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#Post#: 20446--------------------------------------------------
Dark Fire Rising: A Robert Jones Story
By: Raven Tepes Date: October 19, 2025, 6:41 pm
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The rain came down hard on Bourbon Street, washing the sins off
the cobblestones and sending cigarette butts swirling into the
gutters. The smell of rum, sweat, and iron hung heavy in the
humid air. Music still spilled from every doorway — jazz, blues,
and heartbreak — but beneath it all pulsed a deeper rhythm.
Something hungry.
Robert Jones sat on his Harley outside a shuttered voodoo shop,
a half-empty bottle of rye whiskey resting on his thigh. The
black fire in his veins still whispered from the fight at
Lucille’s Roadhouse. He’d let Thomas Payne live, and now word
was spreading: the Fire Wolf was back in town.
He didn’t like the attention. Attention got people killed.
A figure stepped out of the mist — a woman in a long black coat,
boots slick with rain, her hair silver as moonlight. Robert
didn’t need his heightened senses to recognize her.
“Evenin’, Selene,” he said without looking up. “You only come
around when someone’s about to die.”
Selene Devereaux — witch, hunter, and representative of the
Covenant of the Crescent — smiled like a knife. “You’re not
wrong,” she said, her accent pure New Orleans. “We’ve got a
problem. The kind that makes even monsters nervous.”
Robert took a slow sip. “Must be a big one, then.”
“It’s Baron Duvall.”
That name made the air grow colder.
The Vampire Baron:
Duvall wasn’t just any bloodsucker. He was old — old enough to
remember when the Mississippi was still a sacred river and not a
shipping lane. He ruled the French Quarter’s underworld with
elegance and terror, a monster who wore fine suits and sipped
from crystal chalices.
According to the Covenant, Duvall was planning something called
the Crimson Veil, a ritual that would let him walk in sunlight —
not temporarily, not magically, but permanently. If he
succeeded, the balance between night and day would shatter.
Vampires would no longer hide from dawn; humanity would be
cattle.
Selene’s eyes flashed green under her hood. “He’s holding court
tomorrow night at St. Roch Cemetery. Word is, he’s bringing in
sacrifices from all over the city — witches, shifters, psychics.
Anyone with a spark.”
Robert growled low in his throat. “And you want me to crash the
party.”
“I want you to burn it down,” she said.
Robert grinned. “Now we’re speaking the same language.”
The Gathering at St. Roch:
The next night, New Orleans slept uneasy. The storm clouds hung
low, lightning flashing like the heartbeat of an angry god.
Robert rolled into St. Roch Cemetery on his Harley, the engine
growling low between marble tombs and crumbling angels. The
gates were already open — too easy. He parked, cr@cked his neck,
and walked in, the dark fire humming faintly under his skin.
The cemetery was alive with whispers. Vampires in tailored black
coats stood like statues beneath mausoleums, their eyes gleaming
red in the lightning. At the center of it all stood Baron
Duvall.
He was tall, elegant, and perfectly still — like a painting that
had learned to breathe. His skin was pale as frost, his hair
slicked back like ink, and his suit looked older than the city
itself. A silver cane rested in his hand, tipped with a ruby
that pulsed faintly — a drop of living blood.
“Ah,” Duvall said, his voice rich as bourbon and twice as
dangerous. “The wolf of black fire graces my ceremony. Tell me,
Robert Jones — are you here to witness history or die trying to
stop it?”
Robert smirked. “Depends on how good your history lesson is.”
Duvall’s smile widened, showing perfect white fangs. “I am about
to end centuries of weakness. When the sun rises tomorrow, it
will rise on my reign.”
He raised his cane. The ruby flared, and the earth trembled.
Coffins burst open, skeletal hands clawing toward the stormy
sky. The air filled with the stink of grave dust and ozone. The
ritual had begun.
Dark Fire Unleashed:
Robert didn’t hesitate. He dropped into a fighter’s stance, the
black flame exploding to life around him. It danced across his
arms, down his back, and out into the night — living fire that
cast no light, only shadow.
The first vampire lunged. Robert caught him by the throat, and
the dark fire spread like rot, burning through flesh and bone
until nothing remained but a scream and smoke.
“Bring me his heart!” Duvall commanded.
Dozens obeyed.
Robert became motion. His strikes were brutal and precise —
every move a mix of primal rage and trained violence. He wasn’t
just a brawler; he was a weapon. The fire curved around his
fists, forming blades of black energy that sliced through the
undead like paper.
Still, the vampires kept coming. Even for him, it was too many.
Then, a flash of green fire erupted from the tombs — Selene. She
had arrived with a circle of witches, chanting in Creole, their
spells burning lines of wardlight across the graves. The fight
turned chaotic — flame and fang, magic and blood.
Robert tore through another vampire, then turned toward Duvall.
“Your party’s over, Baron!”
Duvall’s smile never faded. “Oh, it’s just begun.”
He struck the ground with his cane. The ruby shattered,
releasing a wave of crimson energy that threw Robert and Selene
backward. The vampires shrieked as sunlight — real sunlight —
began to glow from within the clouds above.
Duvall stepped forward into the light, his pale skin steaming
but not burning. “You see?” he whispered, awestruck. “The dawn
belongs to me now!”
Robert wiped blood from his lip and stood, eyes blazing. “Not if
I make it night again.”
He summoned the full power of his curse. The dark fire erupted,
a tornado of black flame swirling around him. The light dimmed,
the clouds blackened, and thunder split the sky. The fire roared
like a living beast.
Robert charged. Duvall swung his cane like a sword, meeting
flame with shadow, but Robert’s power was born of both —
darkness and fury. Their clash shook the cemetery, tombs
shattering, spirits howling.
With a final roar, Robert drove his fist — burning with all the
darkfire in his soul — straight through Duvall’s chest. The
Baron’s body ignited from the inside out, his scream echoing
into eternity.
When the smoke cleared, only ash remained.
After the Storm:
Dawn broke over New Orleans. The air was clean, the rain gone,
and the sky painted gold. Selene stood by the gates, her coat
torn, her expression somewhere between pride and worry.
“You did it,” she said quietly. “But that power… it’s changing
you, isn’t it?”
Robert pulled on his jacket and lit a cigarette from the last
flicker of his flame. “Maybe,” he said. “But as long as it burns
the right monsters, I can live with that.”
He kicked the Harley to life, the rumble echoing through the
silent graveyard.
“Where will you go?” she asked.
Robert smiled over his shoulder. “Wherever the dark fire takes
me.”
And with that, the Fire Wolf rode into the sunrise — a shadow on
two wheels, leaving behind the ashes of another nightmare.
In New Orleans, legends don’t die. They burn, fade, and wait for
the next storm.
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