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Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Firefly


The Doctor flung the TARDIS doors shut, successfully separating his ears from the cheery fanfare of the distance. He continued around the console in a stormy silence, apparently oblivious to Clara's presence.

"Doctor?" she asked tenderly. She was afraid of what she might hear. "What happened?"

"The worst possible scenario," he retorted, tearing off his leather jacket and tossing it upon a nearby railing. "I won."

Clara resisted the urge to laugh. "How can that be bad?"

"Because we have a new problem that I would much rather - to be honest - not deal with."

"You are going to return to your eleventh self, aren't you?"

The Doctor gave her the shoulder. "Who wants to know."

Clara held her ground. Tightly. "Me. I promised him that I would get him back."

Suddenly, the Doctor rounded on her, a blaze roaring across his eyes. "Well, excuse me if I'm hurting your feelings. I have a deadly alien fugitive to find, an inter-dimensional nazi fleet to outsmart and a Drachlom circuit board to ingeniously hack! Give. Me. Some. Space!"

Clara's lip trembled as he once again turned away from her, his attention now fixed on a strange, black metal slab held in his hands. Art's head popped out from a doorway like an inquisitive meerkat. "Did someone say hack?"

The Doctor snorted. "Thanks kid, but I think this one's way out of your league."

Art's face fell, but the Doctor's lifted as he stumbled upon an ingenious, yet nefarious idea. "There is... something that you can help with, though."


"Doctor, I'm not... I'm not sure this is safe..."

The Doctor applied the second strap. "Nonsense, Arthur! I use it on myself all the time."

"And what... what is it again?"

After securing the third, the Doctor took a step back, and admired his impressive - if horrifically gothic (and definitely unsafe) - work. "The Brain-Attuning Realignment Configurator. Or BARC, for short. Yeah, I messed up the acronym on that one..."

"Doctor, I think he meant... What does it do?" Vastra stated.

"It attunes brainwaves. Couldn't you tell?"

Vastra put her hand on her scaly face, and sighed deeply. "This can't end well."

"We can only hope," the Doctor quipped, fastening the final strap and giving the helpless Art a thumbs-up. "Are you ready?"

Art had gone as green as the Incredible Hulk, and looked as though he was on the verge of vomiting. "No..."

"Then let's go!" The Doctor cried, throwing the obtusely-long switch and powering up the medieval torture device. Above the many cogs and gears, at the top of its carrot-like structure, a blue halo of electricity lit up. The entire spectacle was reminiscent of Frankenstein, minus the rough charm of Kenneth Branagh. Brain attunement had begun.

"What do you see?" The Doctor asked Art, alternating the direction of his gaze between his test subject and the black slab circuit board he had hooked him up to.

"Black..." Art muttered feebly. "... Blue..."

The Doctor hit the dial again; the blue halo grew brighter. "Now what?"

Art opened his eyes wide. "Ooh... ow... I can see... something..."

"What?"

"Pain."

"For god's sake..."

"OOOH NO!" Art exclaimed suddenly, shocking everyone in the room. "NO I DO SEE SOMETHING! A SPACESHIP!"

The Doctor nodded, taking notes in the infinite notepad that was his mind. "Good, good. Describe it."

"Big..."

"Uh-huh."

"Really big."

"How did you even graduate-"

"It's shaped kinda like a blimp. With loads of blue lines going down the back. There's something coming."

"What is it, Arthur?"

"I... don't know. It's... big-"

"Not this again."

"It's... it's a dragon!"

The Doctor's eyes lit up like twin lighthouses. "Describe the dragon for me, Arthur. And if you say 'big', I'll strangle you."

"Huge."

"Now we're getting somewhere..."

"It's got... three heads. And four wings!"

Millions of images rushed through the Doctor's head at once. Old foes and allies alike. Sorting through them would require at least a billion human secretaries. Or one Time Lord.

"Not Draconian," the Doctor deduced, two fingers in his ears and the rest pressing firmly upon his scalp. "Timewyrm? Unlikely. Weng-Chiang? Wrong century."

Art continued to ramble. "It's flying through space... and they're shooting it!"

"What colour is it Arthur?" The Doctor demanded, smacking his hand on the BARC repeatedly with Art still inside. "Quickly!"

"Uh." Art bit hard on his tongue, tasting blood. "Yellow. No Green! I can't... I can't see it."

"Why not?" yelled an angry Doctor. "Where is it?"

Art said nothing for a few moments, a stark contrast to the non-stop droning of a few minutes prior. "It's dead."

"What?"

"It's dead. They killed it."

"Are you sure?" The Doctor shouted.

"Yeah," Art whispered. "It wasn't doing anything..."

The Doctor closed his eyes and began to rub at his temples in annoyance. Vastra tried to lay a hand on his shoulder, but he shook her off.

"We know nothing!" The Doctor shouted, backhanding the BARC. "Stupid, useless, stinking piece of shi-"

"Wait."

Art had started to tremble, the blue halo lighting his face up like a christmas tree. "It's... alive again now."

"Are you sure it was dead before?"

"Positive. It's flying. It's flying... towards us. Towards Earth."

The Doctor stood up abruptly, knocking his chair flat on its back.

"I know what it is," he declared.

"Great..." Art murmured. "Can you get me out of this now?"


"And what's an Eternal?" Clara asked tiredly, hoping to have a better clarification than 'Something that lives forever.'

"The foundation of human culture," the Doctor replied rather boldly. "The Eternals live outside of the universe, and their appearances within it have been etched in legend; they are supposed to herald a great change. I don't buy it. In fact, I didn't know they even existed until today. Oh, and they can't be killed either."

"Thought so," Clara remarked, brushing her hair from her face while she thought. "So what did the Draculas want with it?"

"Drachlom," the Doctor corrected. "They're space bandits. Anything that they can hoard and sell for profit is fair gain. The scum of the universe, and now they're trying to get their hands on something from outside of it."

Clara paused. "Hang on, none of this even makes sense-"

"It rarely does."

"For a start, what is an Eternal doing... in the middle ages?"

"I don't know. I'm going to ask it."

The Doctor began walking, and Clara quickly darted in front of him like a moose on a Canadian road. "Let me come with you!"

"No. I'm meeting a god, Clara. It's strictly a one-on-one basis."

"Takes one to know one. Come on!" Clara protested. "Why do you even keep companions if you just lock them in the TARDIS?"

The Doctor shuddered violently in response to Clara's question, and he rounded on her with a ferocity that she still hadn't gotten used to. "I don't keep companions. I don't know what lover boy Doctor Eleven does, but I don't want anyone around... Not anymore."

Clara kicked her heels together in impatience. "And you say those things whilst wearing his face." She stood up close to Nine, making sure he saw the severity of her own making. "I want him back. Now. Your time has ended."

"No," Nine snarled, clenching his teeth and balling his fists. "It's just getting started!"

He followed up his verbal abuse with one of physicality, grabbing Clara by her dainty arm and tossing her against the side railings. Clara was winded upon impact, and she crumpled to the ground in a crestfallen state. Satisfied, the Doctor went towards the TARDIS doors, untroubled by the his companion's distress. Only when his hand graced the handle did a faint voice ring out, and stopped him in his tracks.

"Master," K9 bleeped, rolling forwards out of one of the adjoining corridors. "Mistress Clara has been harmed. Upon Directive 916 of your designated protocol, this unit is under orders to take vindictive action."

Any other Doctor would have abandoned his resolve at the sight of the adorable metal canine. But Nine had seen too much, and killed too many. He had forgotten everything that K9 was; and for that matter, everything that he was, and now K9 was only a few minor modifications away from a Dalek drone.

"Yeah?" Nine spat, cocking his head. "And how do you plan to do that?"

K9's ears twaddled as he spoke. "Master is acting above directives. Recommendation: disable and seek medical assistance."

Nine took his orange-glowing screwdriver from his top pocket.

"I think it's time to put you down," he whispered, unleashing the catch, and pointing it at K9.

"Master?"

The screwdriver burst into light, zapping K9 with millions of super-concentrated sonic waves. The robot stood no chance. Within seconds, smoke was rising from his ports. Within ten, he was completely disabled, and his frail head toppled from its rest, cracking as it smashed upon the TARDIS floor.

The Doctor turned his back on the friend he had just murdered with no remorse, and walked out of the door.


When Clara came to, all she could think of was the hand that had hurt her. The Doctor's hand. His hand, and his resolve. And then she didn't want to come to at all.

Smoke crept up her nasal passages, and hands shook her with a sense of urgency. Her deep, brown eyes flickered open and saw Art's concerned face right in front of her. He was looking as confused as she felt. He was asking her what had happened. She didn't know how to answer.

"The Doctor left," Art said, pushing her to try and rouse her. "River and Vastra went after him. Sir Reyes went with them. I think... I think Doctor might have gone crazy."

"What's that smell?" Clara coughed, allowing herself to be helped up, and resting on the same railings that had incapacitated her.

"Don't look," Art warned, but by then it was too late. She already had. And what she saw tore her patchwork-repaired heart clean in two.

"K9?" she whimpered, recognising the little robot dog only by his headless torso. "What...? Who...?" Tears brimmed on her eyes like a seal of cling film.

"I'm sorry," Art said, uncertain of what to say in the situation. "I don't know what happened."

Clara closed her waterlogged eyelids and breathed deeply, recovering her self-control impeccably. "I do," she replied. "It's his regenerative lapse. He said he needed to do it... to win that tournament... But it's taking him over. He's giving into his old self; the one corrupted by the Time War."

"The what?" Predictably, Art wasn't following.

"A battle he fought in ages ago, where he lost all his people."

"Sounds rough."

"It was." Clara kept her eyes tightly closed, and allowed her train of though to ride off of the rails. "I was there."

"You... You were?"

"Not physically. But I saw it in his mind... When we did the Serpengandr."

"You know, sometimes I think you make half of it up..."

"He knew the risks involved with Serpengandr. He did it to save me. And that's why he asked me to help bring him back!" Clara broke into a grin as he stumbled upon the answer. "I'm the only other person alive who has seen the Time War. He knew I could save him from it!"

"Can you?" Art enquired from behind his fogged spectacles.

"Yes!" Clara put her hands on Art's cheeks. "You did it, Art! I know what to do!"

Without even hesitating, Clara pressed her lips lightly to the startled geek's lips, sealing him with her gratitude. After about five seconds, she released him, dashing off down the nearest TARDIS corridor, and leaving Art with a face redder than a sunburnt Zygon.

"...Your welcome!" he called after her, resting his hand numbly on the railing.


The burned fields that the beast had laid siege to the previous day had grown to a state of quiet decay. A funeral atmosphere hung over each singed blade of grass. The occasional piece of ash blew as the wind gently touched it. A solitary crow squawked as it landed on a scarecrow that had miraculously survived the onslaught. As it began to peck away at its former bully, a figure came over the hill in the distance, and the detestable bird turned its head to take a look.

The Doctor in-turn watched the bird as it nestled its claws into the scarecrow's fabric shoulder. Then, an earth-quivering roar sounded from the distance, and both heads rotated to follow it. It was coming from a cave just off to the left.

As the Doctor approached the cave, he saw a grouping of charred corpses at its entrance. He quickly swung his coat sleeve over his nose so as to spare himself the revulsion. Immediately, he identified them as highwaymen by the fineness of their clothes and weapons.

Clearly, they had come to the wrong neighbourhood.

The cave entrance was strikingly similar to the one that had housed the Revenants, and the one where the Weeping Angels had made their homes. In theory, all caves looked the same, but there was something very familiar about all of it. Moss hung from the corners, in some cases clinging to jagged stalagmites decorating the roof like plaque on teeth.

Another roar shook the loose pebbles on the ground. The Doctor picked one up from the ground, and gave it a curious toss through the darkened entrance. A good few seconds passed until he heard it strike the ground at the end of the tunnel, followed by a deep, feral growl and a sharp intake of breath that scattered the remaining pebbles at the Doctor's feet. The cave wasn't as long as he had expected.

The first footprint stunned him slightly, but the second and third barely troubled him. Moving to the side just as the point of a well-defined snout jutted out, the Doctor clapped his hands together and prepared himself for a show.

The 'dragon' did not disappoint. During the thirty-forty seconds it took for the enormous beast to drag itself out of the cave's narrow entrance, the Doctor was privilege to a front-row view of its gigantic, quadruple set of leathery wings, and jagged spear-like teeth. Art had not been mistaken - the creature did indeed have three heads, but each seemed to have a personality of its own; be it a faint, distinctive glimmer in the eyes, or a slight variation in its plated armour of golden scales. For the first time in some while, he actually found himself mouth-agape at the sight of the magnificent beast.

"Well..." he whispered. "You are... fantastic."

The Eternal looked down at the Time Lord, and smiled toothily. /And you are a Doctor. But not one of medicine. Of the universe. Am I mistaken?/

The Doctor shook his head. The creature continued to speak, its voice so soft that it could tickle a feather to death.

/Good. Then we have the basis of a purpose to form a conversation. I am Drech-Theol, an Eternal. I presume you are familiar with us?/

"Only the fairytales. Why have you come to this universe."

/To deliver a warning. A warning to you, Doctor./

"You knew that I would be coming..."

/We always know. You must be told./

"And what is this message?"

/He is returning./

The Doctor stood deadly still. "Who?" he asked, not as a question, but as an indication that he wanted his suspicions confirmed by repetition.

/He./

"That's not possible. He's dead. I killed him. I sent him to hell along with the rest of them!"

/It is not possible to destroy that which never lived in the first place./

"When? How? When?"

/When the Fields of Trenzalore burn.../

The Doctor's blood ran colder than ice. His two hearts failed to function. He fell to his knees.

And then the voice came.

"Doctor."

It was a different voice. He looked up and saw that the Eternal was gone, vanished back into the dark space from which it came, and a hologramatic replica of his old adversary, the Black Knight, stood in its place.

"You have destroyed a Drachlom mech, stolen a classified circuit board, and abetted in the escape of a high value target. Your sentence is execution, to be carried out immediately."

The Doctor was barely in-focus, but the words 'sentence' and 'execution' stood out enough to make him rise to his feet.

The hologram disappeared, and mere moments after, a trio of actual mechs appeared, teleported in from the Drachlom mothership (that happened to look like a blimp). Instinctively, the Doctor's hand went to his pocket, and he grabbed his screwdriver tightly, comforted by the touch of familiarity in a hostile and strange world.

"Farewell," the first knight chirped, as its mechanisms whirred into life. Then, the knight raised its sword, and the Doctor raised his.


To be Continued in the 'Dark Knight of the Soul' conclusion, 'To Save Him From Himself'. Coming soon!