Chapter Text
Apollo whipped the back of his forehead. What a day it had been. Killing children was such a chore. Did he feel bad that 7 young boys lay dead at his feet, a single golden arrow sticking out of each one of them? Maybe a little, but it had to be done. Their mother had insulted Leto. She had to pay. The children were just… collateral. Besides, they were mortal. They would have died in no time at all anyway. An arrow to the chest isn’t the worst way to go.
“Is that all of them?” asked Artemis, lowering her silvery bow.
“I think so,” answered Apollo, looking back down at the carnage. “At least all of the boys. You got all of her daughters?”
“I used exactly seven arrows, and you know I NEVER miss a target.”
Apollo stretched his arms, completely unfazed by the wailing woman somewhere in the background. “What should we do with the bodies?”
“Leave them here,” answered Artemis coldly. “Let Niobe bury her children herself, so that she can be reminded to NEVER mock the gods again.”
“Sounds fair,” Apollo grinned. He was about to follow Artemis back to Olympus when something in the corner of his vision caught his eye. One of the girls, maybe 14, was lying on the floor, dead. He didn’t feel pity for her, but what was curious was that TWO arrows were sticking out of her body: one in the back, one in the front.
Artemis never missed, BUT in the heat of the moment, she had accidentally shot the same girl twice, which meant that one of Niobe's daughters had evaded the arrow and was alive.
There was a rustling in the tree. Apollo might not have been as clever as Athena, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. “You can come out,” he called, still smiling. “There really is no point in hiding. I know you're up there.”
The rustling stopped instantly, but there was a tension in the air and a trembling, like an invisible hummingbird flapping its wings, and the distinct smell of mortal fear.
Apollo was not in the mood for games. This had gone on long enough, and he had things he would rather be doing. He pointed up to the tree. “I command you as a god to get down from their mortal.”
The tree didn't even shudder. Now, Apollo was getting a little annoyed. Why wasn’t that little brat up there obeying him?
“If that’s how you want to play, I’m coming up there myself.” If a child could climb up the tree, of course, a god could do it easily.
No sooner had he hoisted himself up onto the first branch than a small child leaped out of the top of the tree, making a desperate break for it, despite the hard landing having visibly twisted her ankle.
Unfortunately, as she ran, she tripped over one of her dead sisters. Not that it really mattered, she wouldn't have made it that far anyway; you can't outrun a god. Raw panic overtook the child as she realised her small hands were covered in the pooling red, metallic-smelling blood of one of her siblings. She wanted desperately to wipe it off, and yet she could not. She could not move at all.
She heard footsteps behind her, not even running, simply strolling at a meandering pace. The girl turned around to face Apollo, so terrified she could hardly breathe. She had heard of the gods, but this was her first time really seeing one in the flesh. She had absolutely no idea what was going on. She had been good, had she not? She said the proper prayers, she gave the proper offerings. She had never done anything disrespectful, and if she did do something by accident, she didn’t know.
Why now was the god of sunlight hunting her down like an animal? It wasn’t fair. He was supposed to be good, fair, and wise. He was a god. Divine. He still radiated the golden etherealness of Olympus, even with the blood of her family staining his sandals. She had trusted in the gods, believed in them worshiped them. How could they?
Apollo wasn’t having nearly as difficult a time as the girl. The fact that she survived merely served as a curiosity. He thought about calling Artimis, but she was already so far away, and he didn't want to bother her with a job he could very well finish himself.
He plucked an arrow from his quiver, aimed, and let go. An action done so fast it was almost instinct. The girl had no time to move or think.
She screamed as the Sun-blessed arrow tip pierced through her eye. It was a chilling sound, but one that Apollo had heard many times before that day.
She gasped and whimpered in pain as blood dripped down her face, adn her little body rocked back and forth, but she did not die. How strange.
Perhaps the arrow didn’t pierce as far as it should have. That was very improbable, but not impossible. If that was indeed what happened, this was a VERY lucky girl. She had managed to cheat death twice. But no mortal can outrun the wrath of the gods forever.
Apollo drew another arrow when the little girl opened her mouth like she was about to say something. Apollo decided to humor her and give her a moment to utter her last words before ending her life.
He waited and waited, but no sound came out. “Speak mortal!” commanded Apollo, growing frustrated. He had better things to do, like flirting with hot nymphs, singing, or writing poetry.
The girl whimpered; she opened and closed her mouth like a fish gasping for air, but absolutely no sound came out. Apollo’s patience grew thinner.
He pulled the string back, this time aiming for her heart.
The girl's wild, frightened eyes locked onto his, and she frantically began to make hand gestures.
Apollo was so confused as to what she was doing that he hesitated. He realised after a few moments that she was trying to spell out letters with her hands, in some panicked, rudimentary attempt at sign language. M. E. R. C. Y.
Mercy.
“Mercy,” Apollo repeated, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, so that his golden hair fell over his eyes, narrowed. “Why should I have mercy on you? Your mother mocked Teto. She must pay.”
The girl was crying so hard, Apollo could hardly see her eyes. With trembling hands, she spelled out Mery over and over again as if begging enough would make Apollo actually consider it.
It was such a pathetic sight that Apollo lowered his bow. “Go help your mother bury your siblings. I will decide what to do with you later.”
The girl remained, sitting, surrounded by the dead bodies of her family, every friend she had, the most precious people to her, as Apollo left, rubbing his head. Dealing with mortals was always so terribly messy. He was getting too soft. What would Artemis say? He just wouldn't tell her. Yes, that was probably for the best.