"Well, you will go here... And you here..... Oh, how about sending this one here." A man who looked almost exactly like the Joker from DC was saying as he was throwing balls of light into new worlds. While he was doing that suddenly another man appeared, he was dressed like Batman and frowning at what the other was doing.
"Will you do your job properly!!" He said in a deep voice while shoving the other to the side, all the Joker look-alike did was laugh while clapping his hands.
"What's the matter Batsy?!!? They are getting their wishes as they go, who cares if they are thrown into worlds randomly, not like they won't die again in eighty to a hundred years." The Joker laughed while doing a cartwheel.
All Batman did was roll his eyes while looking at the next soul in line, "But you still need to do it properly, most haven't gone to the world they were supposed to. You also didn't wipe their memories, 'sigh' might as well keep the trend going now. Now all that is left is this last one and he only gets one combatish wish along with all the lifestyle magics you didn't give."
Seeing that the soul was the last one for a while Batman took his time to make sure all the wishes were attached right before throwing him to his new world. At least when he got there he wouldn't need to worry about his life being messed up, but Batman did mess up throwing him into a recently dead body rather than a baby.
{A.N. This beginning part was 'stolen' from another fanfiction called The Beggar's Rise. I recommend it to all readers even though it is unfinished and I'll remove this part immediately if the original author wants. This was only to pay homage as it was your fic that inspired me to try to write this one. Everything after this is 100% me.}
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The last thing I remember before waking up here was sleeping in my bed, being awoken by a loud bang, and then nothing. When I came to all I felt was a massive throbbing against my skull. An itching pain fills my body, but also a contrive, weightlessness, leaving me unable to move. Before I could open my eyes or let out any sounds of pain I felt my body crash into what could only be described as a wall, before sliding down and crumpling to the floor.
I heard someone yell, "You better recover quickly, Numidian, you've got to fight again at noon."
Followed by another voice saying, "He's surely dead his next match. The cunt only survived due to sheer luck. I'd sooner have a cock in my mouth than see his next opponent fall on his own blade like the last. I still can't believe that fucking Syrian slipped in such a way."
Then the voice from before sounded again, though a little more distant it said. "The fucker is definitely blessed by the gods. He was being stomped to death when, miraculously, the fuckers pooled blood causing the Syrian to fall. We can only see how long such a blessing can hold up but if I were you I would stop betting my coin now and.."
The voices trailed off before I could make out any more of their conversation. I can only assume that I'm the 'lucky survivor' they are talking about, considering that it feels like I was beaten to near death. Their conversation only gave me more questions than answers to my own predicament though.
With the smell of blood and piss assaulting his nose, he gathered all his strength to sit up against the cold stone wall behind him before he willed his eyes…No, his eye to open, as the other one was swelled shut. Then he surveyed his surroundings with his still blurry vision, hoping to see something he was familiar with, but to no avail. All that greeted him was a dimly lit, cramped single-person cell. The ground was made up of sand and gravel, littered with spots of red clear to his hazy gaze. The door to his cell looked to be made of sturdy wood with a large bared window-like gap in the upper portion.
He didn't see anyone outside his cell or hear any more voices so he relaxed his sore body and disoriented mind. He tried to think about not only where he found himself but how he got here as well, but before he could analyze what he knew. He was thrown into another bout of intense pain. Worse than the throbbing before, it now felt like a thunderstorm was raging inside his skull, relentless and deafening. With the newfound pain also came a new set of memories and some of the answers to his questions.
…
This body name was unknown to even him, he was born to a brothel whore of Rome, and his father was not fully known. Only remembered to be a Numidian, by his mother. She raised him till his third 'name day', before kicking him out into the streets. She never actually gave him a name and only called him 'boy' not even acknowledging him as her son and even occasionally beating him when angered or wronged by her clients. So the boy had no problems leaving when told, feeling more fear towards her than the outside world.
He soon realized that his fear may have been misplaced, as compared to his uncaring and violent 'mother', the outside world was even more dangerous. He was illiterate and could barely form a few words due to his malnutrition and lack of attention. Thankfully his weak-looking appearance earned sympathy from some bystanders, some willing to give him bits of food and drinks of water here and there. That only lasted about a week before he was found by slave traders. He was taken, marked as a slave and was eventually sold to a Ludus. Thankfully he was too young to fight or even really train at 3, so he was bought, serving the gladiators by fetching water and as the Doctore's assistant of sorts. Luckily for him, no one there had any 'interest' in children.
He lived there decently even being named Eros by the Lanista as a joke after finding that his mother was just a prostitute. He started lightly training to be a gladiator at the early age of 9, not actually touching a sword till he was 15 though. Just as he was starting to enjoy life, soon to be made into an official gladiator of the house after years of preparation, he was struck by another disaster soon before his 17th name day. He was accused of having a relationship with the Lanista's daughter, by her, in an attempt to save the head of her actual lover, a gladiator of the Ludus. The only reason that he didn't find himself losing his head was that everyone knew she was lying. Maybe due to her not wanting an innocent to actually die, even subconsciously, she picked one of the least possible people to blame for her pregnancy. While he had been raised here for the most part he was barely ever allowed anywhere near the young lady of the house, always being watched if he was near her or shooed away altogether. Due to their close age, his Domina had told Dominus of her fear that they may grow close, be it as friends or lovers, and how they shouldn't let such a thing happen. So since he was about 6 he wasn't allowed into the house unless under special circumstances and when he was he was always escorted by guards, who left no room for interactions or intersections with their young lady.
Still though, even with his Domina and Dominus being nearly positive he wasn't the culprit, they decided to sell him. For no better reason than doubt. Doubt caused them to sell one of the potentially most loyal fighters their house could have had, all because they doubted, not only him but themselves, how could he have gotten around all the extra measures they put up and still have the time to woo the young miss?
{A.N. Should this paragraph be removed?}
But no matter what was said they didn't change their made-up minds. This event just gave them an unneeded excuse to sell someone, as the house was currently in need of coin. He was sold to a cruel place of pain and suffering, beasts dying without honor. A place where you needn't follow rules because none exist. The pits of the underworld