"For what will it profit them, if they gain the whole world but forfeit their soul?"

 --Matthew, 16:26

 "What have I done?" The Time Lord looked at Wil helplessly, the sword falling to his side. "What have I become?"

 A number of easy answers leapt unbidden into Wil's mind, but he suppressed them with a grave effort. Now, he sensed, was not the time to start making jokes, no matter what straight lines were thrown his way. "Um...Doctor," he asked, "where exactly did the sword come from?"

 "Fate," said the Doctor, as he reached down, and reluctantly picked the sword up again. "Destiny. My own future, come to haunt me." He brandished the sword with an easy gesture. Too easy, thought Wil. The Doctor seemed almost...eager to use the thing. "I am become Death's Champion, Wil...to save the universe, I must become its destroyer. I shall rend it in a sea of blood, and the Dark One shall fall. All this I have foreseen..."

 Wil looked at the Doctor. "I see...and are we all quite finished pontificating then?"

 "What, boy?" The Doctor looked at him as though he were a particularly unpleasant maggot. "You--a child of Time, a foolish, useless mortal who knows nothing of the Great Struggle dares to mock me?"

 "Why not?" Wil smiled, hoping desperately that it would cover up the nervous fear that threatened to choke him, and below that the rising anger. "Isn't that what you taught me? That beings who don't care about the little people don't deserve the power they were given? That if you can't have a sense of humor about yourself, you're doomed before you even begin? You gave me all these lessons, Doctor. And I learned them well."

 "Some enemies cannot be fought with brave words and clever jokes. There must be blood at the end of this conflict, Gwilym. It is foreseen. The future stretches out before us both, and I must play my part. I must take up the sword and fight for the universe. I must--"

 "Fight? With a sword? Why a sword? What happened to your brain?" Wil stared the Doctor full in the eye, as he closed in on him. "What happened to there being no such things as weapons--only tools? You always told me that people always approach any situation in terms of the tools at hand...and if the first tool they have to hand is a weapon, they'll always think of the situation in terms of what needs to be killed?"

 "Some things must be killed. Some things simply cannot be allowed to live."

 "Listen to yourself, Doctor!" Wil grabbed the Doctor by his lapels. "You've gotten all tied up in this 'greater conflict' stuff! You're buying right into their line!"

 The Doctor knocked Wil away violently, slamming him to the floor. "You would dare to profane they who are the forces of Good? You would dare to claim that they lie?"

 Wil didn't respond right away, since he was trying to escape from a floor that had suddenly turned traitor on him. The Doctor never looked or seemed strong, he thought to himself, but he was fairly tough when it came to the actual pummeling-around-of-others portion of the event.

 "Look," he said as he finally rolled over to face the Doctor, "I don't know them personally or anything. They might not be lying, but...well, they might think of your personality as 'collateral damage', y'know?"

 "You know nothing! This is the only way to save the universe. The only way! If destroying my conscience will save the universe, they shall have the right to do it!"

 "Seems to me," Wil said slowly, as though picking his way through a verbal minefield, "if they're the sort of people who can destroy a man's soul and turn him into a weapon, they can't be all that good in the first place."

 The Doctor's only response was an inarticulate roar. He swung the sword up in a blindingly swift gesture, and brought it down towards Wil's head.

 There was blood everywhere, he thought to himself. It was on his clothes, where he'd tried to wipe off his hands. It was on his hands, despite his attempts to wipe them off. It was on his sword, where--where--where had he gotten a sword? He was a holy man, a man of peace who desired nothing more than study and tranquil solitude. Why did he have a sword? And why hadn't it been taken from him when he'd been captured?

 "Peri," he asked, "Why did I--?" He looked around. No Peri. "Peri?" Still no response. "Peri, where did you go?"

 The only response was a girlish giggle from beyond the console room.

 With a frown of consternation, the Abbot picked up his sword. Then he set it down again. Then he picked it up again and moved into the hallway. "Peri?" he asked again, fear rising in his voice.

 "Do you know what a Peri is?" her voice whispered in the darkness of the corridor, sounding slightly raspy and mumbled.

 "I...um...where are you?" The Abbot was quite nervous now, and flattened his back against the wall as he moved down the hall.

 "A peri is a good and beautiful fairy in Persian mythology," the voice whispered, now nothing like Peri's normally nasal tones. A slight hiss had crept into it, as well.

 "Oh, dear," the Abbot whispered, beginning to move back the way he'd come.

 "But the interesting thing," said the creature that had been Peri as it moved to block his passage, "is that before it became good, it was evil."

 The Abbot brought his sword up awkwardly into position, remembering scrolls from the Time of Chaos, and the stories of the shapeshifting Soul Eaters that devoured the lives of the unwary, impersonating friends and loved ones with an accuracy that was uncanny...

 "And that's what I am," it cackled. "Thoroughly evil!"

 This time, the sword did him no good.

 All around him were tiny, shrunken, misshapen demon things. Occasionally, he crushed one as he walked back towards the altar. "All right, 'Adric'," he said in velvet tones, "you've gotten rid of them. Shall we talk now?"

 The multi-coloured column rose again from the altar. "I see that your talent for deceit remains well-honed, Master. You responded to my telepathic message quite adroitly."

 The Master bowed mockingly. "Thank you. I must admit, though, I don't quite understand why you chose to make the Abbot believe that you were one of the Doctor's former friends."

 "He may survive to make contact with the Doctor. Should he do so, the mere mention of Adric's name will cause spasms of guilt that will shake the Doctor to his core. This is a weakness...and it can be exploited."

 The Master shook his head. "I once thought that," he said. "I once thought that the Doctor's compassion was a weakness."

 "And?"

 "I learned otherwise. I have prolonged my life far beyond even that of a normal Time Lord, let alone one who has lived a life such as mine. I have spent thousands of years in a quest for fruitless power, and dominion over the universe."

 "Then you do understand. How gratifying."

 "I understand," the Master said. "You, on the other hand, do not. I learned from my failures. Power, while it is enjoyable, is a means to an end, not an end in itself."

 "And that end is?"

 "I didn't know. That was why I stopped seeking it."

 "How enlightened. How noble." The voice had a dark, mocking edge to it. "I expected better of you, Master...I expected a man who knew the true joys of evil, a man who I could rely on to betray all that is. I find now a weak, simpering coward!" The pillar began to whirl in a blaze of furious colors. "You are not worthy to stand at my side, and I will not allow you to stand against me!" The colors became a whistling vortex that started to suck the Master in. "Now you shall enter my realm. Now you shall learn who is truly the Master!"

 Right now, Wil was glad he was the latter type.

 The sword blade hovered less than an eighth of an inch above his throat, held perfectly still by the Doctor's supernatural precision. And his hands, Wil thought, never one to resist a straight line.

 "Get out," the Doctor whispered, his eyes taking on a hunted look.

 Wil said, "I'd like to, but there's a sword--" then stopped. The Doctor wasn't talking to him.

 "You don't understand. This is the only weapon that can harm the Dark One. If your pain is the cost of wielding that weapon, then so be it. It is written."

 "I am erasing it," the Doctor said deliberately, each word falling as though it was the crack of doom.

 "You cannot!" he then shouted. "You are of the Three! You are a child of Light and Darkness! You must obey!"

 "Never let them take your soul," he whispered to himself. "Not even if they love you. Not even if they're a God."

 "You condemn the universe with your folly!"

 "I will--I must find another way!"

 "It is your destiny!"

 "I make my own destiny!"

 "You are the Champion!"

 "I....am....the Doctor!" And he flung the sword into the wall as hard as he could. It shattered, rather spectacularly.

 The Doctor looked down at Wil. Then he smiled, and Wil relaxed inside.

 "You know," said the Doctor, "there are some people who get locked into a one-track mind so easily these days." He extended a hand to Wil and helped him to his feet. "Now then...I believe we have a universe to save?"

 To be continued...