Sword of the Spirit

The black smith sat in front of the king with a smile on his face.

“Sir I present you the greatest sword of all time.”

In the blacksmith’s hand was a hilt. It was an ornate golden hilt that had a hanging red sash. Along with the sash there was a mickey mouse key-chain. But the king didn’t know that. Mickey Mouse hadn’t been invented yet.

“Where is the blade?” the King grunted; he was a fat old fellow who just liked to collect trinkets.

The blacksmith ignored the question and carried on.

“This sword is the sword of the spirit. The wielder’s aura makes the blade of the sword.”

The black smith began to focus. A long black blade began to come out of the hilt. It had little ribbons of silver inside it. It was a triangular sword with the broadest end being the base.

This sword is as strong as my soul. No man shall break it. No man shall touch it except me.

“Give it to me.” The King said furiously


The blacksmith swung the sword-

and the King’s head fell on the floor.

“Pompous Bastard.”

View this story's 5 comments.