Rassilon, even Rassilon, is straining now against the tide.
His fingers ball in his blood red robes; his icy eyes bleed frozen drops as he opens his mouth.
No sound. His mouth is too dry.
He tries to reach the Doctor telepathically, but for some reason, the man’s mind is tangled in a golden shroud- he cannot get in. Perhaps the Rose Ring is the cause of it…
A clicking noise erupts in his head; the automatic closure is beginning.
The great gears marry in tandem.
Click. Click. Click.
The aperture hisses shut.
Everything is easier all at once- abruptly. Precisely. Bodies tumble to the safety of the stairwell floors like blows.
But as Rassilon floats the last flailing Time Lord in his field of vision over to the safety of those stairwells, he remembers.
He remembers that someone is missing.
He roars to the edge to look over, and finds…