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#Post#: 20448--------------------------------------------------
New Orleans Story: Dark Fire Ride: A Robert Jones Story
By: Raven Tepes Date: October 20, 2025, 6:40 pm
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The road stretched long and silver beneath the moon, the kind of
road that swallowed men whole if they didn’t ride fast enough.
Robert Jones’s Harley thundered down the Gulf Coast highway,
cutting through the night like a bullet wrapped in smoke.
New Orleans was behind him now — left smoldering and whispering
his name like a curse. Ahead, the horizon glowed with the
promise of speed, noise, and sin. Bike Week.
He’d told himself he was just passing through. No fights. No
flames. Just the open road and a chance to forget the taste of
blood and ash. But trouble had a way of finding him — like a
ghost that never learned how to stay buried.
As the first streaks of dawn bled over the Atlantic, Robert
pulled into Daytona Beach. The roar of thousands of bikes echoed
through the streets, chrome and leather gleaming under neon
signs. The air smelled of salt, oil, and whiskey.
For once, it almost felt normal. Almost.
The Party at the Pier:
By nightfall, Main Street was alive with chaos — burnouts,
music, and the crackle of cheap fireworks. Robert parked near
the pier, grabbed a beer from a roadside vendor, and leaned
against his bike.
That’s when he felt it.
A pulse — faint but wrong. The kind of energy that crawled
beneath the skin of the world. It tasted like grave dirt and
static. He scanned the crowd.
People were laughing, dancing, flashing lights and tattoos — but
some faces were off. Their eyes too dull, movements too stiff.
He focused, and his enhanced senses caught it — the faint scent
of death hidden under perfume and sunscreen.
He muttered under his breath. “Damn it. Can’t even get one night
off.”
That’s when she appeared — a woman in a red leather jacket,
riding a black Triumph motorcycle that purred like a predator.
She stopped next to him, lifted her visor, and gave a
half-smile. Her eyes glowed faintly violet.
“You’re the Fire Wolf, aren’t you?”
Robert groaned. “Depends who’s asking.”
“Name’s Raven. Witch, racer, occasional troublemaker.” She
looked around the crowd. “And if you can feel it too, then you
know — something’s feeding here.”
Robert nodded slowly. “Yeah. Question is… what?”
The Empty Ones:
The answer came faster than either expected.
A scream cut through the music. Then another. The crowd parted,
and a man stumbled into the street, eyes black as ink, veins
glowing faintly blue. His mouth opened wide — too wide — and a
shriek tore out that shattered glass and dropped bikers to their
knees.
Raven swore. “Energy leeches.”
Robert’s dark fire flared at his fingertips. “Haven’t seen those
since Savannah.”
The creature turned its gaze on them, grinning with jagged,
unnatural teeth. More shapes moved behind it — dozens, maybe
hundreds, their bodies twisted, half-dead and half-possessed.
Raven flicked her wrist, and a chain of violet flame snapped
into existence. “Looks like Bike Week just got interesting.”
Robert grinned. “Let’s dance.”
Night of the Hollow Riders:
The fight tore through the pier. Robert’s dark fire ignited the
night, black and gold flames spiraling as he punched, kicked,
and slammed the creatures back into the shadows. They weren’t
true undead — they were drained humans, hollowed out by a
parasite spirit that fed on life-force and rode the living like
motorcycles.
Raven fought beside him, her chain whirling, carving runes of
fire into the air. She moved like a storm — graceful, furious,
alive.
“You ever gonna tell me what you are?” she shouted between
swings.
Robert ducked under a claw swipe, slammed his elbow into a
creature’s jaw, and replied, “A bad habit with a Harley!”
He unleashed a wave of dark fire, and the pier exploded into a
column of shadow flame. The creatures burned with soundless
screams, leaving behind only ash and the faint stench of burnt
ozone.
But even as they fell, Robert felt it — the source wasn’t gone.
Something bigger was feeding from afar, a presence just beyond
the veil.
The Shadow Under the Waves:
Raven pointed toward the ocean. “It’s in the water.”
They ran to the beach. The waves glowed faintly blue, rippling
with unnatural energy. A form began to rise — not human, not
animal, but a tangle of darkness shaped like a manta ray made of
liquid night. Eyes shimmered across its body, hundreds of them,
each reflecting the faces of the drained.
“The Leviathan of Echoes,” Raven whispered, fear creeping into
her voice. “It feeds on life, then stores the souls in itself.
If it finishes, it’ll devour the whole damn city.”
Robert’s eyes flared. “Then we make it choke.”
He stepped forward, planting his boots in the wet sand. The
black flame rolled over him, shaping into a wolf’s silhouette
that towered behind him — spectral, burning, furious.
“Hey, sea slug!” he shouted. “Dinner’s canceled!”
The monster roared, a sound that cr@cked the surf and sent the
crowd fleeing inland.
Robert charged into the waves, fists blazing, fire clashing with
dark water. Each strike evaporated the tide around him, steam
rising like smoke from hell. The creature lashed out with
tendrils of black energy, wrapping around him, crushing his ribs
— but he didn’t stop.
Raven raised her chain skyward, chanting in a tongue that bent
the wind. Lightning struck the ocean, feeding Robert’s flames.
Together, they unleashed fury.
“NOW!” she cried.
Robert summoned everything — every ember, every shadow, every
ounce of rage. The dark fire roared from his chest like a
volcano, and the Leviathan screamed as it began to disintegrate,
its many eyes bursting into light.
When the smoke cleared, the ocean was calm again. The air
smelled like salt and burnt magic.
The Morning After:
Dawn painted the sky pink and gold. The beach was quiet except
for gulls and the hum of engines from the distant strip. Raven
sat on the sand, exhaustion in her eyes, her Triumph resting
beside her.
Robert stood by the tide, watching the sunrise, the dark fire
flickering faintly beneath his skin.
“Never seen anyone take on a Leviathan alone,” she said softly.
“You’re either fearless or suicidal.”
He smirked. “Maybe both. Haven’t figured it out yet.”
She looked at him, something like admiration in her eyes. “You
heading somewhere next?”
Robert shrugged. “East, maybe north. There’s always another
storm somewhere.”
Raven smiled faintly. “If you ever ride through Savannah again…
look me up. You owe me a drink.”
He grinned, straddled his Harley, and kicked the engine to life.
The roar echoed like a promise.
“Keep the fire burning, witch.”
She saluted him with two fingers. “Always.”
Robert revved the bike and rode off down the coast, the rising
sun gleaming off the chrome — a lone wolf, fire in his veins,
chasing the next shadow on the horizon.
They say Bike Week got weird that year. Some folks swear they
saw fire on the water, and a man made of shadow riding away at
dawn. The locals just called him what he was — the Fire Wolf,
the rider who burns back the dark.
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