He was numb, nothing had really sunk in, but he could feel his own body start to go in a state of shock. He'd just snapped in a way that had been building for so long. He didn't trust himself.
Achilles drug Paris by his arms into the other room, finding that he hated that face still. He hated what Paris had become and what he stood for. But right now Achilles hated himself more. Another Trojan prince that had fallen at his hands, and while that should feel victorious---it didn't. Not this time. There was no honor in killing a coward. The kid had never even stood a chance to Achilles.
He didn't speak anymore, just pulled the hood over his head. He couldn't be as excited as Helen, even if in the long run it did benefited her, it opened up a darkness in Achilles that he'd tried so hard for so long to overcome. He'd just given into that rage all over again.