Pandemonium

Disruption

Sea-foam eyes gazed upon the shining bronze of the gladiatorial helmet across the bench. He'd survived.

He'd worked so hard to finally reach this day. To prove his worth to the world.

Dirty brown locks were tied back into a short ponytail at the base of his neck. The leather straps of a worn shoulder guard rested upon scarred tanned skin. With a quick glance at the polished blade, the warrior sheathed his sword and picked up his helmet.

Taking a deep breath, the brunette gently pressed his forehead to the metal. A deep sigh left his dry lips. Drowning out the roaring of the crowd, he allowed his thoughts to guide him as they pleased.

They decided to take him away from the present. Away from who he had grown to be; back to his former self.

The day that started his journey to the present.

---------------

Rakat's father never was respectable in his son's eyes.

It's exactly how he found himself in similar situations prior to this.

It was no surprise when two well-dressed men stood outside of their small hut, demanding that Rakat bring his father to them. It definitely wasn't a surprise when they told him they were here to collect a large sum of money he owed.

The old man begged and pleaded, spouting excuse after excuse as he groveled and clutched at their silken robes. The nobles scoffed and kicked him to the side, claiming they had heard enough of his empty excuses; they were done with his lies. If they didn't collect his debt today then they would have the right to claim everything he owns. If even that was insufficient as pay (which would more than likely be the case with how little he owns) then he would be sent to work it off as a slave.

With the promise of returning at dusk, the men turned. The slimy old man slowly rose to his feet, a dangerous and crafty glint in his dark eyes. A terrible, wrenching ache settled in Rakat's stomach as they flashed over his form.

They both turned and separated to their respected corners of slumber.

Rakat's father still isn't a respectable man.

No tears were shed when the nobles came back later that day.

Rakat answered the door as the sun had begun to set. It wasn't the nobles; why would they waste any more of their time on slum rats?

Three soldiers stood before the boy and spoke with vile grins on their lips. They told Rakat that his father wasn't worth their employer's time and that it was time to pay up.

The old man was called to the door. One of the men held out his hand, wearing a smile of rotten teeth. No one was surprised when the gambler didn't present the money. Rakat sighed and turned to look at the hut.

They would no longer be welcome here.

A greasy hand shot out to grab Rakat's shoulder in his moment of weakness, shoving him into the group of three men. The boy's eyes snapped open to look at his father in horror. His leathery skin curled around his dark eyes with the growth of a twisted smile.

"Consider the loans paid in full."

---------------

Rakat's father will never be respectable in his son's eyes.

Each story was the same. Walk the streets in chains with the others, catch a noble's eye and then end up right back at square one in under a week. It was the new routine of Rakat's life.

On special occasions he would sometimes be blessed with new scars as a parting gift.

When they started to become more common, traders quickly came to the realisation that he was unnecessary. That he was unwanted.