“We Are All Yours,” the Warriors told the young gunman. “On this Island, We Rule.”
Led like an animal to the depths of the most remote jungle, the wildest outlaw, bound hand and foot, could barely breathe at the sight of them. A line of golden-skinned warriors, dressed in minimal fabrics that left more certainty than doubt, each one a forbidden vision.
Their bodies gleamed in the sun like an army of pagan goddesses, ready to carry out their law. “You look like a strong slave. You will give us all your seed.” The cowboy, resigned to his fate, thought, “If burning in them is my sentence, then may they never forgive me.” Before we dive into this adventure, tell me where you’re listening from, and don’t forget to subscribe to my Ozk Radio channel because the next story has something very special in store for you.
The cries of seabirds shattered the silence like a knife. They pecked among splintered barrels and sacks of damp grain scattered on the wet sand. The smell of salt, rotting wood, and stale provisions filled the air as the rising sun tinged the shore with a reddish glow. Elias Macrae opened his eyes with difficulty.
His mouth was dry, his forehead covered in sand, and dried blood stained one eyebrow. His body ached as if he had been thrown against the rocks again and again. Beside him, leaning against the slanted mast of the beached ship, lay a pale-faced young man, still showing signs of life. Elias watched him for a few seconds. Then, with an effort that drew a groan from him, he untied the ropes that bound him.
“Come on, boy, wake up,” he murmured, gently patting his face. The apprentice barely reacted, letting out a weak whimper. Elias held him against his shoulder and laid him down in the shade of an overturned barrel. It was then that a voice boomed from the beach, broken but firm. “Elias, Elias, down here.”
The border hunter looked up. A human figure was staggering through the waves that still lapped the shore. He immediately recognized the Dutch captain, his clothes in tatters, covered in bruises and salt stains, but alive.
His bearing remained proud, even though the storm had battered him like everyone else. The two men looked at each other for a moment in silence, understanding without words that they were alone among the dead. The captain pointed to a spot on the beach. Two more bodies lay inert, tossed about by the waves, their faces unrecognizable from swelling. They were the last remnants of a lost crew. The silence weighed like an omen.
The island seemed tranquil, almost idyllic, with tall palm trees, dense foliage, and colorful birds that crisscrossed the air with sharp trills. But there was something in that silence, in that false calm, that made his skin crawl. The captain frowned. This isn’t just any place; it feels strange.
Elias nodded, wiping the sand from his face with his sleeve. He didn’t get a chance to reply because the sound of snapping branches erupted from the thicket. The three men turned immediately, tense like hunters caught off guard in enemy territory. Silhouettes emerged from the green canopy. First one, then ten, then dozens. More than fifty women appeared like apparitions, advancing with purposeful steps, weapons in hand.
They were not ordinary figures. Their mere presence seemed to defy reality. Tall, with bronzed skin that gleamed in the sun, defined muscles that revealed strength and discipline, their hair cascading in black, brown, and reddish waterfalls. Each of them possessed a beauty almost painful to behold, as if the gods had sculpted the ideal of beauty in flesh.
Their faces were stern, their lips firm, their eyes fixed with predatory intensity. Some carried taut bows, others spears tipped with polished bone and obsidian. They moved like a single tide, with impeccable coordination, without needing to shout orders. The apprentice, still weak, sighed in awe. They are like goddesses.
But Elias knew instantly that they were not goddesses, they were warriors. Each step they took on the sand resonated with the confidence of those accustomed to hunting and dominating. There was sensuality in it, yes, but also a latent threat, the beauty of a beast baring its fangs. One of the women, taller than the others, with a bow as big as a man, raised her hand and the others stopped in perfect synchronicity. Elias took a step forward, but immediately felt the edge of a point
graze his neck. A spear held him in place. The captain, though wounded, straightened and spoke in a low voice. Don’t retreat, Elias. They have us surrounded. There was no room for resistance. In a matter of seconds, the three were disarmed and pushed toward the line of warriors. Firm, calloused, yet feminine hands gripped them with unexpected strength.
Bindings of plant fibers immobilized their wrists as if they were mere prey captured after a hunt.
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