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Description
Hercules cocked back his mighty fist, and swung at Brawna’s chin. Effortlessly, she dodged the blow. Again, he swung wildly – again she avoided the blow, barely twitching to the side. Hercules flew into a blind rage, throwing his fists like lightning strikes at the skilled Amazon. He hit naught but hot air.
Long had Brawna’s training been in the halls of the warrior sect in Themiscyra; there had the Amazon learned not only to sculpt brawny body and meticulous mind, but to quicken her reflexes and absorb the many martial arts of the east. Hercules was the product of a drunken god’s lovefest – he rode the gifts of Zeus no further on than what effort called for. He was no warrior – just a brawler who used his raw strength to best opponents far weaker than he.
Yet for all his strength, he could not even scratch the quicker Amazon. Hercules gasped in exhaustion and exasperation – not only was Brawna nearly twice his size, but she was ten times the faster and ten times the skilled combatant! And though he had only felt but a glimpse of her brute power, he suspected in his sinking heart that her greatest advantage over him was in her superior strength.
As Hercules wore himself down, Brawna grew tired of evasive action. Twas no glory in avoiding the man’s blows – to best him she knew she’d have to meet them head on and turn him back.
Brawna caught his returning salvo by the wrist, and in a fluid, effortless motion twisted the lionclad hero around and onto his toes, his arms caught helplessly behind his back. Brawna scowled menacingly as Hercules closed his eyes in pain, praying to the gods that this freak would not snap his arms as well.
In that split second, Brawna sensed her advantage, and lifted. Hercules shot into the air, hoisted finally above Brawna’s head. He was no match for her – he was no match for such brawn.
Brawna held Hercules high, her one hand trapping his two arms tightly behind his back. His face turned purple again as his legs floundered wildly. The crowd burst into relieved cheers; Amazon strength had not been proven just for show, but far greater in truth than that of even the mighty Hercules.
Even the stoic Hippolyta cracked a smile of pride at her best woman, who noticed the Queen’s approval and beamed back at the crowd – flexing powerfully with her spare biceps and shaking the son of Zeus about like a rag doll.

Description
Hercules cocked back his mighty fist, and swung at Brawna’s chin. Effortlessly, she dodged the blow. Again, he swung wildly – again she avoided the blow, barely twitching to the side. Hercules flew into a blind rage, throwing his fists like lightning strikes at the skilled Amazon. He hit naught but hot air.
Long had Brawna’s training been in the halls of the warrior sect in Themiscyra; there had the Amazon learned not only to sculpt brawny body and meticulous mind, but to quicken her reflexes and absorb the many martial arts of the east. Hercules was the product of a drunken god’s lovefest – he rode the gifts of Zeus no further on than what effort called for. He was no warrior – just a brawler who used his raw strength to best opponents far weaker than he.
Yet for all his strength, he could not even scratch the quicker Amazon. Hercules gasped in exhaustion and exasperation – not only was Brawna nearly twice his size, but she was ten times the faster and ten times the skilled combatant! And though he had only felt but a glimpse of her brute power, he suspected in his sinking heart that her greatest advantage over him was in her superior strength.
As Hercules wore himself down, Brawna grew tired of evasive action. Twas no glory in avoiding the man’s blows – to best him she knew she’d have to meet them head on and turn him back.
Brawna caught his returning salvo by the wrist, and in a fluid, effortless motion twisted the lionclad hero around and onto his toes, his arms caught helplessly behind his back. Brawna scowled menacingly as Hercules closed his eyes in pain, praying to the gods that this freak would not snap his arms as well.
In that split second, Brawna sensed her advantage, and lifted. Hercules shot into the air, hoisted finally above Brawna’s head. He was no match for her – he was no match for such brawn.
Brawna held Hercules high, her one hand trapping his two arms tightly behind his back. His face turned purple again as his legs floundered wildly. The crowd burst into relieved cheers; Amazon strength had not been proven just for show, but far greater in truth than that of even the mighty Hercules.
Even the stoic Hippolyta cracked a smile of pride at her best woman, who noticed the Queen’s approval and beamed back at the crowd – flexing powerfully with her spare biceps and shaking the son of Zeus about like a rag doll.