Chapter Six, Part Eight: It's There For the Weight, DearMature

 “You should run, my little bookworm,” he sighs through bloodying teeth, “Go find the Doctor. And stay alive. We don’t want you… getting this present, too…” 

 He struggles against the growing darkness, willing himself to regenerate as he sinks to the steps and saw Nemontiarla backing away from him. Why isn’t it happening? 

Then a man in a silver mask with a mess of blond hair leans close and whispers, “In the name of Lady Flamina and House Paradox, I claim the Restoration for our side, Heathen!”

 What is this? Shakespeare in Love? The moron. That voice, though… 

The Master laughs, but it’s really just a gurgle in his throat. He doesn’t expect the Time Lords to stop this, but still.. it will at the very least be nice not to feel it as the dagger plunges through his other heart… 

The last thing he hears is the Cardinal’s voice, booming from out of nowhere. 

Good girl. Ha-ha…ha. You brought the biggest bastard of them all, he thinks as he drifts down into a bloodloss-induced kip. 

“Oh I think not, you squeaking little rat,” says Rassilon, grinning like a vampire at midday lunch. “…you’re standing on my seal.” 

If anyone sees him lean to pick up the silver ring the Terrorist dropped, they do not say.

The End

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