The Blacksmith Daredevil Novels & Stories

​After what felt like an eternity standing in front of her parents' house, I kicked my bike into gear and rode back to the clubhouse. Riding through the wind, I couldn’t help but think about what it meant to actually have a family. I know what I am. I can be brutal viciously so.In the underworld, I have been called a lot of things. The Bull. The Devil. Iron Fist. But when it comes to family, I have a soft spot. I’m a child at heart for the people I love. But make no mistake: you do not mess with me, my brothers, or their old ladies.

Now only Bowen and Edmund were left standing right under the hole covered with a black magic circle. “Okay, let me go ahead and make a small crack in the black magic circle. Continue with your holy fire in the crack I made,” said Bowen with eyes gleaming with courage. He then crept up nimbly along the wall of the hole that dwarves had been made a footing that made it easier for Bowen to climb along the wall. With full strength, Bowen hit the surface of the black magic circle at the bottom with the blacksmith hammer that had the dragon's blessing with all his might. The multiple attacks shook the black magic in the circle. There were small cracks where Bowen had hit him many times with his bl

I would still send him home tonight feeling lost. Just then, Dante walked up between us in his tall frame. “You both will ride with the spirit of the brotherhood. You are not allowed to die. If you fall, you rise again.” That was all he said before turning his back and leaving us alone. I didn’t need his motivation. I was ready for this. And thankfully, I had been using the painkiller Dr.Vance gave me to numb the tremble in my left arm. My jaw flexed, teeth grinding as I straddled the beast beneath me. The hell-bound bike was unlike anything street legal—matte black frame, skeletal structure, raw engine growl that sounded more alive than machine. The handlebars vibrated hungrily like it want

I applied to Black Builders, a triple-A construction company that I found while looking for work through online job-hunting sites. I reviewed Black Builders’ company profile, and I was impressed, even awed, by the CEO’s handsome profile that I searched on the net. The CEO is happily married with four children, Benedikt Rurik Petrov-Silva, much known as Brix Petrov-Silva. He is in his mid-thirties but still oozing awesomeness.

A black shape drifts around the corner of the alley, tires screeching on the wet pavement. The bike is massive. A beast of matte black steel. The rider doesn't slow down. He accelerates toward the Reapers blocking the exit. They scramble, diving off their bikes as the black Harley plows through them. Metal screeches against metal. Sparks shower the alley like fireworks. The rider skids to a halt ten feet from me. He plants a boot on the ground, stabilizing the bike. Drakon. He’s not wearing a helmet. His dark hair is plastered to his skull. His face is a mask of pure, concentrated violence.

I found my spot, wedged between a group of rowdy bikers and a pair of scouts, blending into the frantic energy of the crowd. Below us, the dirt track was a blurred circle of chaos. I locked my eyes on the rider in the black and chrome—Dare. He was leaning dangerously low, his bike screaming as he tore through the first turn. But he wasn't alone. A rider in the jagged red of the Saints was glued to his flank, his bike heavy and wide, purposefully swerving into Dare’s path. "Jax, he’s targeting him!" I hissed, my hand gripping the cold metal of the railing. "The Saint... he’s trying to ram Dare off the track. He’s going to kill him!"

A cloud of dust rises as a sleek black motorcycle roars down the desolate highway. Its engine growls with power, propelling the bike forward with unstoppable force. The rider, known to many as Dante the Lycan hunter, sports a rugged leather jacket adorned with countless patches and insignias. His eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses, He exudes an air of mystery and danger. As he approaches a weathered roadside bar, the sound of his engine echoes through the open landscape halting at a bar.

Marco whispered, confirming my worst fear. The Blacksmiths are a criminal organization of ex-convicts and mentally deranged individuals. Many of them are prisoners, who were somehow able to break out of jail. I mean, I'm literally a mafia boss, selling drugs and weapons, so I know them. These people were the worst kind of criminals one could ever imagine. Murderers, thieves, rapists, human traffickers and so on. The Blacksmiths are no joke. "So he wants revenge for his father's death? That's why he took my wife?" I seethed.

She was crying while shouting: "Mom! Dad! I'm scared! Help me! Help me! Help me! Noticing a dirty 1-meter stick that was leaning in the wall, he immediately grabbed it then rushed in difficulty towards the Hybrid Mad Dog. Even though he was still 5 years old at that time, he was trained with basic swordsmanship by his mysterious teacher. Before the Hybrid Mad Dog could gnaw its prey in front, it suddenly stopped when it heard a yell from behind it. Yman flinched a little upon seeing its red eyes, those piercing gaze of the killer, it was almost identical with that eyes of that person who murdered their parents.

With that, he threw the cigarette on the floor and stomped on it with his worn out black Nike. The devil wears Nike. "I'll do it, you'll return my soul, right?" I tore my eyes off the Nike and focused on his gaunt face currently wearing a crooked grin. "Deal?" "Deal, Ruby Davies. Deal." He extended his bony hand out for a handshake which I chose to ignore. No way on earth was I touching that man. "How can I even trust you?" The stars were returning now and the night's noises seemed to be coming back gradually and most importantly, the devil seemed to be fading bit by bit.