I.
Death by reanimated corpses he could handle. Death by corpses in a Cardiff dungeon, on the other hand…
"Go down fighting, yeah?"
He looked down at her. "Yeah."
"Together?"
He gripped her hand. "I'm so glad I met you." He smiled, but it was mainly to cover the nausea that bit at his stomach. He had told her before a little of what he sensed; the turn of the earth, the pull of the stars. But he didn't tell her everything. He could feel space and see time, although those were inexact terms. He could easily say that he smelled space and that time pounded through his head like a bass drum. It didn't matter how he perceived it, only what he perceived.
She would go down fighting. The strength of dead hands would tear the iron bars apart like canvas. He would do his best to protect her, but their numbers would overwhelm him. He could feel her hand being ripped away. He was stronger and larger, and no stranger to a physical fight. But she only had schoolyard scraps to draw from, and the dead don't respond to pain. For a moment they would be separated, but a strangled cry would make him find her again.
A bearded man had his hands around her throat. Still she would fight. Her hands clawed his face even as her windpipe was crushed. Her struggles would weaken, and her last act would be to turn slightly, so she could see him out of the corner of her eye, and mouth, "Doctor," with blue lips.
She died with her eyes still open. And he knew that she didn't blame him at all.
He would feel pain; inside, outside, in his side, in his head, in his bones. He could feel the fire crawling beneath his skin, waiting to erupt. He wouldn't say her name, but would simply roar defiance when he was driven to the ground.
All this he could see. It was only a possibility, but the vividness meant it was almost real. Maybe the small details would change. Maybe she wouldn't die by strangulation, but she would still die. They both would, and join the legion of corpses to destroy the world.
He gripped her hand a little tighter.