The city pulsed with noise. Honking cars. Neon signs flickering like restless stars. The steady hum of crowds moving with purpose, late, early, always in motion. Delhi never slept. It simply changed shifts.
Verion walked through it all without hurry.
He looked ordinary. Worn sneakers. A casual jacket. Headphones resting around his neck. The kind of man you passed every day and never remembered. But his eyes were fixed on his phone, and the number glowing on the screen had just closed a chapter of his life.
₹6,37,000 → ₹250,89,34,000
Final withdrawal approved.
He stopped.
Traffic continued. Someone cursed nearby. A bus roared past. But for Verion, the city faded into background noise. His breath slowed. His grip tightened around the phone.
It was real.
From fifteen to twenty-six, he had worked for this. Not out of desperation, not out of hunger, but out of ambition. Late nights by choice. Missed outings he could afford but postponed. Learning when others relaxed. Building something quietly while life stayed comfortable around him.
His family was well. His parents were healthy. His younger brother was doing fine. Dinners were loud. Laughter was normal. There was no tragedy pushing him forward.
Just hunger to see how far he could go.
He closed his eyes and smiled.
Not relief. Satisfaction.
This was the moment where effort turned into freedom.
His phone buzzed.
"Congrats, champ. Proud of you."
His father.
Verion let out a short laugh and typed back, already imagining the celebration tonight. His mother insisting he eat more. His brother pretending not to care while asking questions anyway.
He looked up at the sky, layered with smog and neon reflections.
"Worth it," he murmured to no one.
Then the world broke.
A flash of white tore through the street. Not thunder. Not fire. A sharp, unnatural snap, like reality itself cracking. Glass burst outward. People screamed. The ground lurched.
And where Verion stood a second ago,
There was nothing.
No body. No blood. No sign of struggle.
Just a single hand on the pavement.
Still holding a phone.
The city screamed around it, unaware that someone had been erased.
Far below the world, deeper than stone and law, another place convulsed.
A dungeon.
Vast. Artificial. Forbidden.
Mana veins glowed across the walls like exposed nerves. Runes rotated slowly in the air, unstable, trembling. At the center, a ritual circle burned with forced power.
Robed mages shouted over the rising hum.
"It's destabilizing!"
"Push through! We're almost there!"
They were attempting the impossible. Forcing a dungeon to rank up. Breaking natural order. Challenging gods.
Steel cut through chanting.
A blade of condensed aura cleaved one mage in half.
The Kingdom's elite surged in. Knights. Casters. Enforcers of balance.
"End the ritual," a warrior commanded. "Now."
Fire tore through the circle. Sigils shattered. Mana screamed.
"You don't understand what you're interrupting!" a mage yelled.
Then the circle collapsed.
Light detonated outward.
When it cleared, something lay at the center.
A boy's body.
Broken. Mangled. Incomplete.
One leg gone. One arm twisted beyond recognition. Deep wounds carved across unfamiliar skin. His chest barely moved.
He had not been summoned.
He had not been created.
He had arrived.
"Who is he?" the swordsman asked.
No answer came.
Healing spells failed. Potions evaporated. Divine light passed through him like mist.
"It's like he isn't registered to this world," the High Priestess whispered.
A quiet voice spoke.
"If someone exists beyond the rules… can they still be saved?"
The air froze.
Golden light descended where no sky existed.
A god.
"He does not belong," the presence said. "Yet he persists."
"A soul from another law. Another reality."
"A Divine Error."
Even the god hesitated.
"This body cannot survive here. But his soul… that can be anchored."
Light formed a new vessel. Mana shaped into flesh. A body born of this realm.
The transfer began.
Pain without language.
Then breath.
The new body gasped.
Alive.
The old one dissolved, never having truly belonged anywhere.
The god's presence faded.
"His world continues without him," the voice echoed faintly. "Unaware."
"Peaceful."
Verion awoke beneath a foreign ceiling.
In a body that felt wrong.
In a world that had never known his name.
Somewhere else, his family would sit down for dinner.
His phone would never ring again.
And no one would ever know where he went.
Thus began the story of a man who did not die.
Who was not summoned.
Who was simply removed.
A soul misplaced between realities.
A life continued without him.
And a world forced to accept someone who should never have arrived.