Whenever Ezio's eyes found his target, he would leap with confidence and grace, striking with calculated force, the movement of his blades as sure and swift as a hawk when it found its prey.
But there was no pride in his work, no satisfaction, only vengeance, bitter and cold and laced with yearning. Yearning for his old life, for the times before; when he did not know what it was like to have everything in his world ruthlessly stolen away, when he did not know how it felt to plunge a blade into another man's throat, when he did not have an ever-present gap in his heart from which his brothers and father had been torn. It was a hole that he had no way of knowing how to fill, and so with icy determination he sought to reproduce it in every single man involved in the conspiracy against his family by tearing the life from them with his very own hands.
Perhaps killing their families as they had killed his would be the best method - but Ezio was not the type to stoop to such cowardly levels, and even if he were, these men were selfish, greedy, caring only for their own hide. He had little doubt that they would be largely untroubled if their families were to because of their actions. The only way to ruin such men would be to take their lives, the one thing they valued the most. And so he hunted them down.
They had imagined the Auditores gone from this world, beaten and unfairly broken - and yet they were wrong. Ezio remained, still breathing and living and strong, and in their failure, they created the very weapon that would be their own bloody undoing.
One by one, he found each man, and eliminated them with well-trained ease. His uncle Mario had taught him to grace their souls with such words as requiescat in pace, and yet every time he did so, he could not help but feel troubled at how he found no peace or solace himself.
There were always someone else to kill, another name appearing to delay him from his true goal, the main conspirator, the Spaniard. But what was there to come after he removed these men, after he blotted out the existence of Rodrigo Borgia? What was there to be gained? A bittersweet revenge, a pyrrhic victory at best - nothing that could ever make things as they once were.
And finally, in the end, he would be left a haunted man, with nothing but unanswerable questions and the blood of slain enemies on his hands.
(YEAH SO I CRANKED THE RIDICULOUS ANGST UP TO 11.
EZIO IS ALWAYS TOO JOVIAL AND HAPPY FOR MY LIKING. I DEMAND MORE B'AWWWW.)