The Tyrant's Tomb

A reckless, terrible anger possessed me. I challenge you to feel
differently when you’ve just watched someone destroy your ukulele. It
would render any person insensible with rage.
My first punch left a fist-size crater in the emperor’s gold breastplate.
Oh, I thought in some distant corner of my mind. Hello, godly strength!
Off-balance, Commodus slashed wildly. I blocked his arm and punched
him in the nose, causing a brittle squish that I found delightfully disgusting.
He yowled, blood streaming through his mustache. “U duhh stike bee? I
kilb u!”
“You won’t kilb me!” I shouted back. “I have my strength back!”
“HA!” Commodus cried. “I nebbeh lost mine! An I’m stih bigguh!”
I hate it when megalomaniac villains make valid points.
He barreled toward me. I ducked underneath his arm and kicked him in
the back, propelling him into a guardrail on the side of the tunnel. His
forehead hit the metal with a dainty sound like a triangle: DING!
That should have made me feel quite satisfied, except my ruined-ukuleleinspired
rage was ebbing, and with it my burst of divine strength. I could feel
the zombie poison creeping through my capillaries, wriggling and burning
its way into every part of my body. My gut wound seemed to be unraveling,
about to spill my stuffing everywhere like a raggedy Olympian Pooh Bear.
Also, I was suddenly aware of the many large, unmarked crates stacked
along one side of the tunnel, taking up the entire length of the raised
pedestrian walkway. Along the other side of the tunnel, the shoulder of the
road was torn up and lined with orange traffic barrels…. Not unusual in
themselves, but it struck me that they were just about the right size to contain
the urns I’d seen Frank’s workers carrying during our holographic scroll call.
In addition, every five feet or so, a thin groove had been cut across the
width of the asphalt. Again, not unusual in itself—the highway department
could’ve just been doing some repaving work. But each groove glistened
with some kind of liquid…. Oil?
Taken together, these things made me deeply uncomfortable, and Frank
kept retreating farther into the tunnel, luring Caligula to follow.
Apparently, Caligula’s lieutenant, Gregorix, was also getting worried.
The Germanus shouted from the front lines, “My emperor! You’re getting
too far—”
“Shut up, GREG!” Caligula yelled. “If you want to keep your tongue,
don’t tell me how to fight!”