Achilles looked around at the chaos all around him. People were firing weapons all over the place, and some fellow had gone sprinting off into the treeline. The remaining soldiers were firing almost blindly - they clearly weren't prepared for this situation. Carefully, Achilles put his wounded passenger down as he moved towards the nearest of the soldiers. It seemed these people meant his crew harm - which meant they also meant him harm. And of course, the only valid response to a hostile and potentially dangerous target was their death, preferably as soon as possible.

Powerful artificial muscles bunched in his single remaining arm, as it smashed into the side of one of the soldiers. It was much like the impact of a train, as the man's ribs cracked open, blood spurting from under his armour as his internal organs were crushed to pulp. Their armour had been built to protect them from piercing weaponry and heat, but it lacked the hardness required to absorb the sheer kinetic energy of Achilles' fist. His immense strength reduced the man to a bloody wreck, launched into the distance, as the pieces landed among a bloody shower of gore.

Not even bothering to pause, Achilles kept moving. There was no sense in waiting for his opponents to realize the threat he posed in melee and attempt some form of counter-strategy. He could simply destroy them one by one, and walk off with the wounded crew-member. The other figure had clearly had more skill, but he would deal with that figure later on.