Text Key

"Audible speech."

'Directed thought, telepathic speech.'

The Christmas Invasion

Chapter 2 – The God From The Machine

"Do not break ranks, no matter what buttons he tries to press," the living shadow at their backs warned. "That's what their sort look for; the weak, the compassionate, and the defiant. It makes an impression when they are broken. Don't give them the opening."

Harriet Jones steeled herself again before stepping forward. "Harriet Jones, Prime Minister," she declared.

The Sycorax rolled his eyes as it growled something that Harriet suspected as a very familiar response before adding something else at the end, sweeping its hand over a large, ominously illuminated button that stood to his right. Was this the centre console of the 'blood control'?

"We know who you are," Alex read off of the translator, confirming the suspicion before faltering. "Surrender or they will die," he finally managed.

Somehow, she'd expected that. The canned line and the demand for an immediate surrender, it was somehow all old hat despite coming from the mouth of an extraterrestrial slaver.

"Stall for time," the shadow whispered.

Oh, she'd been planning on doing that anyway. To get more information, allow others to devise a counter, or to give the Doctor time to arrive and save the day… that was all Harriet Jones had at the moment. A distant hope.

"In the event of that surrender, which I am not giving at this time, do I have the guarantee that you will not kill those people anyway?" Harriet Jones asked, "What is your word worth to… I believe the term you used for us was 'chattel'?"

Fadros Pallujikaa, Master of Chains, Great Slayer, and Chief of the Halvinor tribe smiled, his skinless lips peeling back from his teeth in something that might have been mistaken for a threat display until a laugh burbled out of his throat, quickly followed by an amused string of Sycoraxic.

"'So you aren't completely stupid.' His words, Prime Minister, not mine," the aide added quickly.

"It would be a very sorry state for the Earth if I was," Harriet Jones said, refusing to break eye contact with the Sycorax leader. "I ask you again; in the event of the surrender that you seem so desperate to receive, what guarantee do we have that you will not kill those people anyway? What is your honor worth to the people of Earth, 'Master of Chains'?"

The leader looked down at her before speaking.

"The dead make poor slaves," Alex translated. "But I will not hesitate to unleash the… final curse if you do not give us our full desired price. Half sold into slavery or a third dies and we take what we please. A…" he hesitated, swallowing before finishing reading off of the small screen. "A… good trade, is it not?"

Before Harriet could answer, something started beeping to the side. A few of the Sycorax ran to it, chattering to each other excitedly before the mood suddenly jumped towards panic. Was it something gone wrong with their ship or a scanner picking up the presence of another vessel? The last thing they needed was another invader, even if it was a party opposed to the Sycroax. The collateral damage could be catastrophic.

One of the Sycorax that had run over to check the scanner ran back, screaming at the human delegation.

"The noise… the-the beeping. They say it's… machinery," Alex said, his eyes darting from the translator to Harriet's quickly as more words flew across the screen. "Foreign… alien machinery. They're accusing us of hiding it. Conspiring with their enemies."

Was it Torchwood, UNIT, or someone else?

"Conspiring with whom?" Harriet Jones asked, fighting down her immediate concern. Steel, steel. The world wasn't over yet. Not while she was still here to buy time. "You surely know that the Earth has no alliance with any other worlds. Why else would you target us?"

Fadros stared her down, lips peeled back in a noiseless snarl before he issued a command that Alex quickly translated.

"Bring it on board."

There was a minor flurry of activity as the other Sycorax went about the task of activating their teleporter again, the strange light that had heralded Harriet's own trip flickering through the air diffusely as the technology scrambled to gain a fingerhold on its target.

"Bravo Bravo Charlie, the Doctor is coming," Harriet's shadow whispered into her ear and her heart leaped as the light began to congeal into a distinct shape, large and square. Thank God… wait, was that an old Police Box?

What?

The door cracked open as a familiar blonde peered out, only to yell as the Sycorax pulled her out and threw her at the other humans present.

"Get off me–!"

"Rose? Rose! I've got you," Harriet Jones said as she caught the young woman.

"Harriet Jones," the blonde replied around a short-lived smile before another person ran out of the suspect Police Box and into the waiting arms of the Sycorax. "Mickey!" Rose yelled as she ran over to the young man.

"There's a Rocky Horror joke to be made here," her shadow muttered.

Harriet found herself oddly calm for a moment despite the increasing pressure of the situation. "Do try to contain yourself until the immediate crisis is over," she said dryly.

"My whole life is a crisis," the stranger at her back replied, falling silent as Rose returned, her friend Mickey held close to her body.

"Rose, where is the Doctor?" Harriet asked as soon as she was close enough to catch the whisper. "Is he with you?"

Rose hesitated. "No. No…"

Her heart fell. So they were doomed then.

"Oh ye of little faith," her shadow said. "The Doctor's here, even if his face is different. Until then, you have me."

Rose jerked back. "What –"

"Shh, blondie, I'm on your side," the shadow said, her shadowy voice still a whisper. "Time boy's still out from the regeneration, yeah? Happens when you scramble around every atom in a person's body along with every facet of their personality. He'll be up and about before long though."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm older than you. And I believe my cue to reveal myself is… imminent." With that, the sensation of a presence at Harriet Jones' back disappeared, only the slightest ruffle of a breeze giving away that anything had been there to begin with and any chance to ask Rose what she knew was cut off by the Sycorax leader's latest announcement.

"The yellow girl," Alex translated. "She has the clever blue box. Therefore, she speaks for your planet."

"Oh, now that's rubbish," a familiar voice called down from the ceiling, though in an infinitely more playful and mocking tone. Where, Harriet Jones couldn't say, because it filled the space easily and sent every head turning in an attempt to pin down the source. "You bring aboard Prime Minister Jones under the tacit understanding that she is the one who will be deciding the fate of the Earth and its people, and then… long after your 'negotiations' have begun, you bring in another party with no experience in this arena and grant her the choice of selling half the world into slavery –"

"What?"

"–despite her now obvious ignorance of the entire issue, solely based on her possession of a piece of alien technology. Now, tactically speaking, it's an effective albeit dick move, but one that only works as long as you have the upper hand. But when you have the likes of me lurking in the shadows –"

The shadows on the ceiling seemed to shift like living creatures and Harriet Jones swore she could see a pair of red and yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness of a nearby alcove for a moment, a wide slash of white underneath them that could barely be considered a smile.

" –well, you could say that it's downright stupid."

"Where are you, beast?" Fadros yelled, the Sycorax's words somehow turned into coarse-accented English. "Who are you to spout such bravery from the shadows?"

"He's talking English," Mickey said, dumbstruck.

"Why's he speaking it now?"

"TARDIS translation's back," Rose murmured in realization. "That means…"

"Just follow the sound of my voice, bone biter," their unseen friend called, pulling Harriet's attention back upwards as the shadow's voice seeming to dance around the room again. There was a dark, nearly mirthless chuckle as the Sycorax snarled, his eyes searching around fruitlessly for a shadow amongst shadows. "Oh, have these shadows offended? Do you not care for the name? Then I will ply you with more; nail nibbler, backstabber, oath breaker, honorless hound!"

"Speak again, trickster, within striking distance!" Fadros snapped, pulling a whip from his belt, a crackle of lightning following the motion. "Else I will punish the humans for your cowardice whilst you hide in the dark!"

The whip lashed out towards Harriet Jones, only to be snapped out of the air by an elfin hand.

"You were saying something about hiding?" the former shadow said as she wrapped the whip around her arm, clearly unbothered by the sparks of electricity arcing from it with every movement. "No, I wasn't hiding in the dark. I am the dark. I am the stuff of nightmares, oh mighty chieftain, keeper and taker of slaves. I am Justice. Vengeance. And you, slaver, who preys on the weak and relies on deception to ply his trade, have awakened my ire."

The alien – there was no mistaking her for anything but – was elfin, both in proportion and features, with long pointed ears, ash grey and black piebald skin, and large red eyes set in yellow sclera, but what really seized Harriet Jones' attention was her hair.

The closest comparison she could make to the color was flame, and the way it seemed to dance and glow from the electricity flowing through it, it might as well have been fire playing the part of a demon's mane. Oh, one could pick out a handful of long braids writhing like snakes in the midst of the firestorm, but it only added to the image of a demon faced creature coming up from the depths to collect a price, one that was going to be exacted from the Sycorax.

As the Sycorax leader tried to take his weapon back, pulling uselessly at the handle, the shadow alien twisted her arm around to secure her grip on it.

"I've been lead to believe your people enjoy trial by combat," she said, punctuating the sentence with a sharp tug. "I also understand that your language doesn't make a discrimination between the words 'argue' and 'fight'."

She gave the whip a squeeze and the handle in Fadros's hands inexplicably exploded into a shower of sparks, flame, and some dripping substance that sizzled against the Sycorax's flesh like acid.

"So," the shadow-woman said around a grin far too full of pointy teeth as her foe clutched at his newly ruined hand. "Let's argue."

The Doctor was introduced back to the waking world by the sensation of a crippling hangover, which was understandable given that a few hours ago, his brain was undergoing a neuron implosion. His head was still aching and there were parts of him that definitely wanted to remain in the horizontal position, but the pain in his head was quickly alleviating as the smell of… was that tea?

Superheated infusion of free radicals and tannins, evaporated and suffused through the air. Yes, that was just the thing that would stabilize the brain-forming process enough for the regeneration energy to finish up with the rest of it without collapsing the existing structure. How many hours did he have left before that fizzled out and he could start hammering out the edges of his new persona? Two, three?

He rolled over onto his stomach, grimacing at the sight of an energy converter shorting out beneath the grated floor as the last dregs of someone's tea dribbled out of the thermos laying on its side above it. One more reason not to let companions snack in the console room. At least it was a relatively easy fix, even if the TARDIS didn't perform the repair herself.

…wasn't there something else he needed to do? Ah, it would come to him, the Doctor thought as he pushed himself upright and walked over to the TARDIS doors, pulling them open to see –

Two aliens circling each other, one clearly Sycorax – how many centuries had it been since he'd encountered them? Oh, so many – and one… very different, with the orangey-est hair he had ever seen.

That was a word right? Orangey-est?

Regardless of if the Doctor's chosen descriptor was cromulent or not, the two aliens in the circle clearly knew what they were doing as they exchanged a few blows before returning to the process of slow circling, only to go into another exchange a few passes later. On the outside of the match stood a group of humans, Rose and Mickey among them, looking very uncertain as the match failed to progress beyond the 'occasional swats at the other bloke' stage.

Oh, it was an invasion, was it? To be decided by the victor of a fistfight? That would probably be the thing he needed to do.

He walked past the crowd, only a few Sycorax really noticing that yet another creature had emerged from the TARDIS, and bumped his arm against Rose.

"Did you miss me?" he asked as she spun around. The Doctor flashed her a grin as he gestured to himself, puffing his chest out slightly as to show her the best angle. "So, what do you think?"

"It's… different."

"The jimjams could stand to go," Mickey said over her shoulder.

"Good different or bad different?" the Doctor asked, ignoring Mickey's comment. Clothes were easily changed, especially when one had access to a wardrobe bigger than Mickey's entire flat.

"Just… different," she said lamely.

Hmn. "Am I… ginger?" he asked, stealing a glance at the explosion of luminous orange-yellow hair to his right. He honestly had no idea what species that alien was. Shadow Kin perhaps? He remembered them as having a bit more smolder and smoke. "Mind, I wouldn't be offended if I'm not on that one's level, but please tell me that–"

"Sorry, no. Just sort of brown."

"Oooh, I wanted to be ginger," the Doctor pouted, pulling a strand of the 'sort of brown' hair out to where he could see it. "I was almost ginger once, ended up going dark half-way through that one. And the other time… ugh – do you know what it's like going through a life with chestnut curls and ginger sideburns yet somehow that's the one thing about your face that nobody comments on?"

Rose's stare was all the answer he needed to that one. Right, not a Time Lord, hasn't regenerated, wouldn't know what it's like, Q. .

"Excuse me," Harriet Jones said, casting a slightly confused glance in the Doctor's direction. "But who is this?"

"Harriet Jones, MP for Flydale North… or is that Prime Minister now?" the Time Lord asked, breaking out into a grin as he took and shook her hand with both of his. "I'm certainly rubbish with time for a time traveler, aren't I? Ah, but it'll work itself out after a bit. Still getting all the odds and bobs sorted out on this model."

At the look of pure confusion on her face, he released her hands to point at his face. "It's me, the Doctor? New face since you last saw me in Downing Street. Oh, that was an unpleasant business with the Slitheen, but you weren't all that frightened of them, were you, Harriet Jones? No, just scared of your mother ending up all alone."

Harriet Jones stepped back, a visible surprise written in her eyes. "It… so it is you. Oh my god."

"Yeah, it's the Doctor," Rose confirmed. "The old one kind of… exploded."

"If I'd exploded, there'd be a much bigger mess in the TARDIS. Things would have been on fire and then we would have crashed."

"We did crash."

The Doctor resisted the desire to point out that he had far worse landings that did count as proper crashes, seeing as it probably wasn't fair to bring up either occasion as he hadn't really survived the events in the first place. "Anyway; same me, new model, not exploded quite yet. Correct me if I'm wrong; the Sycorax here are invading–"

"To collect slaves."

"Yes, they do that," the Doctor said, eyeing the match-up in front of the crowd. Whatever the other alien was, they were holding back. Teasing or simply waiting for something else? "And that one?"

"She's with us," Harriet Jones said, tilting her head slightly. "I thought you knew her."

"Why would I?"

"Well, she certainly knew you," Rose said, a touch sourly. "Talking about 'regeneration' and all that, told me off for giving up on you."

Now that was interesting and plenty of reason to get more intimately involved in this event. The Doctor stepped forward, past the crowd, into the circle of combat, and in between the fighters with his hands raised.

"Is violence really the answer here?" he asked.

Everything stopped as everyone turned their attention on him. Apparently the answer to that question had been 'yes', though his interruption had apparently thrown that into some doubt. He just shrugged, sticking his hands down in his pockets as he scuffed his slippered feet along the floor.

"Who are you?" the leader asked. He was favoring his right hand, the Doctor noticed. Burns, bad and recent. How had that happened?

"I'm just asking," the Doctor continued, ignoring the question. "Seems a rather backwards way to do things – can I ask if the terms of this duel were set? Honor match and all that to decide the fate of a planet, you wouldn't think to be so careless…"

The alien girl tilted her head back as she slid out of her combat stance, her bare feet barely making a whisper against the stone floor. There had been a strange flicker in her eyes, one that was quickly thrown away and replaced by a certain casual cockiness. "Oh, I was just waiting for you. With your pedigree as defender of the Earth, I wouldn't want to be the one to step on your toes. If you care to negotiate the terms with the Sycorax…"

"Who are you?!" the alien in question yelled.

"Yes that is the question of the day, and yes, I do care to. I'd love to. I love negotiating… do I? Well, at any rate, I love talking. That much is clear. Still need to catch up on the rest of it, but at least I've got the gob for the job," the Doctor said as he ran his hand along the edge of his jaw. Not bad bone structure, at least from feel alone.

"I demand to know who you are!" the Sycorax roared.

"I don't know!" the Doctor snarled at the alien, sending everybody present scuttling backwards. The anger quickly dissolved back to a self-aimed annoyance as he murmured, "Oh, lovely. Rude, not ginger, and bipolar. Real winner this regeneration is turning out to be. Anyway," he said, raising his voice again. "In the event you haven't been paying attention; I'm the Doctor. You may have heard of me."

The collective Sycorax horde stepped back away from him.

"Exactly what you heard and from who is up in the air, but you clearly have heard of me. That's good. That means I can tell you to leave this planet alone and you just might have the sense to listen," he said, walking around the little arena, staring down the crowd as he simultaneously looked for anything important.

Sycorax, blood-control, there had to be an apparatus around here somewhere – ah, the Doctor thought as he finally spied a likely suspect. There we go.

"I'm known for a few things," the Doctor said as he began to walk towards the big red button. "Mostly for trouble, saving the day, ruining evil plans, bold and occasionally questionable fashion choices," he turned around to face the crowd again, letting his hands fly around with his speech. So long as they were distracted by the talking, they weren't paying attention to the walking.

"But beyond that… you should ask 'what's this model like?' Because that's the little detail that can decide how terrible your day is going to be. I've been cold and calculating, hot-blooded and bombastic… I've been an absolute madman when the mood suited me. But today, you have the rare occasion of hearing me ask that question of myself. What sort of man am I?"

He turned around again, pacing in front of the assembled crowd.

"I literally do not know. It's all untested. Am I… funny? Sarcastic? Sexy?" he turned to look at Rose, throwing her a wink and a click of his tongue before resuming his speech. "Am I all mood and misery? The life and soul of the party? Left-handed, right-handed? A gambler, a fighter, a coward, a traitor, a liar, a nervous wreck? I mean the fact that I'm laying all the evidence out like this, I've certainly got the gob, but beyond that…? I could be anything, really, but the question you should be asking… is what I think of this."

The Doctor gestured to the blood control matrix and its luminous red button.

"I mean, it's big, it's red, it's threatening. Everything about it screams 'do not press under any circumstances what so ever'. You could not make this look any more malevolent if you put a skull and crossbones on the face of it," he said as he waved at it. Judging by how his audience – save for that strange flame-haired alien who was watching him like a hawk – failed to react to his gestures, they'd forgotten that it wasn't just a prop for his rambling speech. Good. "Honestly, it's every Saturday morning doomsday device and a few real ones besides. Doctor Claw would be proud of this design."

The Doctor leaned back for a moment, as if admiring it, and then ducked down, opening up the side. A bit of blood was sitting in the receiver basin, just enough for the Sycorax to exert control. A clever and subtle – if also devious and underhanded – form of control, strong enough to take over even a Time Lord if provided the right sample.

He should know, seeing as it had happened to him once.

Shoving that particular dark train of thought to the back of his mind, the Doctor reached in, dipping the tip of his middle finger in the basin before bringing it back to his mouth. He could feel every human in the room recoil slightly as he licked it.

He mentally rolled his eyes. Well, how else was he supposed to identify it?

"Human, Type A… plus. Slight overabundance of iron, really needs to cut down on the red meat," he declared as he stood up again. "The Sycorax are one of the few races that actually use blood control, isn't that interesting? And they never really stop either. Well, why get rid of what works, right? Especially when it appeals to the natural superstition of the 'primitives' they like to enslave. A little bit of cheap, practical 'voodoo'. Perfectly scary… until someone happens to notice the man behind the curtain."

"One of our experts demystified the technique for us, Doctor," Harriet Jones said from across the room.

He grinned. "Oh, who was it? Someone I'd know? Maybe A–?" the name wouldn't escape his throat properly, sticking in an awkward and painful spot just behind his Adam's apple, so he swallowed it down again. "No, don't tell me," he said around a freshly fake smile. "I'll puzzle it out later. Always love a good mystery, me. Almost as much as I love a big red threatening button."

The Doctor looked down at the control apparatus.

"…which is probably why I'm going to push it," he confessed, looking up to meet the eyes of all those looking up at him before he did exactly that.

"No!"

I jumped back as the Doctor pressed the button, touching Harriet Jones lightly on the shoulder. "The blood control can't override basic instincts, one of which is the one that pulls people away from ledges," I murmured soothingly. "Nobody died on account of that button being pressed."

"Nobody died then?" Rose asked.

"Oh, plenty of people died, I imagine. Overtaxing bad hearts, suffering strokes, making a bad step and taking a long fall… depending on where they were, I imagine a few managed to die of exposure during the wait," I said, staring at the Sycorax leader. "But the threat was never as great as the Sycorax made it out to be. Like I said earlier, they play dirty."

Fadros curled his lips back from his teeth. "We allowed them to live–"

"No, no, no. That's the control matrix, I just cut the release. You didn't allow anything," the Doctor said, pointing at the button he'd just pressed. "Y'see, blood control… it's tricky and hard to force your way through, sure, but it has certain limitations. Kind of like hypnosis, but for a couple of things. Need a blood sample, for one, besides the technical specs which the Sycorax happen to have, but that's off the point."

He stepped away from the control matrix, descending down the stairs without any seeming care as to where his feet were going.

"The thing is… like hypnosis, your blood control cannot override the basic instincts," he continued. "Like… for say… the one that makes you step away from high ledges without even thinking about it. So your threat was nothing more than a bluff… and I called it." He glanced up to lock eyes with the Sycorax leader. "Now... are you going to take that chance to run yet?"

"Blood control is only one form of conquest," the Sycorax leader declared, turning around to look at his men. Appealing to theatrics and trying to save face all in one stroke. "If I summon the rest of the armada–!"

"Please. You've got no guarantee that the other tribes will want anything to do with you," the Doctor snapped back, "How would they react to you asking for their help conquering a tiny little dust ball that doesn't even have proper interplanetary flight? Forget your honor. Forget your respect in the 'community'. They'd be badmouthing you all over the newsletters, not being able to conquer a few billion 'primitive' apes. No offense, humans."

"None taken," Rose Tyler said.

"Some, actually," Mickey added quietly.

The Doctor shook his head as he refocused on Fadros. "Besides that little problem, I have another question; why? I mean, they've just gotten started as a species, they're no threat to you–"

That's why they came here in the first place. Because they didn't expect resistance, they expected easy pickings. Was he warning them off – reminding them that for all the Earth was 'helpless', it was defended by the last Time Lord – or simply glossing over the fact to make a speech? How much of this was post-regeneration uncertainty or the Tenth Doctor's own personal brand of 'pacifism'?

"These human beings… consider their potential," the Time Lord continued, sweeping his hands around to gesture at the small collection of humans in the room. "From the day they arrive on the planet and blinking, step into the sun–"

"If you were going for Patrick Stewart, Doctor," I interrupted. "You should know that you're actually quoting the Lion King."

"Ah, wait. That was the Circle of Life, wasn't it? Good film, but incredibly off the point," he said before refocusing, force returning to his voice. "The point is: leave them alone!"

"Or what?" Fadros asked.

"Or death."

All eyes turned to fix on me as I stepped forward. For all this Twili body was elfin and smaller than the human average by a noticeable margin, I'd established my physical threat quite clearly to the Sycorax, because all it took to make the crowd scramble back from me was a small show of teeth. "Even if you survive me or the Doctor – and believe me, you're far more likely to in the second case –, the humans are not as weak and powerless as you seem to think. Oh, they might strike you as 'primitive', but they are defined by their determination to survive under circumstances that would leave other species extinct."

I stepped forward, eyes flashing over every alien that dared meet my gaze.

"You could cut their legs out from under them and there would still be humans willing to keep crawling at you with nothing more than the thought of stopping you driving them forward. Kill a few to sow fear among the masses, half of them will step forward with nothing less than your complete and total annihilation on their mind."

I smiled. It wasn't the sort of smile that brought comfort to anyone witnessing it.

"And though I know for a fact that while humans can be very kind and forgiving, they can also be very cruel with a long memory towards the wrongs done to them… and they can be very creative about the business of revenge, particularly when it comes to abhorrent individuals such as yourselves," I said, my smile widening to show off my teeth in all their pointiness. "Food for thought."

I focused on Fadros again, the Sycorax leader stiffening as I stared him down.

"So, as we were discussing before the Doctor interrupted," I said, flashing him a little smirk as the slaver clenched his wounded hand. "It'll be a duel for the fate of the Earth. Who will you face in combat, the Doctor–"

I gestured at the Time Lord, the scrawny, spiky-haired humanoid in rumpled pajamas and a dressing gown. It wasn't a very impressive image, if one didn't know the stories behind it. The way the Sycorax were acting, they still didn't fully comprehend what he was or what he represented. Oh, there was a reputation behind the name 'Doctor' but how much credence could it have, balanced against this image of harmlessness?

"– or me?"

Me, the demon that could become one with the shadows and had lightning pulsing through her veins, who'd already crippled one of his hands. The mystery that had come out of nowhere and kicked their teeth in with the same move. They didn't fully comprehend me either, but my physical threat had been established and was now unquestionable.

In the end, between those two options and the Sycorax's generally underhanded tactics, I wasn't terribly surprised that Fadros Pallujikaa picked the Doctor.

Author's Notes

Chapter 2 rewrite, beta'd by littleditto.

Edited 9/2/2017, relatively few changes compared to previous chapter, mostly in regards to polishing and internal continuity.

The chapter's title refers to the literary device known as Deus Ex Machina.

The 'distraction' speech made by Delaine/the shadow woman has no small amount of influence from Shakespeare.

Tom Baker, who played the Fourth Doctor, had red sideburns and in one other role had a deep red beard, despite all of his other hair being chestnut brown.

On the other 'almost ginger' front, we have Paul McGann, the Eighth Doctor, who shaved his head shortly before the TV movie and had to wear a wig for it that was a lot redder than his natural color. In his other televised appearance (for the Night of the Doctor minisode) and various Big Finish publicity shots, his natural dark brown hair is used instead.

Big Finish recently featured an audio story featuring the Seventh Doctor encountering the Sycorax later in their timeline (but earlier in his personal one) called 'the Harvest of the Sycorax', where they're trying to rob a future medical group's blood bank that features a sample from every single human extant at that point in time. It came out last year and as soon as I have money, I might get it (but I'm more excited for the most recent Diary of River Song and all my love belongs to Six, so…).

Twili are from the Legend of Zelda, specifically the Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. In action, they are not… terribly different from the Shadow Kin, though most of my reference is taken from the one Twili the player is accompanied by in the game who is one of the more powerful examples of her kind. For visual reference, I used both of Midna's two forms for reference and kind of split the difference in the general trait department before building an original design from there (though the Twili Mask's outfit is a bit more practical than Midna's true form's wardrobe…).

The powers of the Twili Mask form are somewhat nerfed from Midna's powerset and include –

- Levitation/ weightlessness

- Telekinesis

- Limited hair prehensility

- The ability to enter and introduce foreign beings and objects into the Twilight Realm (only available in 'verses with a Twilight Realm or approximate equivalent)

- Make use of Twilight Portals (same as above)

- Subspace access – a power that Delaine already has, but the Twili form has an affinity for speed and ease of access.

- The ability to hide in the shadows of light dwellers and appear as a shadow in the Light World.

- The ability to break down own body and others into Twilight particles to transport them (related to Twilight Portals, but doesn't explicitly require them).

In exchange, the Twili form is weakened and even burned by sufficiently bright light (in the games, this is enough to kill a Twili, but there's a reason why the Twili Mask lacks this limitation), thus necessitating hiding in another's shadow during the day if in this form. It also (barring use of other powers) is not a physically strong form, instead being one built for infiltration and stealth.

It's Time For More Highlights of Rassilon.

Rassilon is mostly famous for killing off most of the universe's vampires, 'inventing' time travel, shoving his best friend / research buddy into a black hole, and abusing label maker technology by putting his name on literally everything ever. Also may have altered the universe so that the majority of sentient species were Time Lord-shaped. Definitely committed a couple dozen different flavors of genocide and was into deleting people from creation so thoroughly that nobody even remembered that they had ever existed in the first place.

There's a (lot of) reason(s) that one of his nicknames in the classic fandom is 'Assilon'.