanking him off his feet. Madame Giry emerged from the wings, her face stern. "Enough death in my theater."

"The police are coming," Christine's voice called from somewhere in the shadows. "Cal, it's over."

Rose cradled Erik's head in her lap, her tears falling on his scarred face. "Stay with me," she pleaded. "The music can't end like this."

Erik's blood-stained hand reached up to touch her cheek. "My angel..." he whispered, his voice weak but still musical. "The music... lives in you now..."

"No goodbyes," Rose insisted fiercely. "You taught me to sing – now I'm teaching you to live."

Distant whistles signaled the approaching police. Cal had fled, leaving his weapons behind. Carlotta stood frozen, her revenge forgotten in the face of such violence.

"Help me," Rose commanded, and Madame Giry rushed forward. Together, they lifted Erik, supporting him between them. "I know where to take him."

As they disappeared into the shadows of the opera house, Erik's blood marking their path, Rose's voice echoed through the theater – not in fear or despair, but in determination. She would not let death claim another man she loved, not after surviving the Atlantic's icy depths.

The phantom might be wounded, but their song was far from over.