Yugioh Bike Novels & Stories

"Young man, you've got eyes on my Karmic Bloomfire… Hmm, well, that makes sense. You've cultivated the Solar Titan Physique, so you need a heavenly flame to evolve further," Yohan pondered. "Just say yes or no." Gideon spread his hands and snorted. "You want me to be your pawn, but you're not offering anything in return? The stronger I get, the more useful I am to you. Isn't that right?" Yohan sneered. "You sure know how to push your luck. But the Karmic Bloomfire is extremely rare. It's valuable to me as well. I can't give it to you. However, I can teach you a secret technique."

“We will do this.” I exhaled slowly. “Theo has no idea what’s coming.” At that, both of them looked at me. Lilith spoke first. “Speaking of Theo… who is he even going to partner with? Viper was the only bike expert he had.” Cassian scratched his chin. “Yeah. With Viper dead, Theo's company doesn’t have anyone left who can build a bike from scratch. All their previous prototypes were Viper’s.” I frowned. “Then who the hell is he going to use?”

“We had a little accident.” I listen while he explains the message — the panic, the cryptic crap from D — while my eyes stay glued to the bike. A few guys are wrestling it out of the surf, water pouring off it like blood from a crime scene. Something cold slides down my spine. The fucker tampered with my bike. My jaw tightens so hard it hurts. Fucking asshole. This wasn’t some prank. This was clear intention. He wanted us hurt … or dead. My stomach knots.

"Baby, you're assuming we'll let you get ahead." "Let me?" I turn the key. The engine roars to life—thunder trapped in chrome and muscle. The bike vibrates beneath me, eager and alive, and I feel it everywhere. "You don't let me do anything, River. You follow. Or you get left behind." Cade laughs, the sound rich with challenge. "Big talk for someone who hasn't seen what we're riding." That's when I notice them—two more bikes in the shadows of the garage. A matte black Dyna Wide Glide with aggressive forward controls that screams dominance. And a sleek Street Glide with custom paint that matches River's wolf in shifted form, all silver and smoke.

I hear another voice, away from the camera lenses. “Okay, Wes is going to send you his work so far. Can you carry on, Cody. We’re still on air and the network is crappy,” “Okay,” Cody said as he received a notification. Opening the file sent, it instantly took him to different files uploading themselves. Cody clicked on a few of them because the exact same bike from the biker came into view. It had the designs and no number plate. “No number plate,” he mutters, scanning the bike from the live footage. A few shops showed up.

Now he had an amused look on his face. “It’s fine, I’ll bring a date.” Ok, something about his statement struck a nerve. I am not admitting that the idea of Brax with another girl just rubs me the wrong way. I was about to throw another smart comment his way when he stepped away from the bike he had been leaning on. I was able to get a better look at it then. No. Fucking. Way! A ghost silver R1 with dragon scale graphics!

The path bypasses the main courtyard where most members gather at this hour, weaving instead through shadowed gardens to where motorcycles wait in a smaller, private garage. Riku's bike stands apart from the others—sleeker, darker, customized with subtle dragon motifs worked into its frame. He runs his hand along its seat with the casual intimacy of a lover, then turns to me with predatory focus. "Here," he says, shrugging out of his leather jacket. "Night air gets cold once we're moving."

Eerily silent. I burst into the garage. It’s mostly empty. The rows of Harleys are gone. But in the back corner, covered in a dusty tarp, is the "shop bike." An old Yamaha dirt bike the prospects use for errands. I rip the tarp off. It’s beat up. Rusted. But it has an engine. I straddle the seat. I kick the starter. Chug-chug-die. "Don't you dare," I growl. I kick it again. Harder.

"You have been cooped up inside this concrete compound for days now. I thought you might really need some fresh air to clear your head." He led me out through the back door and into the bright sunlight of the yard, walking toward the long line of shiny motorcycles parked against the wall. His bike was completely unmistakable—it was a massive, heavy black Harley-Davidson motorcycle with bright chrome details that caught the sunlight and a large Iron Reapers skull painted right onto the fuel tank. He reached over, grabbed a black helmet from the handlebars, and handed it to me. Then, he stepped closer and helped me strap it tightly under my chin, his large, tattooed fingers moving with careful

We stepped outside, the cool morning air a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere inside. As I looked around, my eyes fell on a sleek black motorcycle parked near the entrance. I whistled appreciatively. "You can get this awesome bike but can't... get a good porridge?" Caleb chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "This bike's name is Shadow. And for the record, my cooking skills are just fine. It's the porridge that's lacking."