Biker Wings Novels & Stories

The biker stood over him, unmoving, his presence suffocating. Then—he reached into his jacket. Lucas flinched, half-expecting a weapon. But instead— Click. The flash of a camera. A picture. A message. A reminder. The biker pocketed his phone, tilting his head slightly. “This was a warning,” he said. Then—without another word—he swung his leg over his bike, revved the engine, and disappeared into the night. The silence that followed was deafening. Lucas lay on the ground, gasping for air, his body aching, his pride shattered.

And if I did the former… Nah, I had to win. “All bikers ready?” The marshal asked. We revved our bikes in response. He waved down the flag, and stepped out of the way. I relaxed my hands on the handlebars and took off. The lane was far more smoother than the one at my former academy, and I wasn’t used to ‘getting things easy.’ I picked up speed, swerved down a sharp path, then burst out in the much wider lane. Marguerite wasn’t bluffing when she bragged about being a good biker. I could hear the sound of her Ninja’s engine far off from behind me. Qyler was being lazy as always, enjoying himself rather than aiming to win. The bastard was as good as I was otherwise.

I’m- Movement. It slices into my vision before I can process itshadows peeling out of the trees. Wolves. Not Dravens. Not the Voss but rogues. The smell hits me next, sharp and foul, like rot tangled with wet fur. My stomach drops just as one lunges onto the asphalt. I yank the handlebars, tires screeching, but claws rake across the bike. The machine jerks sideways, and I’m flying, air is rushing and the ground rushing faster.

Krystal's resolute nod reinforced our commitment to follow his advice, understanding the necessity of maintaining a low profile in this volatile Following Krystal's lead, I followed her towards the bar, the familiar strains of Bob Seger's "Main Street" resonating through the air. The choice of music only confirmed what I had already suspected – we were indeed in a biker bar. In my mind, Fat Bob had always been associated with images of Harley-Davidsons, cold beers, and Tom Cruise's infamous underwear dance. Little did I know that tonight, I would be adding toothy strippers to that rather eclectic mental picture.

I look up and see Damen flying straight towards me. His black knee-length biker boots slam into the ground causing it to shake momentarily from the impact. He turns away from me to fight off several demons that have circled around me, in my weakened state. I watch as he spins rapidly with his dark black wings extended and manages to knock most of them away and creating an opening. Max's majestic black wolf, Dom, slams through the opening, turns, and claws several demons' throats out, while his Beta Jason tears organs out of a few others.

"Get out of here, you bum! Fucking get!" "I'm not a bum, areshole." My legs were stiff, locked still in the kneeling position I'm struggling to get out off. The man, a butcher by the look of his filthy smock, kicked a can in my direction intending to hit me. A gust from my hidden wings was my only saving grace. "All right! I'm getting up, no need to be a dick about it!"

He was curious to know the kind of wings she had. “Yes, do you want to see it?” she smiled. Her scarlet eyes radiated under the moonlight, adding enigma to her lethal beauty. “It will be an honor.” Rieska closed her eyes, and a moment later, her wings took shape. It was black similar to a bat. There were gold and crimson swirls on its membrane. “How is it?” She widely opened her wings, levitated near him that he could perfectly see the small details in it. It was fascinating.

Wait, why does he look like a real berserker? Jeje flies through the sky by boosted by the fire igniting on his back like a real Gundam. He flies tearing the wing with his piercing hand and flies back tearing it again. He keeps doing that that Ahol wings are full of holes. Buriko beats the Tasmanian Devil with his ax in rampaging mode. Why does he really resemble Heracles?!