Challenge: The word 'sick.'
Finite
Time infected them all. Slick and insidious and driving them towards death, the pores of the universe were clogged with its presence.
Consequences were irrelevant: the Master had seen the end, and it was a sick, infinitely hot crunch of matter when there was no one left to hear.
So he indulged in all the darkness of his soul, letting his desires have free reign. He no longer cared for power: he wanted destruction. If he did not bring death, the universe would. At least he could take pleasure from the blood the spilt; at least he gave it purpose.