1 F*ck the Gods

"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 blessed by the gods. He was being stomped to death when, miraculously, the cunt's pooled blood caused 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 faded as I struggled to grasp 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 words, however, spawned more questions than answers about my predicament.

With the overpowering scent of blood and urine assaulting my nose, I summoned all my strength to sit up against the cold stone wall behind me. Slowly, I coerced my eye open, the other sealed shut from swelling. Then I 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. 

Alone in my cell, with no signs of life outside, I allowed my sore body and disoriented mind to relax. Attempting to piece together my situation and how I ended up here, a surge of intense pain interrupted my thoughts. This agony, surpassing the earlier throbbing, felt like a thunderstorm raging inside my skull—relentless and deafening. Alongside the pain, a rush of new memories flooded in, providing answers to some of the questions that lingered in my mind.

…

The original owner of this body had a miserable beginning. Born to a brothel whore in Rome, 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 unknown 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.

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 in another city, to a cruel place of pain and suffering, where men are like beasts dying without honor. A place where you needn't follow rules because none exist. The pits of Capua's underworld. 

That's where he'd been for the past week. Fighting twice a day, every day for the past 5 days had taken its toll. While he could win easily enough at first due to his training, his body and mind had been constantly deteriorating and in his last match, he gave up. Letting himself be pinned, beaten, and stomped on without any resistance, just hoping to let it all end, before the "gods" interjected, saving him, or rather me, since the other guy is already gone now.

…

At the culmination of these memories, I, Eros, realized my location—Spartacus. Not only that, but I acquired a handful of cheats, each accompanied by thorough knowledge of their workings and complete control over them.

Firstly, various magical abilities manifested. I could effortlessly cleanse objects and bodies, eliminating sweat and dirt, and leaving behind a fresh scent. Most diseases, including all STDs, succumbed to my curative touch. Another magical facet involved potent healing, capable of mending wounds, regrowing skin, and restoring burnt flesh to a pristine state—though limb regrowth remained beyond its scope.

The final magical boon granted me a personal world or space—a realm teeming with its own ecosystem. Animals, plants, and insects flourished under my dominion. Although I couldn't house people within, I could manipulate everything else. This mystical space allowed me to retrieve and store items at will. I can also pull things out in any way I wish. For example, I could pull out a cooked duck as long as there was a living duck in the space, and could even have fresh bread as long as there was wheat, salt, yeast, and water. I can also make and pull out items like cups and silverware.

Apart from magic, a singular 'passive' skill emerged—weapons mastery. Any weapon I wielded would instantly become second nature, though practical training and experience remained essential for true mastery.

After internalizing my newfound abilities, the first order of business was self-healing. I focused on mending internal injuries and staunching external wounds just enough to minimize bleeding so as not to raise questions. The relief was instant and refreshing, so much so that I let out an involuntary sigh. I wished to fix my swollen left eye but refrained from it, I would wait until it was almost time for my next fight before healing it just enough for me to see out of it. 

I then decided to use the curative magic on myself to its fullest power. Fortunately, my ailments were mostly malnutrition, and wasn't seriously ill so I only spit up a few mouthfuls of black goo. Summoning water into a carved wooden cup, I rinsed my mouth. I soon noticed how my body felt even better than after I just healed myself. If before I felt relaxed, now I feel energized. I felt like a brand new man, even with my minor outer injuries. 

Even with my body now feeling renewed, my mind is still a mess. I know where I am, but that doesn't do much to relieve the chaos in my thoughts. I've only watched the first few episodes of the first season, so I basically have no plot knowledge. However, I do have some amazing gifts, and if used properly, they could make all the difference in my life or death here. The place where I am now is called the Pits, located in the city of Capua, where the legend of Spartacus begins.

I'm unsure of what to do. With my gifts, there are plenty of options. Any one of them, if used wisely, could make me rich and likely famous due to a swift rise, as long as I'm smart about it and avoid drawing too much attention initially. However, my biggest hurdle is escaping the pits. Even with all my gifts, I'm still human and can't envision successfully fighting my way out. From my memories, I know there are always at least 30 guards stationed around, day or night, as the fights continue non-stop.

I push away my thoughts momentarily as my stomach growls. I almost forgot that, despite constant exertion, this body only gets a pitiful bowl of grey sludge called "porridge" once a day. I slowly crawl towards the cell door, trying to be as quiet as possible. Reaching it, I poke my head up and peek out between the bars. Seeing no one or other cells, and hearing no movement, I make my way back to the wall, leaning against it. I summon some fresh bread and a small portion of chicken, devouring it before the smell can spread too far. Washing it down with more water from my space.

Lying down and closing my eye, I try to calm my building nervousness. I may be wrong, but I doubt slaves can buy their freedom from a place like this. Not that the original owner was earning anything from fighting anyway. I hope I can be bought from here, then when moved to a less guarded location, I could escape with less hassle. I'm not sure what I'll do, but I know for certain I won't let myself die here. With my thoughts of survival solidified I felt my exhaustion overcome me.

…

Soon the dreaded time came. I was awoken from my light slumber by the same set of guards from last time because they sounded the same as before. Still not knowing much I decided to see what information I could get from their conversation this time, while quietly healing myself a bit more in preparation.

"Let's be quick with this, I've got coin to win and a whore to fill." Says one, I think he's the one who was making bets earlier. He along with the other grabbed me, standing me up, and escorting me out with one on either side. While I'm trying to keep up and prevent from being dragged while still pretending to be barely able to walk, the other responds.

"Idiot! You've done nothing but lose coin all day, remove hea.." He was cut off though by the other man.

"F*ck you, words fall from your mouth like shit from ass. I'll win this time. Do you know who this cocksucker is fighting next? If that giant were to strip and fight with cock in hand he would still tear this little sh*t in half with the other." The man who seemed like he had a gambling problem refuted. His words about the size of my opponent made my nervousness from before resurface.

"Yes, he's fighting the mountain, I still recall how he killed his last opponent. A single slash cut a grown man nearly clean in half… a gruesome sight. … Maybe it won't go so well for this Numidian this time." 

Seeing that even the other man no longer refuted his colleague after being reminded of my opponent, I couldn't help but wonder just who this mountain was. But before I could delve too far into my thoughts, the sound of yelling—no, cheering and booing—reached my ears, along with the guard's voice, all accompanied by the breathtaking view of the arena.

"You see! For such a weak pissant to be paired with such a monster, even the gods must want him dead now!" The man exclaimed, sounding excited about what he thought would be my death. 

The 'monster' he was referring to was standing in that arena, currently bathed in the cheers from those who won and the boos of those few who lost, thinking it a good idea to bet against such a formidable-looking man. The man, The Mountain, stood at least 8 feet tall, hairy with bulging muscles but with pale skin as if it'd never seen or felt the sunlight. He was in the center of the arena, roaring in victory while holding the mangled body of his opponent above his head. Then in a sight that nearly made me faint along with throwing up, he tore the man's somewhat severed head off, with his bare hands. 

Seeing him like that and hearing the coed cheer for the death and violence going on in the arena before me, I hardened my resolve. I wouldn't die here. As they forced me onto the ring, I let out my bubbling emotions in the form of a roar, a declaration to those present, including the giant before me and the asshole guard behind me.

"FUCK THE GOD'S"

This earned me the chuckles and barbs of a few who heard me over the crowd.

"Did you hear that cocksucker"

"Jupiter cock! He's clearly insane."

"The pissant is in denial."

"Really? You'll be torn apart in just seconds!"

All kinds of insults were said but none of it reached him. He was zoned in, focused on the battle to come, He was ready to do whatever it took to survive and that resolve is what showed on his unflinching face as he stood across from his monstrous opponent to draw weapons.

…

Within the crowd, before Eros made his declaration and was still being escorted, a conversation was taking place.

"If this is but a waste of time… " 

"Trust me, dominus, I would do no such thing. I issue you, the man we came to see goes by Eros and, while not looking as intimidating as the man fighting now, should be much more skilled. He seemed to have some sort of training from what rumors I've heard and based on what I saw 2 days ago I'd say they are true. From what I've been able to gather, since he has appeared in the pits, for reasons I'm still unsure of he has been on a steady schedule of two fights a day. He gets a few hours of rest in between, one meal a day, and he is made to keep the same fighting time no matter how injured he is. To be able to survive here under such conditions shows his promise, Dominus."

"Okay, I get it but what about what we heard of his earlier match, it seems that he is already dead, or wishing he was. Can such a man, who has given up on life be a gladiator? I think not."

"Yes, Dominus, he was said to have given up, but if you were to come and give him hope when he is most desperate.." His words were cut off, by a roar. Not from the beast-like man in the center of the arena but from a much smaller man on the outskirts of the arena. The man in question, though looking bruised and battered, looked unbroken. 

The man, standing at about 6 and a half feet tall, surprisingly held firm despite his visible injuries. Wearing only a subligaculum, most of his chocolate-colored skin was laid bare for all to see. His form showed some muscle but was littered with cuts and stab wounds, most of which weren't yet fully healed and some still even leaking blood, leaving some who saw him baffled at how he was still living. What caught the attention of those with keen eyesight was the man's face though. Despite the equally bruised face, with one eye nearly shut from swelling, he remained stoic and unfazed while gazing at the giant in the arena. No fear could be seen or felt from him, and he exuded an aura of determination.

"That is him, Dominus, it seems that the rumors of his giving up on life are untrue. That face says he'll die fighting before he gives up." 

"I see it too, Ashur. If he survives this fight, inquire how much he costs and dig up all the information on him you can. I have high hopes for him. I can see it already, "Eros the Defier" The man who says fuck the gods against all odds!"

….

Back in the arena

I stood across from the beast of a man and locked eyes with him as I reached into the bag to draw my weapon. His gaze reflected mockery, a clear underestimation of me, but little did he know that would be his undoing. As I grabbed one of the wooden models and withdrew my hand, a tiny carved wooden dagger revealed itself. This elicited an even more maniacal smile from the bear-like man, who commented.

"Hah, you tiny man, think you can kill me with a tiny dagger. I'll kill you with my bare hands," said the dumb giant.

Yes, the guy was undoubtedly an idiot. He refused a weapon and wanted to fight me barehanded, even though I was armed. Idiocy. I don't care how much bigger he is; I'd prefer to at least have the option to use a weapon, but he threw that away. Not that I mind. It'll just make my goal easier. I'm not going to hesitate to kill; it's my life or his. I'll deal with any emotions later; for now, survival comes first. I turned away and walked closer to the edge of the arena. I had to wait a second for my weapon before the match could start. Giving me time to distance myself and strategize.

While he possessed sheer size and strength, my bet rested on my agility. In this case, having a dagger played in my favor a bit. Although I had some experience with the sword, and my weapons mastery would reinforce that but, none of my encounters involved giants like him. So, I found myself in a situation where the dagger would be just as useful.

After a few seconds of convincing myself that the dagger was the best choice, someone familiar from the sidelines called out to me.

"Hey, take this and try not to die too soon pissant, ive got 20 coin on you making lasting a minute, so make it happen." the guard from before barked before turning away.

As soon as my fingers brushed against the rusted and slightly curved dagger, a cascade of information flooded my mind on how to wield it in different ways. From gaming characters to movie scenes, I acquired knowledge on using the dagger in various techniques and situations. It was akin to witnessing thousands of different instructors demonstrating moves in diverse scenarios. Although I didn't gain actual hands-on experience, I now had a comprehensive understanding of how to utilize the weapon effectively in different circumstances.

Holding the weapon, I assume a basic stance, facing the mountain and awaiting the start of the match. A plan has already been formulated in my mind when the command to start is given. My opponent rushes towards me, attempting a tackle, I assume, but I nimble dodge to the side, ensuring to cut the front of his right thigh as we pass each other. Despite the urge to follow up with another strike before he recovers, my instincts hold me back. Just in time, I witness his log-like right arm hurtling in my direction. Swiftly ducking under his arm, I roll to a stop dangerously close behind him.

Before he has a chance to retaliate, I slash out with the blade at his left Achilles tendon and give a stab to the back of the knee on the same leg, retreating as he falls to one knee due to the sudden pain and loss of control of certain muscles. Seizing the opportunity, I bury the dagger into his neck before swiftly retreating again with the now bloodied weapon, ensuring he doesn't get a hold of me.

I observed the man, clutching his neck in a desperate attempt to stem the bleeding, his eyes reflecting confusion, likely unaware of how things had taken such a swift turn. I remained silent, etching his face into my memory, knowing he might be just the first of many whose lives would end at my hands. However, witnessing the last flicker of life leave his eyes and seeing him topple over didn't bring the relief I anticipated. Yes, I survived, but the uncertainty of continuous survival lingered.

The shouts of the crowd pulled me out of my thoughts, but there was no joy to be found in their cheers. Most weren't cheering, as nearly every gambler had placed bets on my opponent, considering it easy money. Escorting me back to my cell, the guards, though the same ones from before, were much less talkative now. Silence accompanied us all the way back, and they left in a hurry, leaving me alone in my cell.

Exhausted, mostly mentally, and ready to rest, I prepared to lie down on the cold, hard ground. However, before I could do so, I heard approaching footsteps. Uncertain of what was to come, I readied myself for a potential fight. What if someone I had made lose coin was coming to seek revenge? But what greeted me was instead a face I remembered from my last life.

"HAHAHA, YES! FUCK THE GODS INDEED! You have defied the gods that wanted you dead. Now I have come to give you a way out of this hellish pit, to give you a chance to say FUCK THE GODS on a higher stage and to earn. You could earn coin, women, even your freedom can be given. What say 

you? Do you wish to join my Ludus, and together we can tell the world FUCK THE GODS!"

Batiatus.