Phew, well this is one helluva a chapter, and yes I'll admit to being lazy for a few months and not writing anything (oops!), but here it is at last - Chapter 13. Seriously, if you are reading this still, then thank you for holding on so long. You are heroes! I have planned out the rest of the story in some form, and have realised that is going to be 17 chapters in all and of course the epilogue at the end, so not long now I hope! Anyway, happy reading, and look out for my next chapter 'The Wake of Devastation'. Enjoy!

Thirteen

Revelations

The last thing he vaguely remembered was trying to force his heavy eyelids to open, which he only succeeded in doing for a few moments, catching blurred glimpses of what must have been the ceiling and a blue light shining somewhere close by. He was being dragged across a hard surface that made his head pound with the discomfort of it, and briefly he could hear an fervent whispering that he had trouble deciding whether it had come from inside his own head or from whoever it was who had apparently captured him. To be honest with himself, he couldn't be bothered in the slightest to even begin thinking about what was happening. Instead, he let himself drift in dreamless darkness. Everything was at least partially comforting that way.

The Doctor was now groggy but awake, lying immobilised on the floor in some high-ceilinged hall, the architecture reminding him very much of the old-Earth cathedrals. The only huge difference was the silver panelling that swept across the walls and ceiling like a sparkling ocean, every reflection of light and flicker of movement rolling across the flawless surface like waves. It looked good enough to drink, to swim in…he'd only just realised how thirsty he really was…

Momentarily mesmerised by its relaxing effect, the Doctor had forgotten about listening to what one of the robots not far from him had been saying in its disturbingly enthusiastic voice. The other, as far as he knew, was silent, mute – an unwavering giant that served an insane orb of blue light.

It had suddenly occurred to him that Donna and the others had been pursued by two of these constructs. His stomach lurched forwards without him and his hearts burned with panic – what if they hadn't escaped? More importantly, if they had been caught, what would be their fate? An eternity as the thralls of a computer? That thought was almost too much to bear, so with every last reserve of strength he had, the Doctor tried to heave himself up off the ground. He got no further than a few inches. The invisible force gripped tighter, sending spasms of agonising pain shooting through his body as he was forced to the floor again. This exertion had gained the attention of the blue orb. It glided over to where the Doctor was lying out of breath and exhausted, hovering over his head with its one blue eye swivelling in the socket as it scrutinised his every reaction.

Never before had he felt so uncomfortable in the presence of a machine. Of course, he'd met many of them before, some simple servants with little to no free will of their own, but some that were far more advanced and capable of mimicking sentient actions and emotions. That was the key word: mimicking. As he gazed uneasily back at the orb, partly blinded by its dazzling light, he somehow saw intelligence within it, like the light was pouring words into his head. What was worse, he couldn't look away – couldn't break the spell that ensorcelled him in its almost pleading stare. For a moment, the Doctor had no doubts that what he was looking at was living, it had to be. The azure glow conveyed such a weighty load of emotions and torment unto him that his head began to spin.

At last it spoke, firm but with an undertone of excitement, like an old schoolmaster explaining a complex yet interesting concept to a little boy. "Doctor, I have waited a long time to see you – to see what you have become – and now here you are."

The Doctor found that he couldn't reply; even his jaw was paralysed.

"I apologise for the many tedious distractions along the way – that turncoat the Librarian, your friends, some old and some new – the transition should have gone smoother." It suddenly gave a manic titter that made the hairs on the back of the Doctor's neck stand up. Every decibel reeked of insanity. "Not that it matters! You shall not need them anymore, because now we have each other, just how it should be. Do you not agree, Doctor?"

The unseen bonds gradually loosened around his torso, and he was just about able to push himself up into a sitting position. The words that stumbled out of his mouth were unformed and slurred, as if he was only half alive, yet his mind was racing with questions that thirsted for answers. "You must be the Wordsmith? I'd shake your hand but perhaps you'd find that offending…"

The orb gave another giggle. "Still strong enough for humour I see? My, every mind I have filtered for scraps of information on you were right – you really are capable of incredible things, Doctor, some things more than others." He suddenly seemed to draw himself up to his full height – something that should have been impossible for a floating orb yet strangely wasn't – looking down on the Doctor with an indomitable sense of pride. "But yes, I am the Wordsmith, one of the last of my kind."

The Doctor frowned but also nodded at the same time, sympathising. "Ohhh, I know how that feels. The last of what, I wonder?"

"Strange…" The Wordsmith began, sounding almost disappointed at his lack of knowledge of him. "I thought you knew, a star-trotting individual such as yourself. When I look at you I see a man always running, always forgetting, and I wonder – was it worth it?"

The Doctor's eyes became hollow. He knew what the construct was asking but dare not believe it. "What?"

The Wordsmith blatantly ignored him and began pacing backwards and forwards, rambling like a mad soothsayer. "And your friend, the man who slaughtered thousands yet saved everything but the people he loved – do you think he found it worthwhile, with nothing to go home to, a slap round the face and an eternity of exile?" His voice started to deepen and contort, a red glow like the embers of a fire creeping into the light of his eye as an apparent fit of rage took hold. "Even your own flesh and blood – not quite dead yet, it seems – do you think that she thanked you when you ran, her body barely cold?" He gave a deranged sneer. "I have sifted through the confused memories of her mind and that of those who know her – do you think that I do not see a future? Denied happiness only to find it herself?"

The hint of red now became a burning crimson, glowing with such ferocity that it lit the silver panelling of the hall, casting everything in a hideous blood light. "And what of me? Ascended to glory only to be struck down in anguish and despair – do you not see why I do what I do? I AM the Wordsmith, the brain and the centre of the mechanism:" He surged forwards at the Doctor, so much so he was forced onto his back again, one hand held before his face as if to defend himself from the rage of the machine.

"I am a monument to all of your sins."

The Librarian awoke with a terrible screaming inside his head, full of anger so profound that he found himself shaking uncontrollably with terror. Nevertheless, he somehow felt a little different, lighter, as if the thoughts surging through his mind didn't have to be him – he was simply listening to them, reacting to them. He had control. Optical circuits still blurry, he gazed at his surroundings half-blind, and so was only half-aware of someone else being with him. His sensory nodes detected the unmistakable smell of oil and grease, something he was quite used to when overseeing the technical constructs of the planet, but he could also hear a deep rumble that slightly shook the floor. It was coming from somewhere nearby.

"Hello?" He ventured, reaching out with his hand to try and find anything that was remotely solid. All that replied was an ominous creak, so ancient and ghastly that it could have been a door in an abandoned house, swinging eerily on its rusted hinges. Anxiously staggering to his feet, the Librarian knocked the side of his head a few times with his hands, dispelling the disturbing whispers in the back of his mind but also restoring his vision. The source of the creak seemingly materialised before him.

"Oh my goodness!" He cried, half-afraid but mostly just surprised when he saw the hunk of monstrous metal sat in the centre of the storage room they were apparently hiding in. "Honestly, are you still here? I thought I'd ditched you at that catastrophe back there…"

As innocent as ever, the Cruncher couldn't possibly believe that her master was talking about her. He must have been hallucinating somehow, either that he was still confused. After all, she had saved him from certain destruction – their true leader, the mad one, would have destroyed him outright. Her mind was old, by many millennia even, but she could still see – hear – the fury in his head, so powerful that it would have shattered her completely if she hadn't have grabbed the Librarian with her apparatus and sped away as fast as her tracks could carry them. She liked to think that they had gotten away without the Wordsmith or his servants noticing, but even she knew that to believe that would be stupid. Her master was vigilant, freakishly so, and he would stop at nothing until the entire planet was once more under his heel.

The Librarian was still ranting in her face, his voice too loud for comfort: "…and how did you manage to escape from the scrap disposal area anyway? I thought you were programmed to forget that there was an access point down there?" A bulky, scoop-like appendage rose from the Cruncher's feeble frame and covered where his mouth should have been, trying in vain to shut the babbling robot up. "Get that filthy thing away from me!" He batted it away, momentarily panicked by her bold action. "You have no idea how easy it is to stain white with your…your dirtiness!"

So he was talking about her. Suddenly she felt ashamed to be in his presence, and to have behaved so rashly. She was the servant, he was the master – why had she been so stupid again and forgotten something as important as that? Obviously, she was too frightening to be up here with the more sophisticated constructs. She was designed to destroy, to reduce things to nothing. Being scary was inevitable.

The Librarian seemed to notice her disappointment as she backed off a little bit, giving off a terrible chuffing noise like a sobbing child would make. A strange feeling came over him. He took a couple of steps towards her, hand held out as if to pat her apologetically. Instead it just hung in mid-air uselessly. "Uhhmm…look, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. It's obvious that you saved my existence from a potentially nasty situation, and I'm much obliged. It's just that…" He struggled to find the right words as she looked at him expectantly with those rusty headlamps. "Well, you are a little bit scary. You are the ender of all constructs on this planet, and well, the others aren't exactly going to warm up to you the way I am…" He corrected what he had said, coming over all self-conscious, "…because I need you, not because I like you or anything…"

Amazingly, this helped. The Cruncher cheered up immensely at his words, clacking her instruments together with delight.

"Good. Now that we've got that awkward moment out of the way and settled our huge differences, we can carry on with the task at hand." He gazed around the walls of the room, peering past metal crates and stacked up silver panels in his search for something. Almost immediately he spotted it; a plaque on the wall above the door that was adorned with a symbol – a line of hexagons that crossed through a circle with two indentations. "We're in Storage Room Twelve, which means that we're still not that far from the secondary control centre…" He sighed. "…but also not far from the Wordsmith and the Sharndrix horde. It's like being wedged in between two rocks, isn't it? Ready to be squeezed to death by both armies."

The Cruncher suddenly pointed in the direction of the doorway with one of her more delicate claws, ushering the Librarian behind a crate with another. This one movement was so urgent that he did not object once to being touched this time. Very carefully so as to avoid causing any noise with her rusted joints, she put the claw up to her bladed jaws, looking at him for silence but also approval, as if she was scared that she was somehow not doing the right thing. He nodded slowly at her when he saw the hulk that prowled down the corridor outside, its glowing eyes scanning every inch of the area with meticulous precision. For a couple of seconds the jet black construct turned its gaze on the storeroom, and the Librarian thought that he felt his metal heart stop with sheer terror alone. Just as he expected it to stride towards them, the dreaded spear brandished and ready to strike, it relinquished its search and continued down the corridor, obviously unaware of their presence.

Only when he was sure that it was gone, the Librarian resumed speaking, sticking to a minimum whisper just in case. "Ok, I have an idea that is probably going to get us caught and destroyed, but if we pull it off, it is the best hope this planet and all its occupants have of survival. Forget the secondary control centre – it was merely a means to an end, and the path is more than likely too dangerous to pursue now. We will trigger something that will truly turn the tide, and that is the Neural Command Relay." For a moment he paused, seeming quite surprised with himself. "How do I know that? It is forbidden, erased from me like the access point in the cavern should be with you…so how can I know what it is?" He felt a surge of fury in his mind again, more desperate and frustrated this time…almost as if his master was trying to erase the memory from his mind himself…

He brushed it off. It was not what he was really feeling, so why would he care? He shook his head to get rid of the thought. "Never mind. Let's get going before that bodyguard of the Wordsmith returns. If we're careful we can follow on behind it at a safe distance."

Gingerly, and jumping at every shadow that played across the walls, they both set off down the corridor, making sure to keep to a steady pace so as not to run into the robot that was pursuing them. At first it went well. Occasionally they would come across one or two technicians that they had to duck out of sight from, for fear of them seeing the Cruncher and raising the alarm, but even then the Librarian could see that they were terrified. A few of them were shaking, muttering to each other in barely perceptible whispers as they tried to go about their work. The bodyguard had been here. Very rarely did a construct on the planet ever see one of these massive robots – if they did then it was never for a good reason. Someone was going to be destroyed on the orders of the Wordsmith, and the Librarian knew utterly and completely that it was him. Perhaps even the robots that he had once worked compliantly with knew as well? If so, would they give him up on sight? He was free; they were probably not.

Regardless of the infuriating setbacks, both the Librarian and the Cruncher made good progress out of the storeroom corridors and into the more active area of the planet: the control complex. They were met with what seemed to be a disaster area. Cables and wiring, silver panels that were ripped from the wall and the desiccated corpses of several robots – some of them the security centaurs in their golden suits – were strewn across the floor in disorganised heaps. Only the odd Sharndrix body was present amongst the carnage, their orange blood that the Doctor had identified as a poison collecting in large, splattered pools.

"There's been a battle here, most likely not long ago," The Librarian said, trying to avoid the sparking wires and acidic blood as he carefully tread his way towards the primary control centre. "I hadn't anticipated the Sharndrix getting this far though…I don't know whether to see it as a curse or a blessing to our plans."

The Cruncher simply shook at the prospect of meeting the savage creatures again. She had helped her new friend, Jack, fight them off when leaving the canyon, and even the sensation of touching their foul flesh became unbearable. If she was a so called 'devil', then what did that make these creatures?

Both robots rounded the corner into the primary control centre, which seemed to have been completely abandoned – a huge contrast to the scene earlier, when swarms of robots had been panicking at the ship crash landing on the planet above them. Now, the glass computer screens on the walls were shattered, the once clean, white panelling pocketed with shards of Sharndrix bullets and scorched black with deflected laser beams. No matter how bad it looked, the Librarian simply didn't care anymore. Before he was free, he would have worried himself to no end about how disorganised things were, and that no work was being done to clean the situation up. He would have berated his fellows, but now all he cared about was setting them free too. He knew exactly where he was going now, an image in his mind of long forgotten schematics blazing before his eyes, seemingly melding with his surroundings.

It was incredible that something so vital, so important to the Wordsmith retaining his control, was planted beneath them the whole time. If it hadn't have been for the Wordsmith bringing the Doctor and his friends here in the first place, they might never have found it for all of eternity, and the universe would be swallowed whole by their master's obsession.

The Librarian was there now, in the centre of the room, reaching down to release a doorway that had not been opened since the planet's inception.

The Wordsmith's blind fury had ended as quickly as it had come, the burning red glow returning to its normal blue within seconds of him uttering that strange – yet all too familiar – message. He backed off from the Doctor, not in the slightest bit perturbed by his sudden outburst like the Librarian had been. In this construct, there was no remorse, just desperation. The Doctor sat upright again, dumbfounded, his arm still hanging before his face in shock and the words that the Wordsmith had spoken still replaying in his mind. He frowned. "You…you mean me?"

The Wordsmith said nothing. He just sat there in mid-air, staring at him expectantly, as if daring him to figure it out for himself.

"All this time, even when you spoke through the Librarian…you meant me? Why?" He demanded, anger flashing across his face.

The Wordsmith simply sighed, seemingly disappointed. "Oh dear, Doctor, I thought that it might be obvious, what with that brilliant mind of yours."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it! I'm very, very clever, but not clever enough to see who you really are. So just stop these games and tell me!"

"Fair enough, Doctor, but I already have." The Wordsmith glided away from him and in the direction of a dilapidated heap of metal on the floor. It looked to be several steel bars connected together and choked with wires – vaguely in the shape of a body. Only in scant locations, such as the arms, legs and a single point on the chest, was there any form of plating to cover the mess of tangles beneath. Immediately the Wordsmith looked in the direction of his arachnid servant, who until now had been stood there perfectly still, just watching. "Have the drones repaired it?" There was an edge of impatience in his voice, enough to make the other construct wriggle a bit with what must have been discomfort. All it gave was a quick, single nod.

Satisfied, the Wordsmith positioned himself over the top of the heap and started, somehow, to pull it up into a standing stance. It seemingly moved by itself, the gangly arms drooping along the floor like a gorilla's before eventually swinging at the body's sides. The Doctor knew, however, that what the Wordsmith was using was similar to the technology that held him captive. "You remember that I said, quite literally just a minute beforehand, that 'I am the brain, and the centre of the mechanism?'" He giggled, obviously quite amused with the idea that he was being cleverer than the Doctor. "Well, that is truer than you might have originally thought, Doctor! After all, what is a brain, other than an organic computer?"

Aghast, the Doctor watched as the orb that was the Wordsmith floated downwards to meet the base of the body's neck, a series of fine-tuned clicks signalling that the head had connected. The Doctor knew what was going to be revealed before the now gigantic construct before him had done anything. Still giggling under his breath, the Wordsmith gave an almighty hiss, not too dissimilar to the sound given off by a braking truck, as the silvery blue form of the orb split vertically in half, gradually revealing what was within. He literally was a brain. Sat in the centre, fleshy and wet, prodded and wreathed in wires and neural relays, was a brain, as grey as an overcast day.

The Doctor felt numb, no, disgusted at what he saw. Organic life mixed with artificial technology, with the possibility of keeping him alive forever to stew in his insanity, tearing the universe apart at every delusional whim – it was wrong. The strangest thought was that he used to be a living, sentient being, probably very intelligent with an incredible talent, but nevertheless, perfectly sane. Time alone had obviously unhinged him, and the Doctor wondered how much choice he really had in becoming a metal giant. Suddenly, the bonds holding him in place seemed to fade away, and the Doctor found himself being able to stand up on his feet, albeit with a slight wobble. The Wordsmith treaded towards him in great thunderous steps, brain still exposed and the plates on his body shimmering with the same intricate patterns of the silver panelling found around the planet. He spoke, his voice strangely grave. "I am you, Doctor. Not you, the person, but you, the species."

The Doctor's reaction was initially a confused one, verging on panic, but with a seething anger boiling beneath the surface. "But you can't be! You're all dead! I committed to that act myself. I should know!"

"So you should, Doctor, but I clearly said that I was one of the last of my kind. We both are the last."His head immediately closed, the orb becoming one once again. Despite this, the Doctor did not find it any easier to talk with the robot – person – in front of him, now impossibly real. His head spun with disbelief, but he knew at that point that he was just as deluded as the Wordsmith.

"How did you escape the Time War?"

"Escape? I do not remember…I was merely a child at the time…so young and very confused. I know not the details, the science or the meaning behind my parent's departure, but we simply left. What else matters to a child but the reassurance that they will live?" The Wordsmith seemed to notice the fury flickering like a flame across the Doctor's face. "I know what you are thinking, Doctor. You are thinking whether I brought you here for revenge or not, and whether I am taking out my grief on the universe." He gave a small, almost depressed, titter. "Do not fool yourself with such stupidity. Do you think I have time for petty grievances? I was working…until the true end of our race of course. Now I honour them."

The Doctor pulled a disgusted face. "Yes. Honouring them by ripping apart creation! Is that what you call honour?"

"Is it what YOU call honour, Doctor? I could quite easily turn that question on you. You admitted a mere moment ago that you destroyed our race."

"To end the war! It would have ripped apart creation anyway, so I stopped it!" The Doctor was now seething. At that moment, nothing in the universe could make him falter in his belief that what he had done was right. All of the doubt over the years simply melted away in the face of the lunatic. "You should try it – standing there at the edge of the Great Cataclysm, planets ravaged by the time winds, and the vortex opening before you – would you have erased it?"

There was a long pause as the Wordsmith thought over the Doctor's words. Eventually he came to an answer. "No. It is part of the universe's history, and does not deserve to be locked away. It would be the greatest of stories…if only I could reach it…"

"Why?" The Doctor frantically shook his head, shocked and strangely awed at how far gone he really was. The Librarian had been right – he truly was beyond help, but still the Doctor pushed on through the insanity, trying to find some point that mellowed the Wordsmith's disturbing infatuation with reality. "What is it with you and these…stories? Is it really worth destroying everything?"

"Yes, because I will never be alone again!"

"Think about it for second! Once you've got everything in your grasp – trapped within this planet of yours – what are you going to do then?" He noticed the Wordsmith sit up at this, almost confused.

"I will look upon it of course. Creation is mine."

"But once you've seen everything, and trust me that will take until this planet has crashed down around your ears, what will you do then? You'll get bored. Nothing to do, no one to talk to, you'll be completely alone in an empty universe. Then what, hm?"

Silence.

"Unless you stop this now and send everyone back, you'll be on your own forever, and then no one can save you from it."

This was probably the wrong thing to say. The Wordsmith's light started to turn red again as he became more hostile, his voice contorting. "Was that a threat, Doctor? Are you trying to bend me to your will?" He took a step closer, bending down so that the fiery glow of his face was nearly pressed right up to the Doctor's. The rumble of his voice vibrated throughout his body, shaking even the floor with its pitch. "Because I will tell you this, Doctor – I am much, much better than you, no matter how much I tried to idolise you as a great story in the past. I am the Wordsmith, chosen by my people before their final doom to spread hope; to bring them joy after what YOU did to them – to ME. YOU made me what I am, I am a monument to YOU, and still you cannot see that. Then you blatantly come after my world and threaten to destroy it? How many more, Doctor? I would have thought that one planet was enough!"

The Doctor faced him valiantly, returning his mad gaze as calmly as his raging nerves could. "I'm not here to destroy the planet; there are far too many people and robots here worth saving. I'm here to stop you, and give you a chance."

"What chance? We are one and the same, Doctor, no matter how different we look or approach things. We are both on our own – I offer you eternal life with me, so that we may never be alone again. You offer me – what? A chance to give up everything I have worked for and end my own life because you deem it wretched? I think not."

At that point the arachnid construct was closing in on the Doctor, probably given some mute command by the Wordsmith. Talking had obviously finished. Instinctively, the Doctor dove into the inside pocket of his suit, pulling out the sonic screwdriver and pointing it at the head of the Wordsmith. There was a burst of sonic energy, surprisingly blinding as it hit…nothing. A blue shield erupted from the plating of his metal frame, deflecting the blast back into the sonic screwdriver.

It gave a short fizz as sparks flew from the end in a mini fireworks display, the Doctor dropping it from the electric shock. It wasn't broken, just shorted out, but now he knew that he was completely defenceless. By now, the Wordsmith's servant was upon him, the glowing gold spear radiating bright light that seemed to coil itself around him like a snake, once again rendering him paralysed. He was now on the floor, writhing around to try and find an escape that he knew was simply not there. The bonds tightened, restricting his breathing like it had the last time. Just as he saw black shadows creeping into his vision, the Wordsmith hunched over his prone body, looking at him…apologetically? The redness in his eye had gone – returned to its usual blue – but there was something else in his gaze, something sentient that couldn't be transcribed through an artificial face. It required expressions, but he did not have those, and so the Doctor found himself – despite his hatred for him in light of the recent revelations – pitying the creature, because he could never do anything like that again.

The Wordsmith spoke, his voice mellowed with what must have been the hollow compassion of an insane Time Lord. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but this is the only way. Someday, you will understand why I do what I do."

With those words, the Doctor passed out.

In a flash of brilliant light, the door that the Librarian had activated swirled open in a spiral, revealing a series of polished white steps that led down into a small room, barely big enough to accommodate one robot. He tingled with anticipation. There it was – the key to freedom – built into the computer that encircled the entire circumference of the room. "This is it." He said to the Cruncher, who was anxiously waiting at his heels, her engine giving off great clunks of nervous energy. "It may take a few minutes to recalibrate it, because to be honest I'm not completely sure how it works. Keep watch for me, and if you see anything," His voice dropped to a grim tone as he gave her a sideways glance. "Then fight like you've never fought before."

This time, the Cruncher didn't find his words very reassuring at all. She began to shake at the prospect of facing the same violence that she had in the cavern – having to fight in the dark, not knowing what it was she was hitting and knowing that at any moment she could be ripped apart – but nevertheless she took her position in front of the opening in the floor, waiting for something to come and threaten her master as he typed away at the console. For a moment she marvelled at the speed in which his delicately shaped fingers skimmed across the many symbols on the display, and the way his eyes completely focused on the task at hand. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she suddenly felt an unusual feeling sweep over her, certainly one that she had never experienced before. She felt trust, courage, and determination all at once, and so when she saw the mechanical beast with eight legs that furiously skidded into the control room, she did not falter.

It balanced itself with the spear, the end of the metal digging great gouges in the floor in an attempt to stop the bulky robot. Coming to a halt no more than a dozen metres away from her, its eyes just glared at the hole in the floor. It did not seem to care that there was another robot in front of it, claws raised in defence; there was just the protocol embedded deep within its mind to protect the place at any cost, and of course, to destroy the robot tampering with it from within. Then it charged with petrifying speed. Seconds before it impacted against her feeble frame, the Cruncher was terrified once more. The blow was so tremendous – so much more than she was – that the ferocity and skill behind the construct's power was bewildering. It had obviously realised by now that she was a hindrance to its plans, so it swept at her with the spear, ripping off centuries old equipment with a single swipe. She had no choice but to retaliate.

One of her largest claws – the one she usually reserved for destroying robots of this one's size – whipped out with a grating squeal and latched itself around one of its arms, the metal beneath warping and snapping under the immense pressure of being crushed. Now she could sense its fear. It was scared of her because it knew what she was, but this only made it fight harder. One more swipe with the spear rendered one of her other claws useless as it tried to get a grip around the robot's neck. In the next instant, she was sent reeling backwards by a blast of energy from the spear's glowing tip. Tracks moving without her, the Cruncher watched aghast as the construct turned its attention away from her and towards the hole the Librarian was working in. Before she could gather her senses, she noticed it reach down into the room, and with one hand pull out the struggling figure of the Librarian, so small in comparison to the fist that encompassed his entire middle.

For the first time, she heard it speak, the spear threateningly pointed in her direction. "YOU WILL SUMBIT!" It bellowed in a deep, furious tone.

The Cruncher had no choice – every move she made, be it the slight roll of a headlight or flicker of a claw, seemingly compelled the robot to squeeze even tighter around the Librarian's body. Trying not to move was impossible, as the terror that lit up his blue eyes manifested itself in her mainframe, forcing her to shake. With an awful feeling of hopelessness, she realised that he was going to be crushed in the vice-like grip of the arachnid construct, regardless of whether they both submitted or not. She might even be next. The robot confirmed her suspicions: "ORDERS ARE SUMMARARY TERMINATION. YOU WILL NOT RESIST."

Just as the Cruncher heard the first terrible crack of the Librarian's white chest plate splitting down the middle, another noise drowned it out. There was a wailing screech from somewhere nearby, but this was different from the usual ones they had heard in the caverns – this one was new and unformed, but still carrying that hint of monstrous brutality that set the Cruncher's tracks on edge. She wanted to run, but the sight of the Librarian, the closest friend she had right now, was enough to keep her where she was. Alarmed by the sound, the robot that held the Librarian like a limp rag-doll forgot its orders for a moment, but that was all the time they needed.

The room was suddenly flooded with wet, glistening bodies, covered in slime so putrid that it made the grease covering the Cruncher's metal frame seem lovely. Sharndrix; hordes of them, but these were tiny, fresh, and only recently hatched. Some must have been no more than a minute old, and still covered in the residue of their birth. Already, their ferocity was shocking. The more there were that swarmed, the more savage they became, climbing the legs and eventually the torso of the Wordsmith's bodyguard, their sharp teeth feebly trying to gouge out the metal in a mad bid to get inside it. The Cruncher surged forwards through the fray, knocking aside any that tried to attack her and squishing a lot of them under her tracks. The room was suddenly a wild spray of orange blood and chaotic screeches. For at least a minute she searched the floor to try and find the Librarian under the mass of bodies, avoiding the flailing limbs of the robot as it tried to fight off the insects.

Then, just as she was starting to panic, she saw him crawling towards the hole in the floor, swinging his fists at anything that tried to maul him. His job was not yet done. The Cruncher reached out with a claw to scoop the weakening robot up and placed him at the foot of the computer console in the underground room. The insect horde grew stronger with each passing second, and like a plague of mad rats latched themselves onto anything they deemed to have life. Evidently, that included the Cruncher's rusted form. She could feel no pain as their teeth tore at the metal, this much was obvious, but a great feeling of despair overwhelmed her when she realised that eventually they would tear her apart. She could do nothing about it. Her wild swings were becoming almost as frantic as the arachnid robot's, who had resorted to rolling about the floor in a fit of uncontrollable frenzy. Meanwhile the Librarian typed away at the console with just one hand – the other was feverishly clutching one side of his broken chest. A clear liquid seemed to spill from a particularly gaping gap, seeping over his hand and dripping to the floor to form a small puddle.

Then it came. The algorithm unlocked, and a hatch opened up above the console to reveal a circular blue light; the neural command relay, in all of its frankly unimpressive majesty, was just a lump of glowing machinery sitting in a cupboard underground. But its vitality to his plans urged him onwards. With one mighty gasp, the Librarian wrenched it from its resting place, pulling apart wires and nodes that had been untouched for millennia. There was a fizz of sparks, the computer console blanking out into nothingness, and then the inevitable scream in his head as the rage of the Wordsmith realised his control over everything had come to an end.

All at once, every construct on the planet had torn off their leashes to run free.