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The End Of Time

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The end is near, and the world is hushed, like the silence before the storm. The end is near, traveling through the darkness. The end is coming, traveling on a lost legacy. Returning from the edge of it all. Returning from the end, returning from death and darkness, returning to us. Twisted by the light, twisted by a war for creation. A war of the light and the dark. Ended by the end of all. No one left to fight. No one left to live. No one, nothing. Nothing under a burning sky. It ended before there was a chance to choose. And He wanders. The last of the warriors without a name. The last of the soldiers that never die. The last of a legacy that lived like a diamond among coal. The last, or so he thought. And the last is never whole. Ever the wanderer. Healing his torment by healing it all. The Doctor of the universe healing the pain, and the injury of all. A wanderer, and a renegade. A fighter and a pacifist. The soldier without a gun. Fighting for it all, for everything. Wandering, ever traveling, so far as to the edge itself. And at the edge is the impossible. Another bearer of the legacy. Hidden behind a mask of lies. Hidden by the sound of the drums that beat like the heartbeat of time. The drums calling through the darkness. The drums, calling them to arms. A drumming… never ending. The Master of all and The Doctor of time. And they shall stand on the edge, and looking into the darkness see… The legacy is returning, through the darkness. The drums now a beating sound, announcing arrival. Not a drumming, a call to arms; a drumming, a beckoning to the world, and to The Master. And on the edge, standing tall and strong, The Doctor must heal the wounds of life, and kill the legacy. The Doctor must hurt them. Or all is lost…





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