Breaking the Amazon

Seven

Slowly, the gathered people began to realise the horror of what they had done. This was not an act of noble warfare, but a brutal and savage act of vengeance, needless and barbaric. The woman they had consigned to the flames was a warrior, proud, disciplined, a woman to whom combat was an art. The Amazons would not kill an unarmed opponent, nor mistreat a captive. But this day, all had changed.

The fire thundered, now, and the screams of the Amazon bound within them faded. The flames tore away what was left of her beauty, her bones burst, and she was dead.

Then, from the trees two hundred yards distant, a terrifying sound. Whoops and shrieks, the pounding of horses’ hooves, the clattering of armour. As one, the crowd saw the attacking Amazon army, and panic overcame them in an instant. With its own army already gone, the city was undefended.

In seconds, the Amazons were upon the scattering crowd, and the carnage was terrible. A sword sheared the slender neck of a fleeing woman: her body ran several steps, her head thumped to the grass, her eyes wide in silent terror. An arrow slammed into the chest of a man. A spear impaled the belly of another. The guards tried to fight, but they were lightly armed, and too few, and those who did not lose their heads to the Amazons’ razor-swords within the first few minutes of the fight were run down by the charging horses. Blood stained the grass, corpses twitched and flopped, those citizens lucky enough to avoid the swinging blades and whistling arrows ran into the forest.

The torturer, a big man and frightened of nothing, put up the fiercest fight. Soon, he was surrounded by a circle of Amazons: he held a huge axe in his massive arms, swinging it wildly, and no woman could get close enough to fight him. Then, a hissing crossbow bolt slammed into the back of his knee, severing ligaments, and he dropped with a scream, clutching his wounded leg. Another Amazon raised her crossbow, and fired into his elbow. Another shot took his other knee. Soon, the torturer lay bristling with crossbow bolts, every limb rendered useless.

One of the Amazons dismounted, and walked up to him. "We know of your role in our sister’s torment," she said quietly.

"Mercy," the torturer gasped, in agony, from where he lay. But the beautiful woman raised her sword, and sliced down. The torturer’s head rolled from his crippled body, his face showing anguish as he realised what had happened. But soon, his eyes glazed, and he was dead.

The Amazons circled the blazing pyre that had been the death of their sister, and gathered from it burning branches, then rode en masse through the open city gates, setting light to thatched roofs, market awnings, piled wares. The slaughter continued amidst the flames, until blood ran in the streets.

It did not take long to reach the city square, and the Amazons found only a small collection of soldiers waiting for them. The fight was brief: only one Amazon lost her life, soon thirty male corpses lay.

"Sisters!" Across the square, an Amazon called her comrades, and beckoned that they followed. They rode to a short alleyway, where, by two women warriors, the King and his four closest bodyguards had been cornered.

The Amazon Queen dismounted her horse and drew her sword. She stood no taller than the king, and was smaller than his guards, but her slender limbs had an athletic muscularity that showed she was an able fighter indeed. Her jet-black hair fell about her bronzed shoulders, blue eyes blazing.

"What you have done to our sister, we can never forgive," she hissed, white teeth bared. "You filth must all die!"

The King knew the odds: he saw the three dozen Amazons beyond the alleyway, each woman able to take on a small army on her own. But if he must die, he decided, it would be with dignity. He thrust a finger forward. "Guards! Kill her!"

The four men rushed forward: steel met steel in a flash of sparks, and the battle began. In the alleyway, there was scarce room to manoeuvre, and any advantage the four may have had against their sole opponent was lost. The Queen’s gleaming blade smashed the sword of one guard as if it were wood: her second slash split his arm from the thumb to elbow, and he fell screaming. She spun, lithe muscles flexing as she deflected another’s attack, flicked her sword to his neck. His head thumped to the ground, his body dropping to its knees. The third guard was already swinging down, but the Queen parried with her arm, her attacker’s sword biting into the steel of her bracelet, but not breaking through. The guard could only gasp as the sticky-sharp blade of the Queen’s sword ran through his belly.

The remaining guard tried to run, but found his exit blocked by Amazons. A long dribble of urine escaped him as one of the warriors lifted her crossbow, aimed it squarely at his face, and let fly. The guard dropped with the arrow shaft protruding from his mouth.

Now, there only remained the King, and he fell to his knees as the Queen drew near, bloodied sword in her hand. "Don’t kill me," the King pleaded. "Have mercy!"

"The same kind of mercy you showed Lena?" the Queen checked. "The same kind of mercy we should expect from your soldiers, trying to ambush us? Stand up, you worthless rat."

The King rose, and as he did, his eyes, out of sheer habit, took in the Queen’s magnificent figure: her blue-black mane of hair, her blazing blue eyes and dark brows, her full lips, her slender neck and broad shoulders, her muscled arms, her slender hips and strong thighs, her powerful belly. Her skin was golden and gleaming. His eyes finally came to rest on her rounded breasts, firm and proud beneath the bone and steel of her bustier.

His gaze flicked up to the Amazon Queen’s eyes again. She smiled. "Do you like what you see?"

"You are ... most beautiful," the King admitted.

"Maybe." She sheathed her sword, smoothed one hand across her belly. "But do you know how long it has been, since I had the touch of a man?" She drifted forward, her eyes on the King’s, her breasts rising and falling just inches from his chest.

"How long?"

"Too long," she whispered, her lips brushing the King’s ear. Her hand caressed his thigh, slid higher, worked into the folds of his robe. The King sighed, growing erect, helpless to the Amazon Queen’s seduction as her soft, cool fingers closed around his shaft, easing back and forth, making him harder. "Is that good, your Majesty?"

"Oh, that’s good," the King groaned.

"And what about ... THIS?" the Queen gripped, and twisted. The King folded around her hand as his penis’ inner moorings tore. He was screaming, his legs failing, his body’s weight held by the Amazon’s grasp on his agonized cock. Again, the Queen twisted, the King’s penis tearing, until all that held it in place was skin. So she pushed him to the ground, where he fell, writhing in pain.

"A punishment fit for a king, no?" the Amazon Queen remarked, standing over him. She placed the toe of her boot on one testicle, crunched down. The King’s scream was awful, his scrotum splitting open in a bust of fluid and tissue. "That is enough for you."

Hippolyta walked back to the entrance of the alleyway, gestured to the dying King and his wounded guard. "Finish them."

The Amazons let fly with their bows, bolts thudding into the flesh of the men, bristling from their limbs and torsos and faces until their bodies all lay still.