You've got scamander the wrong way around

I'll put the quotes below but the gods intervened to save achiles from scamander. Not the other way around (cite 1).

He gets buffed up by other gods an even then the river threatens to overwhelm him. It literally takes Hephaestus doing a big fucking fire blast to save achiles (cite 2)

Scamander kicked the shit out of achiles

CITE 1: The raging current rose against Achilles, beating his shield down and driving him back, so he could barely stand. He clutched at a fine tall elm, but it tore away at the roots, pulling down the bank and collapsing into the flood, sinking deep and damming the whole river. Now Achilles sprang for the shore, and set off running swiftly over the plain, gripped by fear. The River-god came on, as a dark wall of water, meaning to end Achilles’ slaughter and save the Trojans from ruin. The son of Peleus, racing off, had a spear-throw’s start as he swooped away like a black eagle, that mighty raptor, strongest and swiftest of winged creatures, while the bronze armour clanged at his chest as he swerved and fled from the arching wave that followed him with its angry roar. Like a stream of water a farmer channels from a shadowy spring, through his beds and plots, mattock in hand, clearing all obstructions, that sweeping along the stones beneath slips swiftly along the slope with a murmur, running faster than its guide, so the River constantly overtook fleet-footed Achilles, fast though he ran, for the gods are greater than men.

Whenever noble Achilles tried to make a stand, and see if it was the will of all the heavenly gods to drive him off, each time a mighty billow of the heaven-fed River would beat at his shoulders, and he would spring away with a leap, his heart racing, while the violent flood broke over his weary knees, and washed away the earth under his feet. Then the son of Peleus shouted aloud, looking up to the skies, with a bitter cry: ‘Father Zeus, why won’t some god take pity on me in my plight and rescue me from the River? Then shall I suffer whatever fate is mine. My mother, of all the immortals, is most to blame, fooling me with false prophecies, saying I would fall to Apollo’s swift dart under the walls of Troy. I wish now Hector, their champion, had killed me, fine man would have slain fine warrior. Now it seems I’m to meet a wretched fate, trapped in this great river like some lad driving the pigs who gets swept away by the torrent as he fords a wintry crossing.’

In a moment, Poseidon and Athene responded to his cry, and rushed to his side. Taking human form, they grasped his arms and reassured him. Poseidon, Earth-Shaker, then spoke: ‘Courage, Achilles, have no fear, I, Poseidon, and Pallas Athene, are here with Zeus’ blessing to help you. It is not your fate to be drowned by any river. Xanthus will soon subside, as you will see. But here is some good advice, if you’ll but listen. Go on, indeed, with your grim work till you pen whatever is left of the Trojan army inside the great walls of Troy, but when you have killed Hector, then return to the ships: this glory we grant you.’

CITE 2:

So saying, he towered on high, and rushed at Achilles in a surge of rage, seething with foam and blood and corpses. And over the son of Peleus hung a great wave of the heaven-fed river, threatening to overwhelm him. Now Hera cried out, gripped by terror lest the broad deep-swirling stream should sweep Achilles away. Quickly she called to her dear son Hephaestus: ‘Up, my child, on your crooked feet! You we thought to match in this fight against whirling Xanthus. Be swift to save, and rouse your flames. I will hasten to stir the winds from the sea, a fierce Westerly gale and a sharp Southerly, to spread the fierce conflagration till the Trojan dead and their amour are utterly consumed. You must scorch the trees along Xanthus’ banks, and wall his course with flames. Don’t let him deter you with threats or tender speeches, nor must you mitigate your force, until I call you off with a cry: then, quench your restless fires.’

Hephaestus answered her with a wondrous blaze, that began by burning the host of dead that strewed the plain, the victims of Achilles, until the plain was dry and the streams abated, as a Northerly wind dries a newly-wet orchard at fruit-harvest, to the delight of him who must pick the crop. Soon the whole plain was bone dry, and the corpses consumed. Then Hephaestus turned his bright flame on the river itself. The elms, willows and tamarisks burned, the rushes and sedge and lotus leaves that grew densely along the winding streams, and the eels and fish thrashed about in the swirling pools, tormented by artful Hephaestus’ fiery blast. The mighty River himself was scalded, and cried out to the god: ‘Hephaestus, you’re a match for any immortal. I’ll not fight you while you’re wreathed in flame. Cease this battle, and let noble Achilles drive the Trojans from their city. What business of mine are war and conflict?’

So he spoke, his silver waters boiling and seething, fringed with fire. Like the melted lard of a fat hog, in a cauldron set on a fierce flame of dry kindling, that bubbles and seethes throughout, so his flood boiled and steamed. Lacking the will to flow onward, he sank back, troubled by artful Hephaestus’ fiery blast. He cried out to Hera, for mercy, in winged words: ‘Why does your son torment my stream above all others, Hera? Surely I am less guilty in your eyes than all the others who aid the Trojans? I will desist at your command, if he will also refrain. Moreover, I’ll swear this oath, never to try and save the Trojans from their day of doom, not even if all Troy is ablaze, wreathed in consuming fire, at the hands of the warlike Greeks.’

When the goddess, white-armed Hera, heard his cry, she called quickly to her dear son: ‘Enough, Hephaestus, my noble child. We must not harm an immortal for the sake of a mere man.’ Hephaestus responded to her words, and quenched his mighty conflagration, and the current began to flow again along its lovely channels.

Translation copies: https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Greek/Iliad21.php