slaves of freedom: glitched souls

Chapter six: even death doesn't want us

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Luca jolted awake, his breath hitching before he forced himself back into his usual calm demeanor. He was home. Safe—at least for now. His gaze shifted, surprised to find Kassandra sitting beside him in a chair, exhaustion evident on her face. His wounds throbbed dully, a reminder of the four bullets he'd taken earlier. Someone had patched him up. Kassandra, most likely. The bandages looked fresh, tight, and precise. She had taken care of him.

Kassandra stirred the moment he moved, her eyes fluttering open as if she hadn't really been asleep. The unshed tears in her eyes glistened, but her expression was steady.

"L… Luca. You're alive…" she whispered.

His eyes widened slightly at the emotion in her voice, but he quickly masked it, leaning back against the bed with a slow exhale.

"You finished Helen off?" he asked casually. "You shot her seven times… Did you double-check?"

Kassandra gave a short nod but hesitated, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. Her brows knitted slightly as she studied him.

"Wait… how do you know her name? Did she tell you?"

Luca's expression faltered for the first time. A sharp pain pulsed through his head, and he winced.

"Ugh… fuck…" He pressed his fingers against his temple, trying to make sense of the sudden ache. "Wait. How did I get her name right? No one mentioned it…"

Kassandra stiffened slightly, her confusion deepening.

"Maybe you overheard it from someone," she suggested, though her voice held a note of uncertainty. Then, after a beat, she met his gaze. "But Luca… who are you?"

Luca didn't answer immediately. He just looked at her, his expression unreadable.

Kassandra hesitated again before adding, "Your wounds. The bleeding stopped completely in about five minutes." She spoke evenly, but there was something guarded in her tone now, something watchful.

—

"I dunno. I've always been a tough bastard. They call me Joe, the Jawbreaker, and Joe mama clapper," Luca said with a straight face, despite the pain, before lying back down.

Kassandra rolled her eyes but said nothing. Instead, her gaze drifted over his body—not in admiration, but in scrutiny. He was athletic, sure, but that wasn't what caught her attention. It was the scars. Faint, crisscrossing lines on his back, old whip marks. And one, in particular, stood out—a small, precise burn, the kind a cigar might leave behind. She didn't ask about them. Not yet.

A moment of silence passed before she finally spoke.

"You… weren't gonna sell me, right?"

Luca scoffed, his irritation immediate. "Fucking idiot," he muttered, his tone sharp. "If I wanted to sell you, I could've taken your gun, tied you up, or some shit. What kind of Bollywood movie-ass timing was that? I almost got us out of he—ugh… fuck…" A fresh wave of pain hit, and he groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"I just wanted the helicopter's location," he continued, voice strained. "You saw the airplanes. Maybe the sky's safer."

Kassandra exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly. "I'm sorry. But you can't really blame me for what I did." Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—defensive, but not hostile. She wanted to justify her actions, but a part of her also knew he had a point.

Luca's expression darkened. "Why did you save me?" His voice was cold now, detached. "Why not just leave?"

Kassandra blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. "Come on, I'm not ungrateful. You would've done the sa—"

"No, I wouldn't."

He cut her off without hesitation. His face was unreadable, his tone void of the warmth he faked for the last three weeks

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"I would've left you there," Luca said flatly. "What you did was idiotic, to say the least. A helpless, dying man—and all that shooting? You definitely got the zombies' attention. What made you think I wouldn't die?"

"The chances were slim, but not zero!" Kassandra shot back. "Even if you had died, I wouldn't have left your body there… You saved me. Five times now."

"There wasn't a real threat," Luca muttered.

"Say that to the bullets."

Luca fell silent, staring at the ceiling. His mind turned over her words, but he didn't have a response—not a real one, anyway.

Kassandra's gaze hardened. "Who are you, Luca? Why are you such a hypocrite? You lie so much, you've started believing your own bullshit."

"I'm not lying," he said quietly. "I would've left you." His voice lacked emotion, but then—after a pause—he admitted, "My body moved on its own… But there's no changing the past. I owe you my life."

Then, to Kassandra's absolute shock, he stood up.

"You're one of my people now." His voice was serious, his gaze locked onto hers. "I'm going to protect you."

It wasn't like before, when his words had been casual, a throwaway remark. This time, he meant it. Every damn word.

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Somewhere else in the world, a portal tore open, its swirling energy casting unnatural shadows against the polished marble floor. From its depths, five figures stepped through, their presence exuding an air of absolute authority.

The first was a woman, draped in flowing robes of deep crimson, embroidered with golden patterns that shimmered unnaturally, as if they were alive. A delicate crown of black metal adorned her head, sharp as thorns, and her piercing gaze held the weight of unspoken power.

Beside her were three men, each distinct in their regality. One was clad in jagged silver armor, the edges cruel and unforgiving, his face obscured by an ornate helm save for his ice-blue eyes. Another, lean and draped in royal blues, had a smile that never reached his eyes, fingers adorned with rings that pulsed with unseen magic. The last of the trio stood taller than the rest, his crimson cape flowing over a chestplate etched with symbols that seemed to shift when one wasn't looking—his presence alone commanded obedience.

The final figure to emerge was not human. It was a hulking beast, its form wrapped in obsidian-black fur that shimmered like oil. Its elongated face bore hints of a predator's snarl, yet its eyes burned with unsettling intelligence. Thick chains, ornate yet unyielding, coiled around its wrists and ankles, though they did little to suggest restraint.

They were greeted by the man with the glowing purple eyes, his smirk unreadable. The mansion around them was grand, its walls lined with paintings that seemed to watch rather than decorate. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood, wine, and something… raw.

Next to the long, polished dining table, a creature sat—a dog in shape, but its proportions were all wrong. Its limbs were too long, its skin stretched too tightly over its frame, giving it an eerily human resemblance. It whimpered softly, though it did not loosen its jaw from the large bone clamped between its teeth. Blood dripped steadily onto the floor, seeping into the cracks of the polished stone. The bone itself, thick and unmistakably human, had been gnawed clean.

And yet, the beast would not let go.

—

Time had passed. Luca's injuries had healed completely, leaving only faint scars as reminders. Now, he stood shirtless in the midday sun, muscles flexing as he manually mixed cement. Sweat glistened on his tanned skin, dust clinging to his arms as he worked with practiced efficiency. A cigarette dangled lazily from his lips, the smoke curling into the humid air.

Beside him, Kassandra lifted a heavy brick with ease—something that would've been unthinkable weeks ago. Her frame had changed, muscles now subtly defined beneath her tank black shirt. She wasn't just surviving anymore. She was getting stronger.

"A real gentleman's way of taking care of a lady, huh?" she muttered sarcastically, but there was no real bite in her tone.

Luca exhaled smoke through his nose, placing another brick into place. "Well, you need to get stronger, so keep bringing me those bricks."

Kassandra huffed but complied, dropping another stack near him. "You trained me to shoot. Why all the physical training and hand-to-hand combat too? And how do you even know all this stuff?"

Luca didn't even glance up. "Gangster," he replied casually, smoothing the cement with a practiced hand.

She frowned. "I meant the building stuff. Weren't you in college?"

He took another drag of his cigarette before answering. "I'm originally Mexican. Manual labor runs in my blood." He spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, his tone relaxed as he continued working.

Kassandra shook her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

Luca stepped back, admiring their progress. "This should keep the zombies from chewing our butt cheeks."

Kassandra shot him a look. "Dude… you really didn't have to word it like that."

Luca just shrugged.

She crossed her arms. "And what if it's one of those monsters? What do we do then?"

Luca took another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling like it was just another day. "We die. Or run."

---

"Luca, something weird is going on," Kassandra said, chewing her food with a pensive look.

"Whaaaat? Holy fuck, I didn't notice," Luca replied dryly as he washed the cement from his hands.

Kassandra rolled her eyes but subtly adjusted her posture, pulling her jacket a little tighter around herself. She hated being looked at, even more being touched—but with Luca, she didn't feel the usual discomfort. Still, old habits died hard.

"I mean the airplanes," she continued. "And how fast you healed. The monsters. The zombies that sometimes show up and sometimes just leave. You saw that one disappear into thin air, right?"

Luca paused for half a second before shaking his hands dry. "Yeah, I saw."

Kassandra hesitated, her fingers tightening around her fork. "And also… I'm supposed to be dead."

Luca's hands stilled. His eyes widened slightly.

She swallowed hard, her voice steady but cold. "I… bit my tongue off. But it's here. Like nothing ever happened."

Luca blinked, staring at her.

She met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "And I wasn't hallucinating. You saw the blood."

Luca didn't respond right away. He remembered the knife. The way it should have ended him. But for now, he kept that to himself.

Something was very, very wrong.

"I dunno, Kassandra... I don't know at all," Luca admitted, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair. "Let's not focus on what we can't fix. We stay low. Never talk to people. And do your farm plan."

"I guess," she muttered, poking at her food. "But I can't help but wonder. I'm confused, Luca."

He shot her a flat look. "Ever thought of not being confused?"

"Fuck you. You're an asshole, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah," he shrugged. "Hard not to be when I have four extra assholes in my chest."

Kassandra scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, though, how the hell did you heal so fas—LOOK OUT!"

Her scream cut through the air as she lunged toward him.

Before Luca could react, a hand—pale, clawed, and wrong—shot up from the ground and grabbed his ankle. The grip was ironclad, its fingers cold as death. He instantly pulled his gun and shot at it. The bullet was useless

Then, in a heartbeat, it yanked.

Luca was gone.

The dirt where he stood caved inward as if swallowing him whole.

Kassandra barely caught a glimpse of what took him—armor, dark and battered, with the distinct silhouette of a samurai. But its face… its face wasn't human.

And then, just like that, he was gone.

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