After more than ten minutes, Samael looked quietly at Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and unease.
He had guessed right—these women really had come to steal men.
The Amazons, also known as the Nation of Women, were no ordinary females. They were not the docile, enchanting kind who lived in dependence on men, but fierce warriors who gloried in strength and conquest. To subdue one was the perilous fantasy of every Greek hero.
Their homeland lay along the banks of the Thermodon River in Asia Minor, a vast realm of sweeping plains, dense forests, snow-capped crystal mountains, and endless coasts. This harsh and varied landscape forged the Amazons' feral nature—their instinct to battle, survive, and dominate.
Here, the order of the world was reversed. Women ruled, men served. At the heart of their rule stood nine sisters, led by their queen—Hippolyta.
It was said that Hippolyta could draw Apollo's divine bow, pierce armor forged by Hephaestus, command Poseidon's sea serpents, and stride through the lightning storms of Zeus himself. When she donned her blood-red battle cloak and charged forth on her bronze chariot, onlookers swore the War God had descended to earth in the body of a woman.
She was Ares's most beloved daughter—the bravest, most steadfast, and most cunning among the nine sisters. As a mark of divine favor, Ares had granted her the [Military Sash of the War God], a symbol of command and glory.
Born of the war god Ares and a moon priestess, the Amazons possessed both divine power and human will. It was only natural that women like them claimed absolute dominion.
They lived by the sword and thrived on plunder. From childhood, they were taught to fight and to kill. As adults, they became warriors who marched to war and conquered the lands around them.
When it came time to bear the next generation, they sought strong blood. They raided or bought men from distant lands, brought them back to Amazon territory for breeding, and discarded them once their purpose was served.
Male children were slain or enslaved; female children were raised to be warriors like their mothers.
Now, the Amazons' grand [Day of Renewal] was approaching—a sacred time for replenishing their bloodline.
To prepare, groups of Amazons had slipped into the Greek city-states, intending to bring home "specimens" for breeding. They had set up ambushes in the gorge leading to Arcadia, knocking out travelers and seizing the ones they found pleasing. The captives—bound and gagged like livestock—were loaded onto ships bound for the Amazon homeland.
By now, they had nearly gathered enough "seed."
However, Queen Hippolyta and several of her sisters had also come of age. They, too, needed to "renew" their lineage. The weak mortals already captured were unfit to mingle with the noble demigod blood of the royal line.
So, after sending off the last batch of captives, Hippolyta—urged on by her sisters—decided to stay behind for a few extra days. She wanted to find a worthy mate, a man strong enough to match an Amazon queen.
The good news: she found not one, but two.
The bad news: both were far too strong—and utterly beyond her reach.
Thud!
With a heavy impact, the massive figure landed, knees bending to absorb the shock before rising again in silence. He stood behind his master, every muscle relaxed yet coiled with power—like a lion guarding its domain.
"Up above..."
"As you ordered, they're all still alive," Heracles replied evenly.
Hearing the deep voice of the giant beside her, Hippolyta exhaled slowly, relief mixing with a swirl of conflicting emotions.
Heracles—she knew this name. The famed hero, celebrated across all of Greece.
But the other one, the pale, refined youth who seemed harmless enough… he wielded Medusa's Shield. After shattering a divine artifact's defense, he had struck her down with a single blow. Such power could only belong to the child of a main god walking the mortal world.
What unsettled her even more was how he commanded Heracles—as though this legendary warrior were his subordinate. It was incomprehensible.
They had ambushed the wrong people. This time, the Amazons had well and truly fallen into their own trap.
Heracles cast a brief glance at the captured Amazon queen, noting the grim pallor on her face. His brow furrowed.
Hippolyta's red hair hung loose, her body pinned awkwardly against a rock. Golden-black runic ropes of condensed Ether wound around her like living serpents, tightening in intricate, symmetrical patterns that formed a tortoise-shell weave. The bindings compressed her slender figure, forcing out curves that were otherwise modest.
"You'd better not think of her as a woman," Heracles said after a moment's hesitation, his tone low but firm. "If you try to violate her, this she-wolf might lose her mind and bite off your manhood. You wouldn't stay a man for long."
Samael coughed awkwardly, realizing he might have revealed a bit too much of his handiwork. With a casual snap of his fingers, the golden-black ropes dissolved into wisps of magic and vanished.
Hippolyta rolled her sore wrists and ankles, completely unbothered by her audience. Her joints cracked audibly as she limbered up, ready for whatever came next.
"If you try to run," Samael said coolly, narrowing his eyes, "I'll have Heracles kill the eight lying up there."
His tone was calm, almost casual—but the threat carried weight.
A direct fight offered no chance. Escape? Maybe. If she relied on her knowledge of the terrain, she might gain some ground.
But against him?
Heracles—the champion who had crushed demigods and defeated gods in the games of Olympus, seizing title after title.
Even Hermes himself—the fleet-footed god—and his descendants had once praised Heracles' unmatched endurance.
If she even thought of fleeing, she wouldn't make it far before being caught and dragged back in disgrace.
And even if she escaped, she could at best save two sisters. The rest would be doomed.
After a brief silence, Hippolyta clenched her jaw and let out a slow breath. Abandoning her struggle, she turned, lips pressed tight, and faced Samael directly.
"How about a trade?" she said quietly. "I'll be your prize. I won't resist. Do whatever you will with me—but you must spare my sisters."
The night wind stirred her crimson hair, lifting it gently. Under the moonlight, Samael's gaze lingered on her face, and for a fleeting moment, his focus slipped.
That face… it overlapped with a memory.
"…Ah. Spiky hair?" he murmured absently.
Hippolyta's expression didn't waver. "Seems you're quite interested in me. So, do you accept the deal?"
Her voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp. The warmth at his fingertips made Samael abruptly realize he was touching her face, tracing her cheek with faint, unthinking familiarity.
Startled, he withdrew his hand and cleared his throat, then quickly regained control of the conversation.
"This deal's too one-sided," he said evenly. "Let's hear my terms instead."
"Oh?"
"I'll let all nine of you go," Samael continued, his tone quiet but firm. "But you'll swear upon the goddess Styx to release every captive man once you return to Themiskyra."
"But without the seedlings," Hippolyta hesitated, frowning, "our numbers will fall sharply. The Amazons—"
"Tell me," Samael cut her off, his voice suddenly cold. "After all these years of raiding men, how much has your number actually grown?"
"…That…"
Hippolyta fell silent, breath catching in her throat.
The truth was obvious. Despite generations of raids, their population hadn't grown at all. Worse, they had provoked endless wars with the Greek city-states, losing many sisters in the process. Their people were dwindling, not thriving.
Samael's eyes softened slightly as he spoke again.
"What if," he said slowly, "I could solve that problem for you?"
His gaze fixed on her, steady and serious.
...
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