Fire
It lights up, a ball of pain that turns the orange sky blood red. Every second, the blaze stretches farther. Every second a hundred fall screaming. He's panicking, but he doesn't care. His planet is going up in flames. He had a choice: The universe, or his race. He chose to let them burn.
"Don't you dare." Rassilon had said, as he presses down on the flashing red button. The almighty Time Lord looks so weak. His own blood surrounds him, a pool of orange. One of his hands is completely gone, only a stub and an array of burns in its place. Blood drips from the corner of his mouth. He's lost all of his hair to the flames. He's already got slight waves of regeneration energy pouring out of him. The only intimidating thing left is the steely cold eyes that make him want to hurl every time he sees them.
He knows that he must not look any better. He's already been hit by a stray laser. Twice. He's bleeding profusely from his left side. He can only see out of one eye. A metal shard is still gauged in the other. His hands can't pry it out. They're covered in too much blood. And his gaze isn't cold. He knows it isn't. He's petrified. It's a miracle he doesn't break down and cry at the other man's feet.
"I had to." His voice cracks. Rassilon looks at him like he's the dirt under his shoe.
Like he's worse than the Daleks.
One of the creatures explodes, fragments of its shell flying through the air. Rassilon winces as a piece lodges itself into his left leg.
"This is your fault! You could have prevented this," The fire is getting closer and closer. He doesn't want to die. He shouldn't die now. But it's his fault. "You were supposed to destroy them all at their creation!" The Founder of Time Lord society screams.
"You think I don't know that?" He's screaming now, and he doesn't care. The four words echo through his head like the cruelest mantra in history. 'This is your fault!' It is, it will always be. This is his fault. He's going to kill them. He's going to die with them.
Don't let me die. I'm too young to die.
857. He's young, so utterly young compared to the 10,000 year old Time Lord that walk- used to walk this planet. There's so much more to do. There's so much more to see. Is this the end? Is he supposed to burn with the people he executed.
He used to think he'd die in a more heroic way.
"You had to come up with that stupid idea! Burn the universe to save one race?" He's angry. He's fire. He'll burn you.
"It would have saved our race. Your own people! This is your fault! You could have been a god!"
"Look at yourself, look at what you've become. Ready to destroy the universe just so you could live. What kind of sick psychopath would even consider that. I saved them. I saved everyone. I saved them from you."
"Everyone, but your own. You couldn't save them, could you, Doctor." His name is spat with such distaste that he visibly flinches. "Not much of one you turned out to be. You couldn't heal any of them. You might as well have called yourself the Undertaker." It hurts to hear that. This entire conversation hurts. He's like a child again, being screamed at for setting the President's cat on fire. Only this time it's not a cat that lit up. It's his world.
Rassilon is furious. His anger lines every ounce of his body. Yet unlike his enemy, his breathing is still controlled. His gaze is still steel. He's as cold as ice.
They're two opposites. They'll die at war. They've been at war since before he was even born. Fire and ice. One burns cold, the other hot. They're natural enemies. It was destined to be like this. They were destined to die like this.
"You claim you're a good man. Good men carry guilt," Rassilon's voice is still angry, but it's quieter now. As if he's delivering a death sentence to a man already judged guilty. "Live with that guilt. Last of the Time Lords." His eyes widen. His hearts skip a beat at those words. He's not going to do this. This terrible punishment. He can't.
At least he won't die.
He doesn't doubt for a second that his opposition can do this. He's rewritten the laws of time before. He can send one man out of the Last Great Time War with a single thought. He wishes that he won't.
He looks at the flames coating the planet. In seconds it'll be completely engulfed. A Dalek falls into it, screaming as it's shell overheats, burning the inside. The screams of his fellow Gallifreyans will live in his ears for as long as he lives.
And then he's staring at the walls of his TARDIS. She's carrying him away. Outside the ship Rassilon is smirking, just as the blaze reaches him.
The Doctor blinks.
Then he's at the doors, pounding against them. He begs her. He screams. His cries of 'Let me out! No! Don't do this! Let me burn! Let me out! Let me die!' go unnoticed by the ship as she takes him away.
He doesn't know how long he pounds against those doors before he feels that fire rise inside him. He closes his eyes one last time, before he's covered in fire.
Fire. It'll follow him. He knows it. His body burns with it. An excess of flames. It'll burn behind his eyelids forever.
When he opens those eyes again, he's a new man.
When he opens those eyes again, he's the last.