You've done it.
You've finally killed him.
And it's nothing like anything you'd ever imagined.
He's just lying there, prone, broken and utterly, utterly still.
He didn't regenerate and it's your fault.
It's unnatural, and there's this strange feeling in your gut, and a stranger sort of emptiness in your head, and you really, really wish the drums would make a reappearance, just about now would be great, thanks.
But it's quiet and everything seems to look more faded, more distant somehow, and oh, is this how he felt when you died?
You never even thought to ask, and now he's gonegonegonegone and it's impossible and so, so wrong.
You've just killed the only thing that ever made any of this worth it.
And everything's so vague now, so colourless, like his face is getting, where once the universe was a technicolour playground.
And he can't have meant this much to you, could he?
But he did, and Rassilon, what have you done?
And the freak is lifting a gun and his face is contorted with rage and, oh, he's going to shoot you.
And all you can think is -