Achilles watched his victim choke until he was lifeless in his arms. They'd broken furniture and other things within the apartment during the struggle. Why blood Achilles had on his was not his own. He stood there just staring at Helen as she let out her own rage, in a daze of his own as he watched without an ounce of guilt.
What had he done? Something grave, something the furies would surely punish him for. He grabbed ahold of Helen and pulled her to her feet, stoping her from doing anymore. Paris couldn't defend himself anymore, and he was tempted to drag his body around with the same pride he'd had at killing Hector---only Achilles wasn't proud.
He watched Helen almost in shock as she shed not even a tear at the loss of her famed lover. Perhaps she hadn't ever loved him at all. Not truly. "What do we do with him?" If he didn't get caught by the furies, he would by authorities.