The Last Swordmaster

A Not So Cheerful Roadtrip And Demon Salon Adventures

I got on the bus after hitchhiking with a girl heading to a college party. I didn't know how far I was from Vegas, and I didn't care. All I knew was that I was going there.

The bus ride really sucked. First of all, some of the people on that bus smelled like gym socks. It was nothing compared to the liquid rotten fish burrito, but it still wasn't pleasant. The lady next to me wasn't helping the situation, either. She just kept going on about how her husband cheated on her, and that she was going to Vegas to drink and get high to forget about him. I just pretended that I was listening and nodded occasionally. As long as her mascara tears weren't falling near me. I'm not exaggerating. Her cheeks were black, and she kept trying to wipe it away, which didn't help. All it did was get black stains on her gray sweatshirt. I sighed with relief when she finally fell asleep. Her snores were better than her blubbering.

There was no way I was sleeping tonight. How could I sleep knowing that I was going to murder someone with a crazy demon sword? Just thinking about every last thing that could go wrong made me feel sick to my stomach. I looked at the window to calm myself, but it was pointless. I couldn't escape the fact that I was about to murder someone. If he deserved it, it should be okay, right? He killed dozens of people. Justice would have been served either way, whether it was by my hand, someone else's, or the hand of the law.

Even if I doubted whether this was right or not, I knew would make sure that he got the painful death that he deserved. I shook my head and cleared the violent thoughts from my head. Thinking about what was happening wasn't going to help at all, so I waited. I waited hours for us to get to Vegas, and when we did, I ran off the bus and into the colorful, bright street. It was pretty, full of lights of every size and color, but crowded. I hated crowds more than anything.

There was a legend told about demon swords glowing and taking the demons into the place they wanted to go, so I decided to test it out. If it didn't work, I could do what Zach suggested earlier and take it up with the looney people who gathered butterflies across from the orphanage. I thought of that murderous coward's face plastered on federal warrants, and I unsheathed the sword, which was apparently invisible to regular human eyes. I spun in a circle, pointing south when the sword began to faintly glow silver. I looked up the street the blade was glowing at and began running in that direction. As I ran, the sword began to glow brighter and brighter, lighting up even the darkest of alleys. I ran into people, who screamed and yelled at me from afar, but I didn't care. How could I? I was so, so close.

Finally, I found where the man was. It was a dingy looking casino, complete with an overflowing dumpster and a gross couple doing questionable things in the shadow of it. "Of course," I muttered. "A freaking casino. In Laa Vegas. How unpredictable." I sighed and walked in.

I was wearing a knee length black dress and tall black boots, so I fit in well enough. I slid through the crowd, keeping an eye on my sword. I hated this place so much. It stank of alcohol, and everyone looked untrustworthy. The faster I did this, the better off I'd be. If anyone found out that I was only sixteen, I'd get kicked out for sure.

Not being noticed was easy because I was used to blending into crowds, so I eventually made it to the staircase leading up to the rooms. The sword was almost blindingly bright now, so I put it back in its sheath, pulling it out by every door I went by. I got to the sixth door on the left and the sword began flashing. I got my foot ready and kicked down the door. I didn't even know how I had that much strength at that moment, but I did. Maybe it was some demon fuel or something?

I stepped into the room and saw him.

He was counting a stack of bills, but he turned around to look at me. I didn't see him anywhere but on government posters and wanted lists before, but now I saw that he looked to be in his mid-twenties, with black hair and green eyes. He grinned when he saw me, flipping a knife to hold it in a throwing position and setting down his money. "Which one are you? You seem familiar. Pretty, too. Are you the Peterson girl? No?"