“Sing, Goddess, Achilles' rage,
Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks
Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls
Of heroes into Hades' dark,
And left their bodies to rot as feasts
For dogs and birds, as Zeus' will was done.”

This one poet greater even than I wrote about Achilles, a demigod known far and wide
for his unmatched prowess and deadly spear, and even more for his vengeful fury, he who
broke all oaths and forgot his honor, consumed by his blood-soaked rage.

When I read the Iliad and wondered how it would have been to live among such men, I
could not begin to fathom that one day I would observe him following my winding way
through this bitter Hell.
Yet he goes, free from the fetters that tied him, and even the demons shudder as he
passes.
You would not believe it, seeing him so fair and proud.
Beautiful, he is, and gentle, when not angered, but terrible and merciless in his furor. So
much so that, once, Zeus was forced to send the gods onto the battlefield to contain his
uncontainable wrath, for he was about to sack Troy before the rightful time, bending and
twisting even fate itself through the sheer power of his rage.

I think you might understand the reason behind his fury.
He loved much, and therefore hated just as much when his love was taken from him.
Such is the nature of the human soul.
Now that his beloved is trapped in the Nether, he marches toward Lucifer, ready to
challenge him and gain the power with which he will finally be able to free Patroclus.

Life

Achilles was born of Peleus, king of the Myrmidons, and Thetis, a divine daughter of the
sea. As a child, he was rendered immortal by his mother, but not completely. The sources
are conflicting here. Maybe he was submersed into the Styx. Maybe he was engulfed by
flames to burn away his mortality.
In any case, a small part of him remained mortal, and I do not believe it to be his left heel,
as the legends would have it. I dare suggest that it was, in fact, his heart.

Recalling all his incredible feats seems truly pointless. Many have written pages telling
about them in detail. It should suffice to mention that he was the greatest of the heroes
who took part in the destruction of Troy. In life, he was so powerful that his presence
alone was enough to turn the tide of the Trojan war.
When king Agamemnon offended him, he refused to fight, and the Greeks were almost
defeated.
When Patroclus, his lover, was killed, he rejoined the battle, and Troy almost fell that day.

Regalia

I do not know if the spiritual forms of our most beloved objects follow us after death, if
our souls conjure copies of them into the layer to which we were destined, or what
mystery ensures that great heroes continue to carry with them their precious artifacts.

No matter the reason, even as he travels through Hell, Achilles wears his armor and
shield, both forged by the divine blacksmith Hephaestus.
The armor is of course the first one, the one stolen by his lover Patroclus. He wore it to
deceive the Greeks into believing that Achilles had rejoined the battle, rallying them when
they were almost defeated and pushing back the Trojans. Wearing that armor, that day,
Patroclus died, unleashing Achilles' wrath upon the city of Troy.

Both shield and armor are indestructible. No blow can break them, no edge can dent
them, and the hellish fire itself cannot melt them, for they were forged in flames far hotter
and brighter and hammered into shape by the mighty hand of a god.