Patroclus continued to stare at the man in the dark helmet in front of him. Achilles!!! Even as he wear covered in iron and blood, he was able to recognize him. How could he not? He could recognize him by smell alone. He would know him in dark and in madness. He could know him blind.
Then suddenly a spear was thrown at the back of his head. He was distracted, but he caught it just in time. In his sick he had almost forgotten about the battle around him. He broke the spear in his first and left the broken pieces on the ground. He could see the person in the helmet take a step back. He died not care to find out what that means, he had more important things to focus on at the moment.
He rushed to the direction of the Trojan soldiers and he heard the man behind him yell. "Wait!!!"
He jumped into the middle of the fight and took out a weapon. A spear it moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior, his every motion deliberate and calculated. As his adversaries closed in, he shifted his weight effortlessly, anticipating their attacks with uncanny precision. With a swift sidestep, he evaded a swinging fist, simultaneously thrusting his spear forward, its sharp tip finding its mark with deadly accuracy. His footwork was agile, allowing him to swiftly pivot and spin, creating a whirlwind of steel that deflected incoming strikes and sent his enemies reeling.
His strikes were a symphony of lethal artistry. He executed quick jabs, exploiting gaps in his opponents' defenses, before transitioning seamlessly into wide arcing swings that cut through the air like a whirlwind. The length of his spear granted him a critical advantage, keeping his adversaries at bay while he maintained a strategic distance. With each thrust, he thrust his arm forward with explosive force, driving the spearhead into his foes' bodies, eliciting cries of pain and defeat.
The man's movements were not only swift but also precise. He targeted vulnerable spots with surgical accuracy, aiming for unprotected joints, vital organs, and exposed limbs. With each successful strike, he disabled his opponents one by one, leaving them incapacitated or writhing in agony. His mastery of the spear was evident in his ability to seamlessly switch between offensive and defensive maneuvers, parrying and deflecting blows with the shaft of his weapon while simultaneously launching counterattacks. Soon enough he left the soldiers for dead. Butt he did not care for the blood that surrounded him. "Achilles was here. He was back. After all those years. After all the loneliness. After all he put me through, he had the NERVE to return." This was how he allowed himself to appear in the nightmares of the Trojans and Spartans alike.
The boy in the helmet simply stared at him from afar. He assessed the man standing on top of the dead bodies. He could not recognize him. Was this Patroclus? It couldn't be. His love was a gentle boy, he did not severe heads he warmed hearts. He did not fight like this, he was a healer.
This fighting is impressive, but he could not recognize his lover doing such violent things.
They stared back at each other. The dark haired boy was covered in blood, with anger in his eyes. While the blind prince looked at him in fear and confusion, and maybe a little bit of admiration.
(Guys do you guys think Achilles would be the type to enjoy having a badass husband?)
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