Author's Note: Hello everyone! As always, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed since the last chapter was published - MayFairy, gallifrey calls now, Daughter of the Master, TheGreatWhite, Ahsilaa, Theta'sWorstNightmare, SawManiac211, yulicee (x 4), sailormajinmoon, silentnight, TheWickedHeart, irishartemis, CharcoalFaith, Lost Moon, MountainLord-92, Imorgen (x 5), EmmaMarie, Neopolitan Dreamss and JessieDear13.
Talk about a massive encouragement to continue updating promptly, you are all wonderful!
To sailormajinmoon: Thank you so much for your review. Yes, Tejana does have a terrible penchant for getting into trouble, it must be a Time Lord thing. Hopefully you will enjoy this chapter too!
To silentnight: Hello again, lovely to hear from you XXX Thanks very much for the compliment - one of the great things about the Whoniverse is the huge spectrum of ideas available for a writer. And yep, you seem to have everyone's whereabouts pretty much straight ;) As for what happens next, read on and see...
To Lost Moon: Thanks for your feedback - and congrats, yes, you were correct, as this chapter will make clear.
BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MOUNTAINLORD-92, HOPE YOU GOT YOUR CHOCCY CAKE!
Now, on to the WARNINGS...once again, this chapter carries on the same dark-ish themes from the last one, so if that sort of thing bothers you, please don't read.
- Chapter Nine -
"Anger, fury, rage and ire,
Set the far, wide world on fire!
Flaming hand of life and death,
Catch ablaze my very breath!"
Two Steps From Hell, A Hole In The Sun
Anzor needed to feed the beast that was ravening inside him. It had always been there, the unceasing hunger for evil, for as long as he could remember. At first, when he was younger, it had been easy enough to sate, with small acts of unkindness or cruelty. But as he got older, it grew stronger and stronger and much more difficult to satisfy. That was when he had discovered how much he liked to torture animals. His doting father, indulgent to a fault, had presented him with his very own galvaniser for one of his early name days and he had quickly become adept in its use. The hunt had become everything to him, the culmination of his twisted passion and desire to inflict pain – the tantalising sense of fear from the creatures he pursued, the exhilarating screams as they died, the delicious smell of blood on the still morning air. But now, even that thrill had palled and he had discovered something even more exciting. He no longer wanted the fear and agony of animals, but instead he craved the sight of those same primal emotions in the eyes of a woman. Animals couldn't beg for mercy, but women could, beautifully and exquisitely. He loved to hear it, before he denied them any mercy at all and their pleading words turned to cries of pain. Nothing had ever aroused him like it before, the power of it, the feeling of control - it was a charge of pure, addictive sexual excitement. Once he had experienced it for the first time, he wanted it more and more often. He didn't even try to fight the urge. On the contrary, he welcomed it. Why try to fight something that gave him so much unbridled pleasure? And it wasn't as though there was any danger to pursuing his desires. Gallifreyan society cared nothing for the women of its lower classes, he could prey on them at will, as long as he was careful and didn't actually kill anyone. He was the Lord President's son. Nobody could touch him, he was beyond reproach.
He stared down at the woman sprawled on her back on the ground in front of him, the front of her dress torn almost from her body, and he couldn't take his eyes from her. All that creamy, unblemished skin on display, waiting for him to mark it how he chose. That stunning corona of fiery hair tumbling around her shoulders in wanton disarray, all the restraining pins lost in their struggle. She was the perfect catch, a dream come true, everything he could possibly want. Such a small, fragile, beautifully breakable body, but with such a fighting spirit inside her. Even now, the emerald green eyes spat venom at him. With the skill of experience, he'd judged the amount of energy he'd used in his blasts just right, according to her body mass. She was physically incapacitated, but remained fully alert, so that she could still feel everything he did to her. An unconscious victim was no fun at all.
"After you're done, you'd better kill me," she told him, her voice fierce and jagged with rage. "Because if you don't, I will find you, however long it takes, and I will make you sorry you were ever born."
Anzor laughed. "Such big threats from such a small person. I have no intention of killing you, Kat. I'd much rather leave you alive, so that every time a man touches you from now on, you'll remember me and this night. It's almost a kind of immortality, don't you think? Because, believe me, you will remember...every single detail..."
Falling to his knees, he straddled her hips, grinding his body into hers, making sure she felt how hard he was, just how his excitement was rapidly building at the prospect of what he was going to do to her. He would start off slowly. After all, he had all night, there was no hurry - and he knew from experience that horrified anticipation was one of the biggest tortures of all when it came to a helpless woman. He would lower the voltage on the galvaniser to start with. Just a tiny shock, here and there, in all her softest and most vulnerable places, escalating her terror while he made free with her body. Then, after a while, he would increase the power, bit by bit, and her pain would really begin.
With a sadistic grin, he held the galvaniser in front of her eyes and deftly telescoped it, reducing the size to make it more suitable for close work. He was so sure that she could no longer move, he got careless and didn't see the flat of her hand shooting up towards him until it was almost too late. She was aiming for his nose, trying to drive the sharp cartilage backwards into his skull, slicing into the soft, grey matter of his brain, where it would instantly kill him. At the last second, he managed to turn his face aside and her hand struck his right cheekbone instead, snapping his neck back with agonising force. Bright lights flashed before his eyes and his head swam.
"Bitch!" he snarled, feeling her struggling beneath him. "Little bitch!"
Viciously, he slapped her across the face, once and then twice, until she lay still, her body limp. Blood ran in a trickle from the corner of her mouth and her green eyes were dazed and disconnected.
"You really don't know when to give up, do you, servant girl?"
Breathing heavily, his gaze traced the scarlet trail of blood running down her chin. A shudder of pleasure ran through him. The red colour looked so rich and vibrant against the white of her complexion...so enticing. Leaning over her, he licked it up, luxuriantly lapping the blood from her warm skin like a cat laps milk, savouring the sharp, coppery taste on his tongue. His left hand wrapped around her slender throat in a choke hold. Then he kissed her, forcing his mouth on to hers in a savage assault, the sweetness of her lips mingling with the tang of her blood, exciting him still further. She was still conscious, but only just. Quivering with anticipation, he brought the galvaniser up and stroked the orange tip softly across her naked breast.
"Uh-uh-uh," he crooned. "No going to sleep on me, little Kat. I wouldn't want you to miss any of the fun. So how about a nice little wake up call?"
He was just about to discharge the galvaniser directly into the girl's soft flesh, when something hard and heavy fell on his shoulder with what felt like the weight of a mountain, spinning him around with incredible force and hurling him away from his victim. Stunned, he slid across the floor, only just managing to halt himself before he cannoned head first into one of the stone tables. An incredulous snarl ripped from his throat as he jerked himself around to identify his attacker. No-one had ever dared to lay hands on him before, no matter what he did. Whoever it was, he was going to make sure they were very, very sorry for interrupting his game.
To his utter surprise, he saw a good-looking young man with wavy, dark hair, dressed in the standard Prydonian Academy tunic and trousers. The newcomer's head was down, his intent gaze lowered to his own hands. He was flexing his fingers rhythmically, as if he was testing them, to see what they could do. In that moment of recognition, the odd, deliberate movement struck Anzor as peculiarly menacing.
"Oakdown!" Anzor spat furiously, disregarding the inexplicable frisson of apprehension that clawed up his spine, a preternatural feeling that something was very wrong. "What in Rassilon's name do you think you're doing?"
As much as he despised Koschei Oakdown, he knew he had to be careful how he handled the other boy. It was one thing to torment and persecute Theta Sigma – he might be a descendant of one of the Great Houses, but his family had no wealth or political influence, and were therefore unimportant in the scheme of things. The House of Oakdown, on the other hand, was staggeringly rich and possessed immense power. Not only that, Koschei's father was a ruthless and autocratic man who had no hesitation in using both wealth and power to get whatever he wanted. Upsetting him wasn't a good idea, no matter who you were. So while Koschei had never dared to openly cross President Drall's son, Anzor had always been equally wary of instigating outright conflict with the heir of Oakdown, the stand-off resulting in what had ended up becoming an uneasy truce between the two boys. In fact, it was only Theta's close friendship with Koschei that had protected him from some of Anzor's more severe and permanent forms of bullying over the years.
But whatever understanding they had previously possessed now seemed to be at an end. When Koschei raised his head, his face was taut with sheer, animalistic rage. Anzor found himself drawing in an involuntary gasp. He had seen Oakdown angry before, but never like this. And...it was difficult to tell for sure in the purple moonlight...but was there something...strange...about his eyes...?
"I've come to take back what's mine," Koschei said coldly.
The voice was wrong too. It was older, somehow - flat and sure, lethally confident, with no sign of a boy's bravado – the voice of a man who had seen and done it all, a man who now had no limits or scruples whatsoever.
Unsure what was going on, Anzor's gaze fell to the small, crumpled body lying on the floor behind Koschei. To take back what was his...? Was he talking about the servant girl? Anzor had taunted her about sleeping with Koschei, never really believing it for a moment. The arrogant heir of Oakdown would never stoop to taking a servant to his bed, that just wasn't who he was. But what if it had been true after all? What if Kat belonged not to Theta, as he had assumed, but to Koschei?
Anzor felt sudden anger flooding through his veins, energising him, blasting aside his momentary confusion. It didn't matter what Oakdown's problem was. The only important fact here was that the other boy was ruining his fun and he couldn't be allowed to get away with that.
"You'd better leave, if you know what's good for you," he growled. "This is twice you've interfered with me lately. I think you've forgotten who you're dealing with."
"Oh, I remember you, Anzor," Koschei sneered. "It's been a very long time since I last saw you, but I've forgotten nothing."
Anzor narrowed his eyes to hostile slits. "What are you talking about, Oakdown? I only just saw you at dinner time. Is this some kind of joke, some sort of pathetic attempt at payback? Are you and Lungbarrow trying to make me look stupid?"
The dark-haired boy threw back his head and laughed. Anzor shifted uneasily as the sound echoed around the silent room. It sounded nothing like Koschei's usual laughter. It was cold and bitter and mocking, empty of any emotion except hate. "Why would I bother doing that? You always did such a good job of it yourself."
The insult seemed to hang in the air, a deliberate and inescapable provocation. Anzor flicked his wrist and the galvaniser extended to full length at his side, the lethal flickers of energy coiling up and down the gleaming blue rod.
"You're going to be very sorry you said that. I warned you to leave, but you wouldn't listen, would you? Who the hell do you think you are, you little shit? You might be the heir of Oakdown, but I'm the Lord President's son. No-one makes a fool out of me, no-one!"
The other boy took a step forward, every movement lithe and deadly. "Who am I? I'm the Master, you idiot. And you, Anzor, have just made the colossal mistake of threatening to harm my wife. Now you're going to die." The calm, impassive certainty in his voice was utterly chilling.
The Master? His wife? Anzor had no idea what the other boy was babbling about, none of his words seemed to make any sense at all. But the look on his face and the unrelenting tone of his voice made one thing perfectly clear. This was no joke. Whatever insanity was driving him, however unlikely it seemed, Koschei Oakdown had really come here with the intention of killing him.
He dropped into a fighter's crouch, his weapon brandished before him. If only one of them was destined to walk away from this confrontation, Anzor was determined it was going to be him. After all, Koschei was half his size and unarmed. It was going to be child's play to annihilate him.
"I'm going to enjoy this!" he hissed. "It's been coming for a very, very long time. I'm going to kill you, right here, right now. After that, I'm going to do whatever I like to the girl, for as long as I like, and then I'll kill her too. And when the Guard arrive, I'll tell them how Koschei Oakdown went mad and started murdering servant girls, how I had to kill him to make him stop. I'll get away with it too, because there's not a single person who would dare to challenge the word of the Lord President's son. I'll be a hero. And once you're gone, it'll be open season on Theta Sigma next, together with that pathetic little crew you call the Deca."
Koschei took another step forward. Now that he was closer, Anzor could see the burning brown ring encircling each of the navy blue irises of his eyes. He stared, fascinated, unable to tear his gaze away. Those strange brown rings...he had never seen anything like them before. As he watched, they seemed to turn, slowly at first, but then spinning faster and faster, like the Time Vortex itself, a sucking whirlpool of brown and blue. To his horror, he realised he couldn't move. He was fixed in place, like a fly in amber.
I am the Master and you will obey me, a cold voice said inside his head.
He tried to fight it, desperately trying to use the cognitive defence theories he had learned in class to reclaim his mind. But it was useless. He had never been very good at his coursework, rarely bothering to study, confident that his family connections would get him through. And he had never come across anything like the awesome strength of the will that opposed him. It was centuries old, rich in skill and experience. And it was black with fury.
You know what to do.
His hand rose of its own accord, bringing the galvaniser with it. Without conscious thought, still staring blankly into those hypnotic eyes, he telescoped the weapon down to its shortest length.
Do it now.
Unable to stop himself, he touched the glittering rod to his own shoulder, releasing a searing bolt of energy that stabbed through him with eviscerating pain. He screeched in agony. So many other creatures had felt the harrowing bite of his favourite weapon, but he had never experienced it for himself. Now he felt what they had all felt. He wanted to writhe in torment, but those terrible eyes held him, denying him any relief.
Again.
The other shoulder, this time, another blast of agony administered by his own hand. All his muscles twitching and dancing in unendurable pain. Dimly, he was aware that Koschei was smiling - a hard, cruel, vengeful smile he had never seen before.
More. Show me what you were going to do to my wife.
Over and over again, all across his body, piercing bolts of torment, never enough to kill, just enough to torture. His body was racked with convulsions. Somewhere in the middle of it all, he lost control of his bladder, a hot, humiliating stream of urine pouring down the inside leg of his trousers. He tried to move his lips, to form them into words, the same begging, pleading words he had heard so often from his own victims, but his entire face seemed to have turned to rubber and he couldn't make his mouth work. And still his own hand moved like a puppet, dancing the scorching rod across his skin, searching for new places to flay and excoriate.
Enough, the contemptuous voice commanded inside his head. I'm getting bored now. End it – oh, and don't bother to regenerate, either.
NO, Anzor thought in soul-shattering terror, as his hand involuntarily lifted the galvaniser and placed it in his own mouth. This can't be happening! I can't die like this!
Summoning all his strength for one last, futile effort, he pushed back against the iron will controlling his body, striving to tear his gaze away from the whirling brown and blue vortex. To his shock, the connection suddenly seemed to draw taut and then snap, unexpectedly releasing him. Koschei staggered backwards, his hands flying to his head in some kind of seizure.
"Not now!" he howled furiously. "NOT NOW!"
Anzor was not overly gifted with intelligence, but he recognised a miracle when he saw one. He didn't stick around to find out what had happened to save him. Scrabbling like an ungainly crab, drunk on the adrenaline of fear, he forced his spasming muscles to work and slithered towards the door. Koschei made no move to stop him. He was down on his knees by now, still clutching fiercely at his skull, as if there was a war raging inside his head.
Shaking violently and uncontrollably, Anzor managed to lurch out into the corridor and escaped to safety, sobbing like a baby.
One...two...three...four...
One...two...three...four...
One...two...three...four...
The drums were pounding inside Koschei's brain, the eternal, repetitive beat that had shaped his life since he was a child. Grimly, he held on to the sound, using it to guide his way back through the mists inside his head. Something had forced him out, held him at the peripheral edges of his mind, like a hostage inside his own body. But whatever it was, it didn't like the drums, shying away from the sound as though it burned. By concentrating on the steady beat, wielding it like a weapon, he'd finally managed to free himself.
Opening his navy blue eyes, he looked around him, blinking as he tried to focus. He was kneeling on the stone floor of the Refectory and he had no idea how he had got there. The last thing he properly remembered was playing Sepulchasm with Drax in the Deca common room. A movement near the door caught his attention and he glanced around just in time to see Anzor stagger out of the room, an expression of glazed terror written across his face. The President's son had been reeling and stumbling, all his limbs twitching spastically, as if he could barely control them.
What the hell had just happened?
Then he saw the small broken figure lying motionlessly nearby.
"Kat!" he exclaimed, sickness rising in him as he realised that Anzor had been playing his sadistic games again and that she had been his unwitting victim. "KAT!"
He threw himself across to her on his hands and knees, dreading what he would find. She was a mess, her beautiful hair tangled all around her and her dress torn almost to shreds. Her eyes were closed and blood was smeared across the lower part of her pale face. He could see the glaring mark on her shoulder where Anzor had tortured her with his infernal galvaniser. But to his relief, she was still breathing.
"Kat!" he called again. "Kat, can you hear me? Are you all right?"
Her eyelids flickered and slowly opened and her dazed green eyes looked up at him. A tiny, bewildered frown creased her forehead. Painfully, she raised her hand and touched his face, almost curiously, as if she was trying to determine whether he was real.
"Koschei..." she murmured in a slurred voice. "Whatchoo doing...out've the...pic...ture?"
"What picture?" he asked urgently. But the clouds of drowsiness were already returning to her eyes and he could tell she was slipping away from him. He gave her a gentle shake. "Come on, Kat, stay with me here. What happened? What picture are you talking about?"
"Ushas's picture," she sighed, her eyes fluttering closed again. "You looked so handsome...so...handsome..."
Her voice trailed away and he caught her hand as it fell back to her side. She was obviously delirious, he thought in concern, looking down at her unconscious face. Ushas had been talking about painting a portrait of him and Theta for ages. Perhaps Theta had mentioned it to Kat, for some reason. But Ushas had never got around to doing it, and he didn't expect she ever would, especially with the way she and Theta had been fighting lately.
The small, delicate fingers were icy cold in his. He needed to get her somewhere warm, right now, that was his first priority. The Academy Sanatorium was out of the question, given Anzor's involvement. And he didn't know where her room was – somewhere in the servant's quarters, he presumed, an area of the Academy he had never set foot in. So there was only one possible alternative. Sliding his arms beneath her, he lifted her and carried her towards the door.
The inside of the Pandorica glowed with a cold, blue light. The Doctor supposed he should be grateful that they hadn't been left completely in the dark, but he wasn't entirely sure that the glacial illumination was much of an improvement.
He and the Master sat with their chairs positioned at a forty-five degree angle within the enclosed space, with the Doctor's right knee nearly touching the Master's left. The two Time Lords glared at each other.
"Well, this has to be the definition of hell," the Master snarled. "Trapped for eternity with you."
The Doctor struggled uselessly against his restraints. "I have to say, the prospect doesn't exactly thrill me either," he retorted. "And you did bring it on yourself, so you can hardly complain. Quite frankly, I can't believe you didn't see that one coming, it was as obvious as the nose on Rory's face. I don't suppose you thought to build in some sort of escape hatch as a contingency plan, just in case?"
"What, and have you find it and escape, so you could ruin everything, the way you always do?" the Master sneered. "I don't think so."
The Doctor gave an audible sigh. "No, I suppose that would be too much to hope for."
"So what do we do now? Just sit around and chat about old times?"
"We could do that, I suppose," the Doctor agreed absently, running his eyes carefully around the inside of their prison, busily searching for some kind of idea that he could use to escape. "Except that there's one small, teeny-tiny, eeny-weeny little problem."
"What problem?"
The Doctor's blue-green eyes swung back to meet the other Time Lord's brown ones, his gaze suddenly as hard and implacable as granite. "We don't have any old times. Because you're not the Master."
The door to Koschei's room slid open at his touch and he stepped carefully inside, the senseless girl still in his arms. Luckily, due to the lateness of the hour, he hadn't encountered anyone as he made his way through the senior accommodation wing. He wasn't quite sure what explanation he could have offered if he had. The heir of Oakdown, caught carrying an injured and unconscious servant girl to his bedroom, her clothes torn to pieces. Oh yeah, his father would just love that.
From what he could tell, Kat wasn't seriously hurt. What she badly needed was time to rest, to allow her damaged nerve-endings to recover from the assault from the galvaniser. However, now that he had arrived in the sanctuary of his room, he hovered over the bed, strangely reluctant to put her down. She felt unbelievably good in his arms, the warmth and softness of her slender body cuddled so closely against him. The honeysuckle scent of her hair lingered around him, a wild, sweet fragrance that set his pulses racing, a streak of unnerving desire quivering through him.
Forcing himself with some difficulty to focus on the task at hand, he pulled back the covers and laid her down, settling her comfortably on to the bed. Then he hurried into the bathroom and came back with some warm water and a cloth. Gently, and a bit awkwardly, he bathed her face, wiping away the blood and tears. Her lower lip was swollen and there were nasty bruises forming on her throat. It looked like Anzor had tried to choke her. Koschei could feel a murderous fury rising inside him. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but he would find out - and this time he would make sure Anzor didn't get away with it, Lord President's son or not.
Before he could straighten, her hands caught at his arms and clung to him. "Koschei...no, don't leave me again, please..."
"It's all right," he soothed, startled by the vulnerability and the need in her voice. Her eyes were still far from lucid. Even though she was using his name, he wasn't entirely convinced that it was him she was speaking to. "I'm not going anywhere. You have to rest."
"I can't rest without you..." she said fretfully. "Please hold me, Koschei...I need you to hold me."
He hesitated, torn by uncertainty. He had never been in a situation like this before. Chivalry and protectiveness towards the vulnerable was Theta's thing, not his. Usually, if a woman was in Koschei Oakdown's bed, it was for one thing and one thing only. He wanted Kat far too much for his own good - it was a sweet, savage, unquenchable ache inside him, even now. He wasn't sure he would be able to hold her without taking her, and after Anzor's frenzied sexual attack, that was the last thing she needed.
Perhaps he should go and get Theta. His friend would know what to do, he always did. But the idea of Theta holding her, comforting her...a hard, tight jealousy coiled in his gut. No, that solution wasn't even close to being acceptable.
She stirred restlessly, her hands tightening in desperate entreaty. "Please..."
Knowing he was being a fool, but unable to resist, he slid on to the bed beside her and gathered her into his arms, feeling her warmth sink into his bones as he pulled the covers over both of them. She gave a small sigh of relief and curled into his body, as though it was where she belonged.
Reaching up to the wall behind them, he passed his hand over the light control, dimming the room until the only illumination came from the beautiful holographic model suspended in the corner – a model that now showed Gallifrey shining alone in isolated splendor, surrounded only by her two slowly orbiting moons.
Not far away, Anzor collapsed on to his own bed, cursing and panting with effort. None of his extremities were working properly, all his muscles screaming in pain as each one seemed to dance in a different direction to all the others. Rage and humiliation boiled in his veins. The damage to his body wasn't permanent and was already beginning to heal. But the damage to his ego and reputation was incalculable. If news of his ignominious defeat got out, every little upstart in the Academy would think they could defy him. Somehow, he had to redress the balance. Somehow, he had to destroy Koschei Oakdown, utterly and completely, so that there was no question in anyone's mind which of them was the victor.
But that could wait until tomorrow. For now, he had to sleep and regain his strength. His door was triple dead-locked. Whatever Oakdown had planned, he was safe here, his security was impregnable. Breathing deeply, he willed his mind to calm and his tortured body to relax, easing himself into a healing slumber.
The darkness of sleep surged around him like a river, carrying him gently along on its peaceful current. Until his eyes suddenly opened again and he jerked upright in surprise. A man he had never seen before sat at the end of the bed, his back against the wall. He had tousled ash-blonde hair and he was dressed all in black. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at Anzor. His face was thin, with hard, arrogant features and cold brown eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" Anzor demanded.
"Not very good at paying attention, are you, Anzor?" the stranger said in a level voice. "No wonder you used to fail all your classes. We've just been through all this, back in the Refectory. I really hate being interrupted when I'm catching up with old friends, don't you?"
Anzor's eyes widened, his pupils dilating in fear. Incredible as it seemed, he did recognise the Time Lord in front of him, even though his appearance was radically different. "O...Oakdown?"
"Yeah, I was once Koschei Oakdown, a very long time ago," the man confirmed. "But now I'm known as the Master."
Anzor's throat went dry and he swallowed hard. The fear inside him was building now, rapidly escalating towards terror. "No, that's not possible, you can't be from the future...the Fourth Law of Time..."
The Master gave a savage, bitter laugh. "Trust me, in my day, the laws of dear old Gallifrey aren't exactly relevant any more. And, after this, you won't need to worry about them either."
The deadly promise in his voice was more than evident.
"How...how did you get in here? The door was dead-locked from the inside!" Anzor shrieked, frantically searching for a way to escape, but unable to find one.
"Oh, I'm sorry, didn't I say? This is a dream," the Master grinned. "You just keep on making mistakes, Anzor. You should never have gone to sleep. Because, right now, dreams are my domain. And I think we have some unfinished business to settle, don't we?"
With that, he began crawling up the bed towards the terrified young Time Lord.
And deep in the heart of the Prydonian Academy, the hideous screams of Anzor, son of Lord President Drall, tore the night into shreds.