Who the hell was Janus?

Trace Taylor could infer that he was the boss of the Onyx Lair Crew. But she really wanted to know who exactly he was and what exactly he looked like, especially since he and his crew were wrecking the commune right now.

A dozen men rode through the city’s streets, their bikes roaring out puffs of black gas and blanketing the air. They hurled fireballs and tossed Molotov’s into buildings, setting buildings ablaze as they laughed madly to themselves.

The redhead was aghast. “The fuck are they doing?”

[Seems like they’re trying to burn down the commune,] Ex answered.

That was a rhetorical question. Trace scowled and grabbed her gun. “We can’t let them do this.”

Veronica ran past the two as other police officers followed her. “Trace, Liz, we need your help with apprehending—”

“Got it.” Elizabeth Evergreen grinned and drew her blade before the police chief got any further. “You know what they’re doing, Trace? They’re about to get their asses kicked. Come on!” She dashed out into the street as the bikers continued their attack.

Trace followed her best friend chasing after one of the Onyx Lair Crew members on a bike. The biker turned to face them and revved his engine. He held up a chain which he swung over his head before speeding their way.

“Move, bitch, get out—”

The redhead whipped out her pistol and fired a single shot. It struck his tire, bursting it, and sending him flying into the air. His bike skidded with a soft screech to a halt as he landed next to the pair.

He tried to get back up, reaching for his chain. But Liz stomped on his arm before he could grab it. The man squeaked. “Hngh—”

“You were saying?” She smirked.

“I said, you’re a b—”

Trace struck him in the back of the head, knocking him out. “Don’t waste your time talking to these arseholes. There are more of them we have to deal with.”

Liz deflated. “Aw, but I wanted to make him eat his words.”

Another bike came at them, but this one was being ridden by two people. One of them— the one at the back— was a Spellcaster of sorts. He created a sphere of embers. One that bubbled into existence and simmered with a heat that could melt even concrete. He tossed it at them—

And Trace shot it midair. The fireball exploded, raining down sparks onto the pavement.

“How’d you know that’d work?” Liz blinked.

“I hoped it would. Now move!” The redhead leapt to the side as the bike rode in between her and her best friend.

The driver swung an axe at them, barely whizzing by their heads. Liz ducked under it and grabbed for the Spellcaster at the back. With a yank, she pulled him off the bike and slammed him onto the pavement. He jerked, groaning as he coiled into a ball.

Meanwhile, Trace fired two shots at the bike. The driver hopped off it, cursing at her before she shot his kneecaps out. He screamed and grasped the wound.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you do that?”

Trace blinked. “You’re… erm… killing people?”

“I only did that because you kidnapped one of our buddies!” he shouted.

The redhead exchanged a glance with her best friend.

“Don’t look at me,” Liz said. “Dude’s just nuts.”

“Bloody bellend.” Trace pistol-whipped him, and he fell with a thud.

That was three down. Jeremy noticed the unconscious bikers and quickly got to work apprehending them. There were still more— at least a dozen of them had come in, riding and burning things down. Now, there were half a dozen of them left. The others had been caught by Veronica or Adair or the other officers.

The six remaining bikers rode in a circle, following the lead bike which was, for whatever reason, larger than theirs with long spike-like protrusions coming out from its sides. Flames shot out from its exhaust as it came to a stop. The man riding was short and stubby— small in comparison to the size of his bike.

[Berserker – Lvl 19.]

“So, you must be Janus,” Veronica said, approaching him.

“Heh, that sounds like anus.” Liz snickered.

Janus narrowed his eyes. He ignored the comment, instead folding his arms. “I see my reputation precedes me.” Somehow, even though he was half a foot shorter than her, he managed to look down on her. “That’s good. That’ll make this easier.”

Veronica raised a brow. “Make this easier?”

“Return my men to me, or we’ll burn your little commune to the ground,” he declared.

His words swept over the onlookers like a strong gale. It nearly knocked Trace off her feet. She couldn’t help but sputter at the ridiculousness of that statement.

“Are you fucking with us right now?” she said. She gestured at the unconscious and apprehended men. “We literally just kicked your arses. I know you have a complex, considering…” Her eyes flickered to his bike, and he frowned. “But don’t be a moron.”

“Excuse me, does this dog talk for you?” He glanced dismissively at the redhead.

“Oh, you fucking shitheel. Did you just call me a bitch?” She stepped forward, snarling. “If I’m a dog, you’re about to be dog food.”

Liz made a face of disgust. “Gross.”

“It’s a metaphor, Liz.”

“I know, but considering that his name sounds like… you know…”

“Oh, right. Yuck.”

Janus was not amused. “This is not a laughing matter. This is a threat. Did you really think I brought all my men with me here today?”

Veronica nodded. “I am aware. And if you think we’ll just let you get away with that, you must be mistaken.” She reached for her handcuffs and her pistol.

He sighed. “Very well. Then you shall all die.”

And she lunged for him. Everyone else burst into action too. But before the police chief could grab Janus, one of the bikers— a woman— raised her arms. A flash of light splashed over Trace. It was like she’d just been dipped into salt water, and she couldn’t open her eyes for a moment. When she could finally see again, she saw smoke billowing up and shrouding the road.

Trace coughed as the streets were blotted out. All she could hear was the revving of engines as the bikes drove off, leaving the commune for now.

“Ass,” she muttered, and Liz snickered.

“I get it. It’s because his name sounds like anus.”

[(F+) Magically Enhanced Accuracy has reached level 14!

(E-) Quick Fire has reached level 10!

(D-) Mystic Bullets has reached level 9!]

* * *

With the Onyx Lair Crew gone, Veronica was tasked with cleaning up the mess left behind. Fortunately, even if there was no fire department, there were Spellcasters. Citizens of the commune pooled together their magic to put out the flames. A few buildings had been burned down, which would be problematic. But the biggest worry on Trace’s mind were the casualties.

A total of a hundred people had been injured in the sudden attack. Not only that, but nearly a dozen were dead, with nearly just half many in a dire state. She simply was forced to watch as a girl clung to her mother, bawling as the woman was put on life support.

Unlike with the actual attack, Trace couldn’t do anything here. Or… could she? She remembered one of the items she got from the Dire Pits.

“Adair,” she said, walking up to the man.

He was tending to a minor scratch on his leg, wrapping it up with a gauze. “Is something the matter, Trace Taylor?”

“Do you know anything about making potions?”

“Potions?”

“I have a potion base,” she explained and produced a bottle. It had a glowing blue liquid inside of it. One which she hadn’t had the time to study just yet. It seemed to exude a soft warmth that didn’t actually touch her skin— different kind of radiance from anything she ever felt before. “Is there anything I can do with it? Maybe make some kind of potion that heals people?”

“Alas, as much as I wish to help you, I know nothing about potion brewing.” He shook his head apologetically. “You’ll have to seek out an Alchemist. It’s a craft that would very much help one with concocting such solutions.”

Trace tapped a finger on her chin. “Hm. And what’s your craft?”

“As of right now, I am undecided. Actually, I just hit level 10 in my vocation, so I was about to choose one.”

“Become an Alchemist, then,” she said simply.

“Uh, pardon?”

“I said, become an Alchemist.” She shoved the potion base at him. “Help me make a potion that can heal wounds and injuries.”

“I believe I require more deliberation to choose an optimal craft, Trace Taylor. To make such a hasty decision—”

“Look, right now people are dying in the other room, and you can do something to help them. You wanted to help out the commune, right? You can prove it right here.”

He was still uncertain. His eyes darted over to the doorway as he pursed his lips. “I…”

“Please.” She gave him a pleading look.

Another beat passed before he eventually acquiesced. “Very well,” he sighed. He got to his feet as his eyes flickered for a moment. “There.”

“It’s done?”

“I am now an Alchemist, yes.” His brows creased as he tapped a finger on his chin.

“Can you make something with the potion base?”

“I can… create a kind of healing ointment,” he said slowly. “However, I’ll need a few additional ingredients—” He gave her a list, and she quickly went to fetch what he asked for.

When she returned, she found Adair working with a makeshift fireplace fueled by his magic. He was boiling the potion base, and he smiled when she handed over the ingredients.

“Thank you.”

“Is this really all you need?” she asked, peering over his shoulders. “I’d have thought you’d require something… I don’t know, magical or from a Dungeon. Maybe monster parts, too. But these are mundane items you can find in a store.”

“It’s not these ingredients that’s important, Trace Taylor,” he explained as he worked. “And if you’d given me more advanced ingredients, I probably wouldn’t be able to make use of them at my craft’s level. What’s important is what I do with the ingredients.”

“And what do you do with them?”

“I infuse each with magic.” He held up his finger as a red glow overcame it.

Trace watched as he somehow pushed his aether into each of the ingredients before crushing them and mixing it in the potion base. The blue of the liquid changed, molding into a darker hue of red. It wasn’t really a liquid either any longer, but more of a sticky texture.

“Is that it?”

“Indeed,” Adair said, drawing back. He held up the bottle as it glinted like a jar of glittering fireflies that sparkled in the night. “Hopefully it will help those in critical conditions. I am not sure if it will cure them from their injuries fully, but it will at least be enough to save them when drank.”

“Oh, you have to drink it?” Trace’s face twisted in disgust.

“Worry not, it probably tastes better than a cough drop.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks for this, Adair,” she said. Then she shifted slightly. “And sorry for forcing you to take this craft.”

“It is no matter,”— he waved a hand dismissively—“I was being indecisive, anyway.”

They both headed for the room full of the injured. Adair led the way, and Trace followed. But before the redhead could reach the door, someone stopped her.

“Hey, Trace,” Jeremy called out to her as Adair entered the room without her.

She halted, and the door closed. “Yeah?”

“Someone is here to see you. He says that you guys are friends.”

Her eyes widened. Is it Mom and Dad? … She bit her lower lip. “I… just show them inside. Tell them I’m busy and I’ll be with them in a minute.”

“Oh, it’s just one person,” the policeman said. “And I’d let them in, but… well, problem is, he’s with the Precursors of Peace.”