Prologue: The Drums of War
"You always expect me to run away! I always run away, well I'm tired of running! This is my stand!"
The Master's head pounded viciously, the beating of the drums nearly drowned out by the persistent aching thud in his ears.
He stumbled out into the street, left hand to his head, right hand reaching out into the darkness.
If he didn't move quickly it would be too late.
"Damn it!"
Knees buckled and the Master felt the cold of wet pavement against his fiery skin. Blood soaked fingers grasped for a hold, he would drag himself there if he had to.
Blood, his blood, dark and swirling, taunted him as it was swept away by the current of water on the street.
It didn't matter, not now.
He caught a glimpse of the watch on his wrist, three minutes; he had three minutes to get there; three minutes before everything was lost.
Three Minutes.