A/N: Eventual descent into darkness.

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word. The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword! " Oscar Wilde

Chapter One

Achilles sucks in the air perfumed with seaweed, incense and ash. He feels the distant thrum of war drums under his feet. White foam pushes against the beach, which has already been stained crimson from battle. Behind him, ringing metal and mangled screams reverberate from within the temple. Achilles surveys the scene before him with satisfaction.

From the east, a cloud of dust and hooves charges down the sand dune. He counts eight Trojan horseman with their metal helmets glinting in the midday sun. Target practice, he thinks and smiles slightly.

Achilles leans his gold-tipped spear against the temple wall and swaps it for one made out of wood. Its flint tip is blunt and its weighting was slightly off, but it will serve its purpose. He takes aim at the silver helmet with the tuft of blue. He pauses for a moment recollecting that blue is the colour of royalty, and changes his aim. The projectile sings through the air, piercing the flanking soldier in the throat. Blood spurts forth like a burst cyst.

A spear flies back with equal pace to which Achilles casually steps aside. It lodges in the wooden temple door with force. The speed is fair but the aim is off, thinks Achilles. You have to do better than that to kill me, Trojan prince.

The prince draws closer undeterred, until Achilles could see his inscribed breastplate and metal sheath. Their eyes connect. A blaze of light dances along the blade. Cold fury belies pure power. Hector. We finally meet.

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Hector watches the lone warrior slink off into the temple. Arrogance and disdain infuse his every step. The warrior moves with feline like grace, his spear is looped in between his right arm and his back, its hard tip brushes lightly along the ground, leaving a trail bloody in the sand.

Hector dismounts in one full sweep, weapon outdrawn, eyes hard. He pauses for a second to consider his plan. To enter, his men may face an easy ambush. To wait, and the priestesses will die when they could be saved. Hector grits his teeth and cautiously steps into the darkness. His soldiers follow him wordlessly.

It is damp and cool inside. Flickering torchlight paints dancing shadows upon the frescoed walls and sandstone pillars. The air is thick with myrrh and the coppery tang of blood. Only the quickened breaths from his men disrupt the unearthly silence. Twenty paces ahead, a figure leans against the doorway to the inner sanctuary. Hands folded across his chest, his body is a black silhouette lined with an amber glow. Hector alters his grip on the hilt of his sword.

Suddenly the figure steps backwards, into the light. In an instant his features come into focus. Golden mane, blue eyes and shimmering sweat covered skin. His breastplate is moulded to the contours of his chest, his thighs exposed by his tunic, wrists and shins shielded with leather greaves. Apollo himself in the flesh, is the first thought that crosses Hector's mind and dismisses it quickly. Achilles acknowledges Hector's scrutiny with a curl of his lips and disappears inside. Hector signals a man to follow him, and the rest to stand their ground.

By the power of Apollo, let them be alive, he prays silently before crossing the threshold.

In the inner room, two Myrmidons await him. Hector ducks one blade and blocks another, spins around quickly to drive his sword into the first man's abdomen. The spokes of his shield slices the other's throat.

Then, Hector sees the desecration. The pure sanctuary of Apollo was tainted with blood. Butchered and defiled bodies litter the floor. A severed arm lay across the sacrificial altar.

'Cowards!' Hector bellows. 'Have you no honour?'

'And what do Trojans know of honour?' drawls Achilles.

Hector scans the room for the speaker. Too many columns, too little light.

'They were innocents, unarmed!'

A pause.

'It's called war, my prince.' came the mocking reply.

A spear sails through the air and lodges in the skull of other Trojan soldier.

'People die.'

In the outer room, fighting erupts as if on cue.

Hector makes a move to rejoin his men. At that moment, another spear flies from his left, aimed at his torso. Hector ducks in time. The spearhead lodges deeply within the wall. Hector's pulls out the gold-tipped shaft with his hand.

'I will use this,' he spits out every word, 'to pierce your heart.'

Then Hector lowers his body and vanishes behind a pillar. Two can play this game.

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This is getting interesting thinks Achilles as the other man enters the shadows with his spear.

Achilles eases his sword out from his velvet-lined sheath soundlessly. He leans against a column, closes his eyes and listens for any sound of movement. The fighting from the outer sanctuary has died down. No doubt his Myrmidons were victorious. He hears nothing, and is a little disconcerted.

'Is Troy out of weapons?' He purposely provokes.

No response. Achilles quickly shifts to the adjacent column.

'You should know better than to play with your enemy's spear.'

Still no response. Then, Achilles hears a faint exhale of breath from the other side of the column.

'It's beautiful isn't it? Gold dipped spearhead. Fit for Ares himself.'

In a rapid movement, Achilles swings around the column and slashes at chest level. Nothing. He grows angry at his miscalculation.

'Pity you are too unskilled to use it.'

Achilles continues his taunts as he moves to the last column. This is where Hector must be, he thinks.

Achilles swings around again, this time aiming for the legs and slashes nothing but air. Instinctively, he turns around and blocks. Hector's sword collides with his shield forcefully, sending reverberations down his arm. Within an instant, the blade swings again aimed at his thigh. Achilles jumps back. It misses. They trade ten more blows with Achilles on the defence, their strokes fluid and powerful as the two swords join in a brutal dance.

With the last thrust, Achilles is backed into the temple altar. He bends backwards as Hector's sword skims the air above his nose. Close. Achilles swirls to his left just as the edge of Hector's blade catches his right arm. Blood trickles down his arm and stains his own sword. Upon this sight Achilles retaliates with double the fervour.

With a quick flick of his sword, he disarms Hector and points the blade at his throat.

TBC

Coming up... Breisis, Patroclus, lust, violence and more darkness.