The Tyrant's Tomb

surrounded, but our advance had distracted the pack, giving the Third Cohort
a few precious seconds to regroup.
“OFFENSE ROMULUS!” shouted the centurion.
If you have ever seen a pill bug uncurl, revealing its hundreds of legs,
you can imagine what the Third Cohort looked like as it broke testudo and
formed a bristling forest of spears, skewering the cynocephali.
I was so impressed I almost got my face chewed off by a stray charging
wolf-man. Just before it reached me, Centurion Larry hurled his javelin. The
monster fell at my feet, impaled in the middle of his incredibly unmanscaped
back.
“You made it!” Larry grinned at us. “Where’s Reyna?”
“She’s okay,” I said. “Er, she’s alive.”
“Cool! Frank wants to see you, ASAP!”
Meg stumbled to my side, breathing hard, her swords glistening with
monster goo. “Hey, Larry. How’s it going?”
“Terrible!” Larry sounded delighted. “Carl, Reza—escort these two to
Praetor Zhang immediately.”
“YESSIR!” Our escorts hustled us off toward the Caldecott Tunnel,
while behind us, Larry called his troops back to action: “Come on,
legionnaires! We’ve drilled for this. We’ve got this!”
After a few more terrible minutes of dodging pandai, jumping fiery
craters, and skirting mobs of monsters, Carl and Reza brought us safely to
Frank Zhang’s command post at the mouth of the Caldecott Tunnel. Much to
my disappointment, there were no hors d’oeuvres or beverages. There wasn’t
even a tent—just a bunch of stressed-out Romans in full battle gear, rushing
around carrying orders and shoring up defenses. Above us, on the concrete
terrace that stretched over the tunnel’s mouth, Jacob the standard-bearer
stood with the legion’s eagle and a couple of spotters, keeping watch on all
the approaches. Whenever an enemy got too close, Jacob would zap them
like the Oprah Winfrey version of Jupiter: And YOU get a lightning bolt!
And YOU get a lightning bolt! Unfortunately, he’d been using the eagle so
much that it was beginning to smoke. Even superpowerful magic items have
their limits. The legion’s standard was close to total overload.
When Frank Zhang saw us, a whole g of weight seemed to lift from his
shoulders. “Thank the gods! Apollo, your face looks terrible. Where’s
Reyna?”