Chapter 7:
The Master dragged the weighted body down the corridors of the Naismith Mansion. He'd waited his time to get to The Doctor, the drums louder than ever demanding its revenge. He could feel them calling him, every beat, drumming so loud that they drowned out the sound of his own hearts. A rhythm of four that had dictated his life since he was a child, sent him mad and tore away his insanity till there was nothing more than a shred of his soul. He hated them but they had made him who he was, to get rid them would be like biting the hand that fed him. But they hurt so much; he couldn't keep them under control. He needed to control and bite and poison and strangle and kill and kill... Everyone! Every single weak decrepit little human would be torn and mutilated in front of their failed saviour, just to make him feel a fraction of his pain; of his the infinite burden. Then, maybe, he'd stop. When they were as damaged and desolate as each other. War-stricken orphans refuging on the planet of a lesser species. Then maybe. But now was not enough to just let it all melt away.
He threw The Doctor's body across the room and into the centre of the grand hall. His body plummeting to the ground, before his arms would respond to his body's pleading form. His face crashed into the bloodstained floor as his nose cracked and reopened his bleeding lips.
The Doctor's limp form rustled into timid existence. He turned his body to face him, arms pulling him forward brushing his legs beneath his deadweight. With slow ragged breaths, he hauled himself upon his good leg, then raised the other. Pain shot up spine, as he motioned his broken limb into a crooked stand. But his knees gave away, and he fell instantly. The Doctor shattered down towards the ground, but out of nowhere The Master's hand caught him before he fell.
Without remorse, The Master took his free hand, tangled it into The Doctor's dirt-ridden unruly hair and wrenched his head up. 'Lesson number 1: We write our own history, Doctor. Embrace it. Pain is GOOD.' He sneered wickedly into The Doctor's straining ear. 'So how about I show you how this is going to work.'
In an instant, The Master began throttling his sparking fist into The Doctor's chest, repeatedly. With each blow the suit withered away, the last defence from The Doctor's skin ruthlessly torn away. Each strike formed a dark bruise, upon his chest, skin smouldering, burnt and blackened by the sparks. The Doctor's heavy gasps were barely audible over the unwavering sound of fists connecting with flesh, as The Master's kicks joined the brutal battle, pounding out a constant driving rhythm of four against The Doctor's wounded body. Rivulets of blood poured out from the deeper bruises, a small puddle growing on the marble floor.
The Master stared, pitilessly, still holding onto The Doctor's dishevelled hair. His eyes trailed over The Doctor's body. His open shirt had shredded away to reveal his pale skin chest rasping deeply, marked with scours of pink purpling bruises. His skin burnt, smouldering flesh still cooking like a blackened barbeque. The Master breathed over him, dragging in the scented air ravenously. His eyes still poured over The Doctor's scorched body, titling his head as though for a better view.
He could feel his chest come alight with pain. Every cell of his body, screamed out to his mind. The energy had faded, regressing into a small burning split reminiscing beneath his wounds. It hurt for him to breath; his rising chest inched forward punishingly, rasping for air. He watched The Master's eyes shadow over his form, waiting for another attack. The Master was too captivated in burning flesh to see the growing fear in his enemy's eyes as he brought his free hand out and gently pressured it over The Doctor's wounds, circling the edges of his crisp skin. The Doctor hissed under the touch, flinching as the fingers prodded at his flesh.
With a quick pace, The Master lunged a finger into his open wound, his nail biting at the flesh surrounding it. The Doctor couldn't hold his screams, as they escaped his lips tearing through the walls of the mansion. The Master finger pursed deeper and the cries grew louder, until The Doctor began to fade. Removing his finger, The Master watched.
Then without a shred of remorse, he threw up The Doctor's head and caught him by the neck. He fell lifelessly into The Master rigid grip. Tightening his hand, he watched The Doctor gasp for breath, and smiled as he returned to him alert and awakened. The Doctor's pain grew up his throat, his eyes widened with the loss of air, starving his body. He opened his mouth to form silent pleas that never reached The Master's ear. Pulling back an arm, The Master swung his crackling fist towards his skull and let the battered form fall from his hands. Another river of blood joined the ever-growing pool of dark crimson liquid. The Doctor's head bounced like a coconut off the floor, spilling out more blood.
'You see it now, Doctor, don't you? I was right.' The Master spoke callously; fully aware of The Doctor's condition as he circling the tired form sprawled across the floor. 'The drums are real. It's a message, my calling. My history.' He phased into his skeletal form, jerking with residual energy.
'I can help,' The Doctor croaked hopelessly, building his energy as he pushed himself onto his knees, his broken leg screaming in revolt. 'Let me help you.'
'No Doctor, I don't need your help,' The Master bounced down to The Doctor's level, pouting at him, 'in fact, you're only getting in my way.' He pushed The Doctor to the floor with ease, raising himself to his full height to tower him.
'Then why not kill me now?' The Doctor asked, a hint of sarcasm growing in his voice.
'I might do.' The Master smiled at the fear his words instilled in The Doctor, ' BUT. Then there wouldn't be any fun. Besides I still need something from you.'
'What?'
He pushed his hands smoothly into his pocket, and leaned forward.
'Your TARDIS.'
