He jerked his mind away from the assault, and it enraged him beyond anything that, even in this, in which he was the best, he was defeated. And even though he had pulled off his attack, his defenses were next to nothing. They would take a little while before they could be drug back up. A simple nudge could rip his mind wide open.

He turned away, stalking, angry. It was almost palpable, his hate and displeasure for the Doctor, for his resistance.

"You always had to be the best," he snarled, before turning back to face him. The Master tried to console his ego with the fact the Doctor was at his mercy, in pain, suffering. He could kill him now, if he so wished. He had the gun. He had anything he wanted.