Eyes
His face was hidden behind a massive iron mask, and as the man, cowering, stared into the half-moon slits that were its pupils, he could feel all the hatred within those hidden eyes washing over him. The man said nothing as he stared, could only quake as the sweat fell over his face, down his arms, onto the brick wall at his back. Though the night was moonless, he could see his pursuer clearly, knew the sound of his footsteps and the scent of sweat and metal emanating from his shivering body, knew especially the blade protruding from the sleeve of a tattered red coat. If not for the unseen eyes, he would've fixed his own on that blade, if only to truly understand the instrument of his death before its task was complete.
From the corner of his eyes, as his hunter moved closer to his prey, he watched the sharp point swaying back and forth, swinging like a pendulum—slowly coming closer.
"I'm sorry! I never intended to…!" He was half-mad with fear, dizzy with the fatigue of running.
The mask moved with the blade, moving gently side to side. "You killed him."
The man gnashed his teeth together.
"Your apologies mean nothing to me."
As he said this, the blade stopped swinging; this only meant he had stopped before his target, was surveying him one last time before the kill. While the man pressed against the wall, the hunter removed his mask.
At last, the man was shown the face of his destroyer—he could feel his heart's erratic pounding grow more desperate as his eyes were revealed.
Before him, a set of white-gold eyes glowed with a light all their own, showing in the utter blackness like a full moon in the dead of night. They were wide, unblinking, and fell upon him with pupils fixed and shrunken; they did not wander from his own once their gazes were locked, allowing the full force of his hate and lust for revenge to crash against the man's skull. They were the eyes of a madman.
"You killed him," he said in a low, menacing whisper.
"I'm…I'm sorry! Please, have mercy on me! I—"
The man's last words were a plea for life, cut-short by the blade which sliced through his skull; a thin stream of blood flowed down his neck, as his forever-open eyes rolled back in his head.
The hunter's eyes never once left those of his prey, even when he tugged the blade from within the mind of the killer, and shook it roughly beside him. He listened to the blood spattering against the brick, saw the corpse slide to a crumpled heap of flesh against the wall of the alley. His vengeance was complete, his goal accomplished—the price had, at last, been paid.
His eventual smile held no emotion.
"…You're probably displeased with me, aren't you?"
The hunter held the iron mask before his face, its spiked top lightly puncturing his forehead.
"No…No, you would agree with me. If I can't bring you back, then what else is there to do but end the life of the one who ended yours, right?"
To him, the helmet did not respond, its eye-holes glowing a faint red. He held it out in front of him for a long while, staring into the eyes only he could see, knowing the person to whom they belonged would never again look back.
His smile gradually faded; the helmet shook violently in his grip, finally clattering to the cobblestones at his feet.
"I'm so sorry…"
Few would ever believe that, as they fell into his red-stained gloves, rivers of tears fell from the eyes of a murderer.
