Martial Online.

Chapter 372 The Storm Is Coming

'I didn't think I was that popular.' Jesse thought to himself with a wry smile and went to check his ForeverTube statistics.

His videos were slowly gaining more views, but his subscription count had decreased as his former viewers most likely thought he was done making videos.

'New messages?' Jesse saw that his inbox was filled with new messages from his fans and followers.

However, there was also a message from ForeverTube itself. It said that by creating more videos, income would increase.

It seemed like the company behind ForeverTube noticed that their new rising star, who got two features back-to-back, had stopped making videos and had basically disappeared.

'Yeah, I need to make more videos, but that is not my main concern now.' Jesse thought, and then closed his PC.

As the monitor turned dark and the PC stopped humming, Jesse thought about his future.

'I do need money, and ForeverTube is a very good income source. However, I have so much to do, so I'll focus on that later.

'Who knows, perhaps I'll start a ForeverStream career. From what I've seen, people like to watch strong players, and I think I am one of the strongest.'

Jesse was confident about it. It was confidence that stemmed from his strength.

"I am done here." Anna came to him after finishing cleaning up his room, and she suddenly looked confused as she saw something in his neck.

"Jesse…" She put her hands on her waist and angrily asked. "When did you get a tattoo?"

"Tattoo?" Jesse raised an eyebrow and looked at his stepmother with a quizzical look. "What are you talking about?"

"This." She reached out to his neck and traced her finger across it. "It's a tattoo of an eye!"

"Eye…" Jesse touched his neck and asked urgently. "What shape is the pupil?"

"Shape?" Anna pouted. "Are you trying to show off your tattoo? Why did you take one!"

"Please, tell me." Jesse pleaded with urgency in his tone.

"Fine…" Anna moved his hand out of the way, and said. "Star shape."

"Oh god…" Jesse's hand trembled. 'What does this mean? Do I have the Eye of Shimon here with me?'

"I have to tell this to your father." Anna shook her head and pinched his cheek. "I am very disappointed in you!"

"I am… sorry. Can I get it removed, perhaps?" Jesse asked.

"I think there is a way. We'll go get it removed tomorrow, right away!" Anna hmphed angrily and left the room with the brush and cleaning rags in hand.

"Sigh, the hell…" Jesse looked up to the ceiling and scratched the back of his head. "What does this mean?"

Jesse touched the place where the tattoo should be, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.

…

Somewhere in the world.

Vroom!

A loudly roaring motorcycle drove down an empty road. It was surrounded by desert, stretching all the way to the unknown.

The road was unkempt, filled with potholes and cracks.

However, the man driving the motorcycle pressed the gas harder and sped through the potholes without a fear in sight.

He wore a black-leathered jacket with spikes protruding from his sleeves and shoulders. A sigil of roaring engines adorned his broad back.

At last, a gas station appeared in the distance. It was beside a road, and nothing was surrounding it except the desolate desert.

However, alongside the gas station, there was a bar with a dozen motorcycles parked in front of it.

Music played from inside, and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes filled the air.

Vroom—the motorcycle stopped in front of the bar establishment, and the man dismounted and entered the bar. He was greeted by a group of bikers who were enjoying their drinks and music.

The man nodded briefly and took a seat on the bar stool, tapping his finger against the counter.

"Well, look who it is." The bartender, with a small gray mustache and a black leather jacket, greeted him with a friendly smile. "Mister Motorhero, isn't that your alias these days?"

"You don't like it?" Motorhero asked with a small grin.

"It's a name." The bartender chuckled and put down a bottle of heavy-smelling whiskey on the counter. "However, hero? Do you think of yourself as a hero?"

"I'll be one day." Motorhero chuckled and grabbed the bottle of whiskey, then poured himself a drink. "From now on, I am Anti-Hero."

"What will make you a hero?" The bartender curiously asked.

"Remember the time we got rid of that slum trash?" Motorhero asked.

The bartender nodded, remembering the time in the past.

Back then, he was a much younger, mustachless young man, and Motorhero was barely at high school age, yet he was already part of the Roaring Engines gang.

"Those slum trash filled our streets with their disgusting presence." Motorhero said with a scowl. "They dirtied our streets, lowered the value of our properties, and brought crime to our once peaceful neighborhood.

"We got rid of them, exterminated them like rats, and returned the peace to our territory.

"Back then, I thought we were heroes."

"You never thought from the other side's perspective." The bartender chuckled. "We were villains in their eyes.

"They were homeless because the economic situation was horrible; all of them lost their jobs, and the price of living was too high.

"In the moment of despair, they ended up turning to illegal means to survive."

"There is no justification," Motorhero said coldly.

"True. Are you doing something the same now?" He asked from Motorhero.

"I am." Motorhero stood up and gulped down the drink.

After a long sigh, he continued. "I am doing hero's work. I'll be saving Amaterasu."

"Well, I'll be praying to the gods for your success." The bartender raised the bottle of whiskey and took a long gulp. 'I'll also pray for your enemies' merciful deaths.'

A cross with a man nailed to it hung from the wall behind the bar counter. Its eyes seemed to stare into the void, and its body was filled with knife cuts and bloodstains.

Motorhero gazed over to the cross and pulled out his silver cruxifix. He held it up to his chest and whispered a silent prayer.

"The storm of hellfire is coming." Motorhero whispered. "And I am the lord of the underworld, ready to unleash my wrath upon the wicked."

"Amen…" The bartender whispered, finishing the silent prayer of Roaring Engines.

It was their motto.

They believed themselves to be the gatekeepers of the underworld, using their motorcycles to protect the innocent and punish the guilty.

"Go get them then, hero." The bartender stood tall, put his crucifix against his lips, and whispered a silent prayer.

Thud—dozens of chairs fell down as the bikers all around the bar stood up. They all wore black leather jackets, the sigil of roaring engines adorning their backs.

"The storm of hellfire is coming!" They tapped their chests with the sides of their fists and shouted in unison.

"Brothers, let's ride!" Motorhero screamed, and the bikers roared to life, their engines revving in unison as they prepared to become the storm.

After kicking down the door, Motorhero mounted his motorcycle and revved the engine. The engine roared like a mighty dragon.

Vrooom!

"The wicked shall fall!" Motorhero screamed with bloodshot eyes. 'The hero will rise.'