The bitch is cowering by the time she finds him.
Her hair and eyes are wild by the time she does; shortswords slick with blood and body much the same. He thought his guards would protect him, cute little dogs, barking when they died. Silly man. He knows what sheâs capable of. What theyâre all capable of, and she hasnât been free so terribly long, so itâs the same thing.
She stalks through the halls; there are no more guards. Either all hiding from the monster or dead or ran to get help. It doesnât matter. The nameless mage moves through the halls like a ghost, smiling, body and movements tight and mechanical and utterly within her control.
The bitch is cowering in a corner when the door swings open, and Niyaâs smiling, and then their eyes land on him and theyâre not smiling any longer.
The bitch has the gall to cower.
The shortswords connect in the center and are a polearm once more while she crosses the room, long steps, utterly in control. He curls into the corner of the room where he sits, crying and trying to speak but nothing comes out, this bitch, this pathetic nothing has the gall to be afraid of the toy he built.
They want to ask him lots of questions, but they forget that until the blade is slicing cleanly through his throat, not killing him but certainly stopping speech. He falls, grasping at his bleeding neck, gurgling nothing - sounds. They wanted to ask him lots of questions. They wanted to make it slow. They guess they still can.
âYou seem surprised, doc,â Niya says, still not smiling, utterly in control.  âYou canât be that shocked; you practically built us.  You know Iâm stronger than any of the pets you keep around here.â
He doesnât answer, of course. Theyâre not even sure heâs listening, just holding at his throat like thatâll help. Niya drops to a knee so their eyes can catch, grabbing his should and easily hoisting him back to sit up.  âDo you remember me? If you tell me you do and I believe you, Iâll save you.â
Now heâs listening. Dying men are desperate, and maybe he just wants to believe her. His eyes focus on her, squinting, desperate, still holding his hands to his throat to stem the bleeding. He probably canât remember her; he broke so many of them, after all. His eyes are panicked. Heâs so afraid, itâs sort of funny. Did she look like that when he played?
âPlease hold still,â she says softly, half crawling into his lap, closer, closer, his eyes are so huge and heâs so afraid. Her face is close to his, but itâs the opposite of intimate. Airy and all wrong, âItâs hard to gather data when you writhe like that, Lizabeta.â
âOh, thereâs that smile,â she purrs, head ducking, mouth pressing to some of the smeared blood on his throat. Heâs not smiling, but the Lizabeta of the memory had, and the name seems to have stuck.  âAre you having fun?â
They feel him nod against their mouth, and Niya smiles, knows heâs not saying yes, Iâm having fun, but yes, I remember.
Dr. Nakar Sidorov, head scientist of the department that Niya spent her first two years as a Cicin Mage under, the man who saw her potential, the man who personally oversaw their experimentation for much of the dead mageâs career, who smiled when she screamed and writhed and broke, remembers her.
Niya smiles against his throat.  âGooood boy. I promised Iâd save you, didnât I?â
âDo you remember, early on, my first few weeks in your care?â He nods but she knows heâs lying now, but it doesnât matter. She pulls away, smiling hugely, mouth smeared with his blood, and no longer in control. âI cried the first time you used me, because it hurt, and you promised me that if I was very good, you would let me go early?â
âAnd I was sooo good. Didnât scream or writhe. But you lied, Doctor.â His eyes widen and go sick as he realizes.  âYou didnât let me go. You preferred to play with your food. You liked when I cried.â Her voice corrupts like all the Cicin Magesâ voices do. âAnd I learned so very much from you.â
The polearm splits, and one dagger finds his left hand and one finds his right, and Niya does not save him with the kindness of a swift death. Not until sheâs had a few hours to play with her food, at least.