I stumbled away from him, and Commodus committed the most heinous of crimes: with one huge fist, he crumpled my ukulele like an aluminum can and tossed it aside.

“Heresy!” I roared.

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-ukulele-inspired 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.

***

The Tyrant’s Tomb, Chapter 36