[If it is prowling in the dusk for which Lancer wishes, then perhaps he should find a fitter comrade in either Diomedes or the son of Laertes. As for Achilles, he is as straightforward in battle as he is in speech.
The bullets from the bandits' shotguns ricochet off of his splendid shield, whose layers of metal were hammered by Hephaestus the god of the forge, and for all the broadness of his body his swift feet make of him a hard target to lock down. When he reaches the rickety fence by which the gunmen crouch, bolstered in their defenses by sandbags and emptied ale barrels, his blade leads the way. This glorious blade he had just lately been gifted, and already he is grateful for its sure sharpness as he slices the shoulder of a man caught reloading his weapon in precisely the wrong moment. With a cry of pain the man drops his gun to grasp instead his wound from which flows dark blood.
It is then that Achilles retrieves his spear from the flesh of the man he had felled, whose breath shakes still from his lips. The unwearying bronze he runs through a third man who in vain tries to aim his gun for Achilles' feet, below where fasten his greaves. And so flows the blood as the bandit is cast down into the house of Hades, or whatever dismal halls harbor the shades of the dead in this land.]
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The bullets from the bandits' shotguns ricochet off of his splendid shield, whose layers of metal were hammered by Hephaestus the god of the forge, and for all the broadness of his body his swift feet make of him a hard target to lock down. When he reaches the rickety fence by which the gunmen crouch, bolstered in their defenses by sandbags and emptied ale barrels, his blade leads the way. This glorious blade he had just lately been gifted, and already he is grateful for its sure sharpness as he slices the shoulder of a man caught reloading his weapon in precisely the wrong moment. With a cry of pain the man drops his gun to grasp instead his wound from which flows dark blood.
It is then that Achilles retrieves his spear from the flesh of the man he had felled, whose breath shakes still from his lips. The unwearying bronze he runs through a third man who in vain tries to aim his gun for Achilles' feet, below where fasten his greaves. And so flows the blood as the bandit is cast down into the house of Hades, or whatever dismal halls harbor the shades of the dead in this land.]