Jack
Couldn't work out for the life of him how he'd gotten separated from the others.
He had tumbled through the door of High Keep right behind Rose and Blackburn, who in turn entered no less than a second after the troops, and then...and then, what? He strained to remember, but could recall only the briefest moment of darkness, before the world span into focus and he was standing, alone in the dining hall where he'd spent so long these past months. The Tardis was there, and having a key in his possession, he longed to get in and stay there, perhaps even try to fly it himself to safety.
Once upon a time, he'd have done just that; in days gone by, he was naught but a common crook with a slim conscience and an attitude of staunch self-preservation, whatever the costs. He was never sure, as a young man, what he was looking for, what he was after...he craved life, yet wasted that life in the most disgraceful of manners, drinking with shysters and swindling people, breaking hearts everywhere he went.
But that wasn't him. Not any longer. As such, he walked right on past the Tardis, gun pointed out before him, treading softly on the flagstones.
"I know your here," he called out. "Come on! Come on out!"
No answer. But Jack knew where he was headed, and suspected that Rose and Blackburn too (wherever they were) would be making tracks for the same place; the turret chamber. The heart of the web.
As he left the dining hall, he was distracted by the sound of gentle tapping behind him. He looked, and saw Cartwright the butler standing beside the dining table, drumming his fingers obnoxiously against the surface.
"Pretty boy," he jeered.
"Cartwright." Jack smiled. "Except no...not Cartwright. Znya. You are her, she is you, and the whole damned lot of you are the spider, ain't it so?"
The butler didn't answer, immediately, but loosened his collar and revealed those hideous red frills around his neck. "Get out of here, son." he told him. "I only want the Time Lord. Goodness me, if Blackburn wants his son, that hapless pound of flesh back, he's welcome to him. But your to leave here at once, and if you do, I may yet let you all live."
"Now, you know I can't do that." Jack said, raising his revolver and aiming at Cartwright's heart. "And I don't believe you anyhow - you let us in here, and I'm damned if I believe you've got any plans on letting us out again."
Cartwright giggled and, grabbing both cheeks, twisted his head around a full 180, revealing not the back of his skull but instead Znya's face, from which flowing blonde hair sprouted, the servant's clothes melting into a red dress.
Jack fired and true enough, hit her right in the heart. Rather than fall, or show the slightest discomfort, she glided smoothly towards him, teeth like knives and arms outstretched. He turned on his heel and fled, out into the corridors, the sound of snarling and the gnashing of teeth hot on his heels.
Rose
Was each bit confused as to how she winded up alone in the castle, but kept her wits staunch and her fear under control, as best as she could. It occurred to her just then how very young she was, a mere nineteen years of age, perhaps twenty now (in the Tardis, it was hard to tell), but already facing such horrors as most people back home would never encounter for as long as they lived. It worried her, sometimes, how these things would effect her as an adult, assuming she lived long enough to reach proper adulthood, and all bets were off on that when one travels with the Doctor.
But just say she wasn't horribly killed today, and just say she did live to be a woman? Would she grow up the better for her life with the Doctor? Would she grow to be brave, resourceful, determined to make a stand and do what was right in the circumstances? Or would it damage her? Would she be paranoid and unhinged, perhaps, her every nightmare haunted by the horrors she'd seen on her travels. Horrors such as Daleks, Slitheen in suits of human skin, and people trapped in gasmasks, forever seeking their mothers? Horrors such as being near burnt to death, holding her father as he died (a great honour, yet a horror nonetheless)? She didn't know.
She forced herself to stop thinking of it, and returned to the here and now, holding a curved sword which she had no idea how to use, the gloomy grey walls, all riddled with damp, pressing her from all sides, threatening to knock the breath right out of her and the courage along with it. She was, of course, headed for the tower, for there she supposed to find the spider, perhaps the Doctor too.
She turned a corner and found herself face to face with a Judoon, it's hideous Rhino's face glaring at her. On it's wrists and ankles were red cuffs, and it had a tuft of white hair on the very top of it's cranium.
"Charge - trespass." it growled. "Plead - guilty. Sentence, execution!"
She ducked back around the corner, to safety, just as it fired it's gun, the laser smashing into the wall and crumbling the brickwork. With it's heavy footfalls pounding in her ears, she retreated the way she came and broke into a wild run.
Sinclair
Stood over the half-eaten corpses of all of his men, their limbs torn from torsos, their useless chainmail armour strewn in tiny links all over the chamber floor. This looked to be the chamber of the lady, where Znya would lay herself to sleep each night, where potentially she and Arthur had lain together. He shuddered at the thought, for if Znya was truthfully not of this world (and he had no reason to disbelieve that, having seen something faintly resembling her chew her way through his men like so much dead mutton), then Arthur might surely be father to some sort of monster. Whatever he'd seen had danced between blade and axe like a shadow, her feet scarcely touching the floor, seeming to obliterate each man with a simple prick of her finger, whilst he stood on hapless and watched.
But she didn't look like Znya now. Instead, the ruined form of his eldest, Henry Blackburn, stood before him, donning Zyna's hideous red dress which matched the gaping crimson wound in his neck, the gash that Sinclair himself had cut.
"Where's Arthur?" he demanded.
"Forget Arthur!" it whined in Henry's voice. "I'm still here father! I lived! Don't you see? Znya - wonderful woman, as she is - brought me back here to heal! Come with me, we'll look for Arthur together, if your so desperate to reunite."
"Your dead!" Sinclair exclaimed, stepping back as the thing which wasn't his son advanced on him.
"I understand." Henry assured him, lashing out and slapping the sword from Sinclair's hand, still coming towards him. "You had to kill me, for the good of the realm. I'll never forgive that. But I understand it. Oh, yes...but you didn't kill me father, because I'm still here! I'm still here!" he grinned showing brown teeth, razor sharp like some monstrous bear, "I'm still here!" Dagger-like talons spouted from his fingertips. "I'm still...heeeaaarree!"
And like lightning, the spider ripped into him, teeth tearing into his shoulder, talons scrabbling at his throat, blood spurting everywhere, getting into Sinclair's eyes and blinding him, his screams of agony cut into gurgling mumbles by the blood clogging his throat.
His vision went first. And everything else followed shortly thereafter.