"If heroes do not exist, it is necessary to invent them. Good for public morale."

- Cardinal Borusa



No one should have to lose their heroes.

He left.

Without fanfare, he said his last farewell to the universe.

He saved everything without a thought for himself, and I don't think anyone even said thank you.

And then he did it again.

I really don't think he realised how important he was, to me, to everyone. Everyone he ever met. No one knows everything, but I know more than most. I know him.

It's hard to lose your heroes. It's difficult when you see them on their knees, eyes uncertain as they struggle with their sanity.

You have to look up to someone.

You have to strive to be better than you are.

Everyone needs heroes.

He lost his.

Lifetimes ago, a trip to a universe that should not have existed.

But heroes don't follow rules.

Heroes go mad.

He saw Omega, a shadow of Omega, begging for his freedom by destroying the universe. He saw him scream in realisation that he would be alone forever, his power leaving him entombed alive in an alien world of his own making.

Greatness crumbled to bitterness; brilliance twisted into insanity.

The power to create a universe, the power to destroy ours. A neat balance.

The power to create anything but freedom, but freedom was the reward given for saving us.

For destroying him.

I doubt the irony was lost on him when they ended his exile.

Just after he saw his hero fall.

Morbius was never a hero.

He inspired a fanatical following. Charisma, I suppose. A mere rebellious streak at first, a disregard for the rules.

I can see how that would have appealed to him.

All those new ideas, the energy, the excitement of change.

The sheer exhilaration of there being something so radically new and different.

But what about the pomp, complained the elder Time Lords.

The carnage came later.

Just before they tore Morbius into pieces.

Borusa was his mentor.

A brilliant orator, an inspired researcher. Fascinated by a universe that he could not contemplate touching.

He turned to politics to stop anyone else from doing so either.

A teacher, his friend. They saved Gallifrey together. He trusted Borusa when he had no one to trust.

He watched as Borusa cursed himself to live forever.

He watched in horror as he saw himself laugh at his own cleverness. Saw himself still bitter and resentful of his heritage, willing to make whatever sacrifices were needed to escape again.

He was given the Presidency.

But he always slipped from responsibility, from power.

He ran with a smile masking his face.

Easy to smile when you can run.

He killed Rassilon himself.

Zagreus killed him.

One last hero cast down.

What a perfect illusion Rassilon was.

And how much we needed him.

Rassilon created us as he condemned us to save himself.

The final nail in the coffin, I suppose. He liked Earth metaphors to excess.

He killed our maker as he realised that heroes didn't exist. We just have illusions created by time. How very precious they are, how fragile.

When he confronted them they shattered; admiration now only shards of pity, cutting at faith.

Then he turned on me.

He spoke with anger, fear and...hopelessness?

He knew that he had to leave.

And I said goodbye to my hero.

Because if I ever see him again, I'll have to kill him.