Tomorrow's Demons Part 1

Inquisitive eyes, piercing blue like a shadow of the sea passing into night, peered out from beneath black locks that had set more than one heart aflutter. Their owner was all but invisible, stooped in a craggy recess that, though the sun had only begun to sink below the horizon, was already shrouded in the blackness of night. He had been waiting for the better part of an hour, making no discernible sound or movement that might attract watching eyes. Now, his target was close, and his patience at last failed him.
The man stepped from his hiding with the litheness of a cat, blue eyes roving restlessly. He was standing at the bottom of a small canyon, carved out untold centuries ago by a river, the only trace of whom that could be seen at present was in the shells that littered the cliff walls. Now, it was used by merchants and travelers to pass through the otherwise steep and treacherous terrain. One such caravan was passing through the ravine now, and it was upon this that the man’s eyes at last settled.
A smile, albeit set and grim, flickered across the young man’s weathered face, and, after a moment more of waiting, he leapt down into the path of the lead wagon.
The man Damien wore dark, loose clothes that left him free to move, and a long jacket creased with more than half a dozen pockets was draped about his arms and shoulders. A thin, cruel saber dangled from his hip, complementing the pistol in his left hand and the strange weapon in his right. At first glance, it might pass as a dagger, the only difference being the in the orientation of the hilt; where most knives and daggers have a vertical hand-grip parallel to the blade, this sported a pair of horizontal bars.
Though Damien’s form was slim and unimpressive during the day, he made for an impressive figure now, wreathed in early moonlight, his eyes thrown into shadow by the last rays of the dying sun. The horse leading the coach reared back in surprise and fright, tossing its rider asunder and screaming a high-pitched whinny. In an instant, three men appeared from farther back in the caravan, and helped their fallen comrade to his feet. The horse’s cry, and that of its rider as he fell, had raised quite a commotion, bringing the merchants forward. At last, all were assembled. Damien smiled again. They were a scared bunch, trembling as if they faced the shade of death itself. All together, they numbered fifteen; enough to pose a threat in theory, but of those less than a third were armed.
The man so unceremoniously thrown from his steed only moments before was now rising, dusting himself indignantly, and stubbornly refusing the assistance offered him.
“Monsieur, you must explain yourself at once!” the man cried. Damien lazily rolled his head about to face the speaker.
“If an explanation is necessary, Monsieur, France is no longer educating its citizens.” He smiled winningly before continuing, “I am here to take whatever possessions I can carry from your stock. Luckily for you, that is precious little; A small expense on your travels.”
The men who bore weapons glanced at each other, as if to assert that they were all present, before one spoke, “Robber, you are outnumbered and outmatched. You’ve chosen the wrong fight.”
“If you will not comply, I challenge the finest fighter among you to a duel, though, frankly, it is a waste of time.” The others advanced slowly, drawing knives and sabers from leather scabbards, apparently heedless of the bandit’s words.
“If you will not deal as gentlemen, at least do so as businessmen,” Damien continued. His foes were now only feet away from him, yet the man had not moved. “If you surrender your goods, you are not obliged to surrender your lives; I have no value for the latter.” Damien paused a final time, looked the men over appraisingly, then sighed. Raising the blade in his right hand, he squeezed the two bars that comprised the weapon’s hilt together. In a flash of moonlight that halted his opponents’ approach, the blade he held split into three.
The men fell back crying ‘Le Spectre! Le Spectre!’ Damien smiled appreciatively, waiting for the commotion to die down. “Now that we have been introduced, I will ask again; your money, or your money and your lives.”