Prompt 135.3: Go to the Doctor Who Serial Title Generator, generate a random title and then write a scene from that episode/serial: "The Gods"

He was still dizzy, the psychic pressure all around him. He was losing, and he couldn't allow himself to lose. Not this time. Not at their hands, no. But Ace was out there still, somehow. She had faith he would make it through and he was too stubborn to allow these... these creatures of mischief and destruction abandon her. No, not Ace. He couldn't disappoint Ace. Not after everything they'd been through together and everything that she'd forgiven him for. She always had faith in him, even when he sometimes doubted that he deserved it. She was there, a mental anchor for him to hold onto. For him to lurch his way out of his own psychological trappings and make them both something greater. That's why he had to do this.

His joints burned with effort as he pulled himself up from the cold cobblestone beneath him. He wiped the saliva from his mouth, having forgotten to swallow in all of his desperate panting. Wiped the gript from his cheek with the heel of his hand, ignoring the ache of what he suspected was a fading bruise. The strike hadn't felt pleasant in the least. It all muddled with effort to control his pulse, both of his hearts jack-hammering against his ribs, panic that he needed to subdue and refused to show driving them.

"So, Gods of Ragnarok...," the words rolled spitefully off his tongue. "I've cost you your bodies, and you still haven't stopped your bullying. All through time you've reveled in the distress of the humans you've puppeted, that you've tortured. No more!"

"You, look at you, Doctor... what could you do to us? You're afraid... You deny it, but we see your fear. We see it as clearly as you can see light."

Their words condescending as ever, drifting out of the darkness. Everywhere at once, even inside. He supposed that was where he was actually hearing them, deep in the hollows of his mind. He was afraid, yes. He still wasn't going to show it, that would be acknowledging an awareness on the emotion. A dependency that would give him doubt and doubt was an exploitable weakness. He had to focus on something else, something louder...

The pain of those who died for their entertainment, who existed only because they required constant stimulus crying out for vengeance. That was all around. What a stupid concept, vengeance was. What needed to be done, to end all this suffering, was for the Gods to be stopped one final time.

"Me?" he retorted incredulously, managing to pull himself to his feet. He stared out into the dark, at them, even if they were all around him. He would meet them with his eyes open, even if he was so weak that his stance was wavering. The determination, the drive. That would give him strength. "The old man, who could barely cobble together a sentence? The mad genius? The grinning fool? The aristocrat? The dandy? What could I do?! What could I do you ask!?"

Coat hanging half off his shoulder, his scarf about to fall off, his hat about to pop off his head; he indeed wasn't the picture of intimidation. The Doctor never was, though. Never had been. His hat tipped on his head crookedly, and the grin he cracked wildly oafish. How could anyone take that seriously?

That's precisely why he always won.

"Because, if it was just me, you would never have to worry. But what you're facing is every person that's ever stood by my side. That's ever beaten the odds. That's lived for truth and died for what they believed in. Fighting the battles of a weaker species is a little pointless, wouldn't you think? No, there's power out there, in these people that you discard like forgotten childhood trophies and ribbons. I keep them with me. It's them you face, Gods of Ragnarok. One and many, all of them here, all of them behind me, and one in particular is depending on me getting her out of here. So... if you don't mind, where are those orbs..."

He straightened his coat, raising his chin brazenly. Every bit of the small man spiteful, defiant. Ready to stand up in the face of Old Ones for the sake of a frightened but very brave girl.

He had some juggling to do.

Character: The Seventh Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who
Words: 725