The Amazonian cavalry decimated the Athenian forces.
Cries of anguish rang out as blood spilled across the trampled earth.
Commanders shouted in panic, calling scattered soldiers to regroup.
It was utter mayhem as they scrambled to mount a counterattack.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Loud, heavy footsteps.
Then — a massive club slammed into the side of a horse, sending it flying several meters through the air, its rider crashing beside it.
Heracles had rejoined the battle. He said nothing — only charged headlong into the fray, his club swinging with divine fury as he tore through the cavalry. His intervention bought the Athenians precious seconds to recover.
"Gather! Shields up! Spears at the front!" a commander barked, seizing the opportunity to rally his men.
The soldiers, moments ago on the brink of collapse, obeyed instinctively. They raised their shields and formed a wall, with spear-wielders positioned at the front — a time-tested phalanx, brutal against cavalry.
"Attack!" the commander roared.
They marched forward, shields locked, spears bristling toward the Amazonian horsewomen.
Heracles alone was enough to stall them, though it quickly became clear that the cavalry was not his true target. Amidst the chaos, he seized what appeared to be the commander of the Amazonian riders.
"Where is your queen?" he asked, his voice low and cold, tightening his grip around her throat.
Cough. Cough. Cough.
"Why would I tell you anything? You might as well ki—guuaaach—!"
Crack.
Before she could finish, Heracles snapped her neck. With a grunt, he tossed her corpse into the growing heap of Amazonian dead, blood soaking the crimson earth.
He turned and charged toward a new target.
The battle raged on as fresh Amazon units poured in from the forest. The Athenians could not hold. Their numbers dwindled fast.
Elsewhere, Achilleus had managed to round up a group of deserter slaves who'd been hiding, cowering. With the help of nearby soldiers, he began pushing catapults into a more strategic position — one shielded from cavalry strikes.
"Move! Our men are dying out there. It'll take time for the second force to land — we need every hand we can get!" he urged, helping to push the war machines himself.
His resolve was unshaken. He would see this mission through — to ensure his king could finally rest, knowing his murderers were dead.
But they had come unprepared. This was their first battle on Amazon territory. Encounters with Amazons outside their homeland had been rare — small in number and easy to underestimate. They had no real intelligence, no insight into the scale of what they now faced.
Their first mistake had been assuming the ambush was the main attack. A fatal assumption.
It wasn't entirely their fault. Who would imagine an island of women could wield such martial might?
Now, retreat seemed futile. The dense jungle made escape a death sentence. They would be picked off, one by one.
Their only option was to fight — to force a clean retreat, or die trying.
War was not for amateurs, and though the Amazonian strength was overwhelming, the Athenian veterans would not be slaughtered so easily. Not while Heracles still stood among them.
Achilleus paused, sweat soaking his brow as he turned to scan the battlefield.
The Amazons had swarmed Heracles. He fought like a god of war, his club a whirlwind of death. Any who came too close were crushed by its force. Yet still they came, ignoring the Athenians entirely — as though some deeper grudge drove them toward Heracles alone.
This allowed the Athenian ranks room to maneuver and mount a counteroffensive.
Suddenly, the thunder of hooves drew Achilleus's gaze. An Amazon on horseback charged toward him, eyes locked on his own. Her face was grim, radiating fury.
"Damn it... Prepare yourselves!" he shouted, drawing his sword from his belt. His soldiers readied their weapons. One slave tried to flee but froze as a soldier pressed steel to his throat.
He backed down, trembling, forced to stand and fight.
"Coward," the soldier muttered, glaring at the other slaves who quivered under his gaze.
"Leave them, Thran," Achilleus said. "They'll be more useful for labor. But hear me!" he growled at the slaves. "Run now, and we will find you. And you won't like what we do when we do."
The slaves nodded furiously, then bolted, frantic, into the jungle.
Achilleus glanced back — the Amazon had reached them. She dismounted as her injured horse buckled. She moved like a storm — fast, precise, deadly.
She engaged the Athenians in brutal close combat, quickly overpowering several. The slaves, terrified, ran faster, blood-soaked rags whipping behind them in the wind.
Ahead lay thick foliage — the jungle's edge. They neared it, breath ragged from exhaustion, weakened by thirst and starvation — but their will to live burned hot.
Then, from the jungle's mouth, another Amazon unit emerged.
Their armor was caked with mud, their skin smeared for camouflage. Twisted leaves and vines clung to their frames — they had been waiting.
"AAARRHH!!"
They struck fast — the first slave was decapitated, blood spraying into the air like a burst of red mist.