Man Without Eyes Novels & Stories

As soon as the factory was illuminated by faint yellow lights, I closed my eyes. When I opened my eyes, I realized my vision had become blurry. My blurry gaze fell on a man dressed in black. I tried blinking several times, but I still could not see his face clearly. My gaze paused on a pair of red eyes. My eyes widened. 'Leo!' I thought. Because his wolf possessed red eyes. I saw him grab a bottle of wine and smash it against a man's head. With the broken bottle, he fought everyone. He fought with the skill of an experienced fighter.

I smile down at him but it disappears with the realization that he can't see it. "Y-yeah, maybe." But a slight smile graces Nathaniel's lips. He tilts his face up to where mine is, but just a little off-center. When he does this I nearly drop my books. His face is thin but his jaw is squared. The glasses he wore are in fact not sunglasses, but framed glasses whose lenses adjust to the lighting. And right now, they are clear and show off golden brown eyes. His eyes look different though, as if a lunar eclipse overlapped the sun, haunted, as in ghostly around the pupils.

Turned toward her on the stool. Put one hand at her waist. She turned toward him. This close…. counter close, morning close, the specific proximity of two people who had stopped maintaining any deliberate distance, she could see everything. The lines of his face in the morning light. The dark eyes with their particular quality of attention. The slight disorder of hair that hadn’t been attended to yet. He looked like himself. Not the managed, controlled version she’d first encountered. Not the version that kept things back and calculated access.

Curly golden hair and light emerald eyes, pale skin, and a body similar to Rai's both in muscles and height. "You saw what?" He asked shocked. "What's wrong with you? Why did you take that shit off?" Ha, those two are so funny. I had a smirk on when I talked back at him, "You two are so damn funny. Both of you want me dead, just like everybody else. Yes, I can see others dying with my eyes. No, I do not kill them. No, I can't do anything about it. No, it can't be changed. Yes, I don't mind if you all blame me for it. Is that what you want to hear?" They both were speechless while staring back at me. "Look, brothers, I don't mind you hating me and wanting me dead. Really, I don't. But you hav

Mane nodded his head like a stringed puppet, his dull eyes suggesting that he was not himself. His hand reached out for the Eyes of Destruction, their red glow a dangerous beast that called to him, pulling him into their selfish embrace. As Mane’s hand grew nearer, the red light grew brighter, and the shadow behind the eyes gained a more visible presence. A red robe hugged the shadow gently as it slowly gained its features.

Now Sethlzaar studied his enemy. In the stories they never showed pain. Not because they hid it, but because they simply couldn't feel it. The cuts he had inflicted stared back at him. Blood clung to the man's skin, spilled mildly from deep cuts, never dripping. Highly viscid. Men who bled, but not as any man should. Men with lifeless eyes that stared but never looked, for the life had long since left them. Men without a gaze. Men without wills. Men that weren't men.

Sleep takes me fast. And for the first time in six days I dream. Not about stone walls or grey light or masks. About a hall. About light coming through windows that have been closed for sixty years. About a man at the end of it... waiting.