They did not rush to their destination. In fact if judged purely from pace alone it would be nothing more than a sedate walk through the woods.

Every step that Chris took threatened to be his last. His body was candle wax on the verge of spilling over, his wick burned down to its end. And he was numb, his shock and anesthesia that could block out the whole world.

The Raksha did not begrudge him their slow pace. Even devoured by their twisted cruelty the monster remembered at least a few of the Rites its people practiced. Kakiri was the name of the march to hell. A march made by slaves taken in combat, who’s lives had ended though their bodies kept walking. The slave was allowed to set the pace, as the last decision they ever truly made. To the Hiren, the sires of the Raksha, this rite was held sacred above all others. To betray it was to betray everything that elevated the Hiren above beasts. To betray Kakiri was to betray your own race.

Chris didn’t know this. Chris barely knew anything beyond what was right before his eyes. Even that was fading quickly. His vision blurred, his eyelids unable to clear it. All that mattered was the next step. And the bundle he held gently in his arms.

Their journey took eight hours. For the first Chris thought about nothing at all. For the next he thought about apologizing, but there was no one to apologize to. Tears of self-loathing occupied the next three hours. But even Chris eventually ran out of things to hate about himself.

His sight was completely gone by the start of the sixth hour, and he had to be led along the uneven forest floor by apes. Now his perception of the world was reduced to only his feet and hands. His feet were blessed to walk upon the soft red lichen of the otherworldly forest. His hands were cursed. They felt with painful, harrowing detail the skin of Ray’s face. Each wrinkle gnawed at his skin where they met. It consumed the warmth from him to sustain its own. The hair on his head was like a live wire when it moved in the breeze, scratching and burning at his tender flesh. He hated it.

Life returned to him with that hate as it etched itself into his soul. He hated the head in his arms and the beasts that led him. He hated the moss and the light that hit his retinas. More than all else, he hated The Raksha. He would kill them, tear them apart and hang their head from his belt like vikings of old. He vowed to make it so.

Then the Kakiri ended. “I have brought you a new body.” The Raksha hissed and spit into the air.

A deep, sonorous croaking answered her. As with the Raksha, pain drove itself like a rail spike into Chris' skull and his ears adjusted to new understanding. “-amged. I hope you don’t assume I’ll be paying full price for this specimen.”

“No. You pay more. Larger, more pay. This is decided.”

“With the way you’ve cut him up you’ll be thankful if I pay half.”

“You can heal him.”

“Not without costs. I loathe the idea of paying more not once but twice. You get half.”

“Full price, or I use him as feed. Better deal.”

The croaking voice laughed, “Agreeable as always Raksha.” A storm of crystalline clinks issued out as a sack exchanged hands. “Do you require any other service this morning oh great one?”

The Raksha simply turned and walked towards Chris. A clawed hand reached forward and tried to take Ray’s head from his arms. Chris turned and guided it deeper into his chest, now loath to give up his burden. Even unable to see he tensed, knowing the Raksha’s fist was coming. It caught him in the jaw and knocked him from his feet. The hand reached down again, and this time Chris did not resist as the last bit of Ray was taken from him.

More words were exchanged above him, but his ears rang too badly to make them out even if he’d had the heart to listen. Four pairs of rough hands grabbed him by each limb and carted him away as he finally lost his grip on consciousness.

How woke to a cold, hard table under his back and bright lights of a fluorescent white above him. He blinked. Then he blinked a second time to confirm, then a third just for the joy of it. “Ah it seems you’ve awoken.” Chris tried to turn towards the croaking voice that came from off to his left, but found the motion impossible. “You’ve had quite the run of trouble haven’t you? I’ve had worse on my table of course, but sixty-three years of experience will do that.”

“Waghanaotinaahhhhhhhhh” Chris spoke.

His doctor chuckled, though to his credit it was only a little, “I took the liberty of sedating you, quite heavily I might be so bold to add. I’m a bit surprised you can even get your vocal chords to move, but life is full of surprises.”

“Ank ou.” Chris managed to get out semi-intelligibly.

“Oh I wouldn’t be so quick to thank me.” A wide head swam into view, topped by two beady eyes and dominated by a smile large enough to swallow Chris whole if the man had a mind to. “After all, my healing doesn’t come cheap, and you’ve already cost me a pretty penny besides.” The head left his view and the voice began to hum gently. Chris felt a gentle tugging at the arm that had been mangled by his mother’s gun.

An equilibrium had been reached between captor and captive and each was lost in their own thoughts for a time. Then as feeling slowly began to return to Chris’ body the man spoke again, “Well then. I think I can safely congratulate myself on a job well done. Though I can only take half credit on your arm. The tower did most of the work there. Kept the flesh from rotting before I could get to it.”

“So I’ll be good to go then?” Chris said in a tone devoid of any real hope.

“Good to go through an extensive round of experimentation, sure. With you injuries the way they were along with what The Raksha charged me for you I’d say you’ve got... “ a series of wooden clacks would have hinted at the use of an abacus if Chris had any idea what one was. “About 250 years of complete servitude before you’ll be all paid up.”

Chris briefly considered the urge to rage and scream that came to him from the other side of some mental cotton wall. He ultimately decided against it, with some difficulty. Instead he simply fell asleep again, to wonderful dreams of killing frogs who owned stethoscopes.