Free The Realms of the Dead by William Todd Rose Page B

length of his spine; its tail constricted around his neck, squeezing him in its coils as fangs plucked at his silver cord, testing its durability and resolve.
    This place is strong. So damn, strong…
    Despite Control’s earlier intervention, Chuck felt the flutter of panic deep within his core again. Part of him didn’t want to go down those stairs. His feet had become leaden weights and he channeled all of his willpower to muster the strength for a single step.
    What the fuck am I doing here? This is
so
out of my league.
    “Remember your training.” Control again, establishing a link to a world of sunshine and flowers, of spring breezes and laughter. “You can do this. It’s only as real as you make it, Chuck.”
    He forced himself to take another step, and the keening of tortured souls grew louder. His palms felt as moist and cold as the stone walls surrounding him and his instincts screamed for him to go back, to follow his cord home and turn the assignment over to a Level I like he should have done in the first place.
    “Chuck…”
    A spasm tremored his thighs and yet he still placed his foot upon the next stair. Ignoring the tightness in his chest, Chuck focused on the next bend, the next flickering torch. Anything to keep him moving forward as he descended deeper into the abyss.
    I can’t even get the damn equation right. What the hell made me think I was ready for this?
    “Chuck, you have to keep that emotion in check. For God’s sake, don’t expose yourself. Commence Kundalini breathing in three…two…one.”
    Drawing a deep breath through his nostrils was like snorting a line of decayed flesh. The stench watered his eyes and infected his sinuses, seeping into his saliva and immersing his mouth in the rancid tang of decomposition. His diaphragm hitched in protest, expelling tainting oxygen through retches that left his throat lining feeling as though he’d belched fire.
    “That’s it. I’m pulling you out.” Control’s words were a panicked babble, shouted so loudly into her microphone that they cracked and popped with static.
    “Negative, Control. I’ve got it covered. I can do this. I can. Mission proceeding.”
    Since she couldn’t actually hear him, Chuck knew he had to act fast. He had to let her know through respiration, pulse, and brain activity that aborting the mission wasn’t necessary. He had to show her—and himself—that undertaking this Walk hadn’t been an error in judgment
    I’ve got this. I can do it.
    Closing his eyes, Chuck imagined his breath pushed down his spinal column and into his legs. When he could feel it halfway down his thighs, he envisioned the exhalation taking on physical form, molding itself into vines that snaked and intertwined through his knees and calves, steadily spreading into his feet. The vines merged into one another, forming roots that burrowed through the cobblestone and into the earth, far below. Winding through soil and bedrock, through underground rivers where eyeless fish dangled phosphorescent appendages in front of needle-like teeth; deeper and deeper until the roots broke into the molten core.
    Tension, fear, and uncertainty: All negativity coursed through the roots and burned in the fires below, so completely incinerated that only pure energy remained. He sucked the energy back up through his roots, back through the outer core, through the mantle and crust; it coursed into his body and dissolved the vestiges of panic. A sense of calm spread through Chuck’s being as his roots retracted and he opened his eyes with a sigh.
    “Grounded and centered, Control. Nothing to worry about. Just a little hitch. Won’t happen again.”
    At the bottom of the stairs was a lightless void. With his focus returned, however, Chuck didn’t need to see. He could feel the walls on either side of him, could sense when passages branched out, and knew without exploring them which ones lead only to dead ends. With his silver cord trailing behind, he felt like