His pulse is hammering in his ears and he feels the sweat stinging the many cuts on his face. When he hears Cally's scream his world shifts. He feels his breathing change and he reflexes peak. A shock runs through him, a warning. It's not unfamiliar.
There is no mercy for rapists, there is no quarter given even for their failure.
The thought is from outside. The hum of his skin tells him Starbuck is close. Logically he knew his father would send someone, he is somewhat surprised it's her. But his body knows. Somewhere she is stringing her bow. His hands flutter and the words on his lips are put there by auto-pilot. He can smell blood. It makes him clench his jaw impulsively. Probably his own, he prays it is only his own.
When they reach the cell things break down even further for him. He can see exactly where his opportunity will arise. The energy is nearly a whistle now instead of a hum. He tries to focus. The insane would-be rapist is ranting. He can hear the beat of the beasts heart as he swears and postulates, it's frantic and angry. He has time. Cally doesn't, it is her blood he is smelling. Blood from a body cavity wound smells different than arterial spray, or even cranial facial hemorrhages.
The little girl is a fighter and Apollo feels the sting of rage for the audacity of the beast that dared harm her. He is proud of the way she has wounded her assaulter. It could be the death of her but he is happy she is willing to go down fighting rather than just accepting what is handed her. Or in this case what she is expected to embrace. Fear had not motivated this maiden to compliance. His thoughts feel alien, they are barely his own.
He blames Zarek and his frakking Zeus references.
He calculates the movements it will take to get what he needs. He eyeballs the steps to get there and the force needed. He waits and his sun rises, lighting his way.
The goon at the cell door doesn't stand a chance. He feels like he has lightening in his blood. The gun comes away in his hand easily. In the time it takes the prisoners around him to react he has already raised his hands. The shot is placed expertly. Metal and sulfur a tiny curl of haze from the wound in the beast's head. Cally looks like she expected no less from him. He thinks it might be the first man he has killed at nearly point blank range, if you could call it a man. Zarek had spouted off about it being the system, or even his personal fault that animals like this one exists. Apollo knows better. And Zarek is on his knees.
Every action no matter how driven, is still a choice. When choice is taken away, there is no action. Period.
No quarter given. He was an animal and died like one, slain by the hunters bow.
Artemis would be proud. Rape is for the weak. Natural selection prevails.
Cally looks at him and he promises she will be taken care of. He can feel the whistling hum of energy spike as he addressesZarek, kneeling at his feet. His bright star is in the room with him, her aura warms him, gives him blessed calm. He points the gun, states the options, gets his answer.
She is not as giving, she has not been satisfied, her hunt isn't yet complete. He denies her the target. Her divine wrath flares. She will forgive, she will require appeasement, but she will forgive, because it was him who fouled her shot. Anyone else would be dead now. When she addresses him, the hunt is over, the hum tapers off.
He can not reconcile the forces at hand, he is just a man. But he can explain to her why he pulled her punch. Why he gave mercy to a man, who has many times proven that given the same option he would kill. He can't accept that, he can't reconcile his heart and his mind with willful disrespect of life. Death by his hand, like everything else, is earned. Apollo doesn't kill for ideas, he kills for actions.
He cannot reconcile the two opposing forces. But he can explain to her why he has to try.