∞ INFINITE ASCENSION: THE MAX LEVEL SOVEREIGN
BOOK ONE: AWAKENING
ARC ONE: THE DOMAIN CALLS
CHAPTER ONE: THE SMILE THAT DEFIED DEATH
The truck never slowed down.
Haroon Parhar Rai saw it coming—the screech of tires, the blur of metal, the child frozen in the middle of Kot Addu's busiest intersection. He didn't think. He moved, shoving the boy clear with enough force to send them both sprawling. The impact came a heartbeat later, a white-hot explosion that started in his ribs and ended somewhere in the clouds he suddenly found himself staring up at.
Funny, he thought, blood bubbling at his lips. The sky is so blue today.
He tried to turn his head, to see if the child was safe, but his body wasn't listening anymore. Voices screamed around him—ambulance, police, oh God, he's so young—but they sounded distant, like a television playing in another room. Haroon wanted to tell them not to worry. He wanted to make a joke about Pakistani traffic laws, or maybe ask if someone could call his mother so she wouldn't hear about this from a stranger.
Instead, he smiled.
It wasn't bravery. It wasn't acceptance. It was simply that Haroon Parhar Rai had spent twenty-two years cultivating a default setting of cheerful, and his body didn't know how to die any other way.
The light didn't fade. It shifted.
One moment, he was staring at clouds. The next, he was falling through a void that tasted like static and smelled like ozone. No pain. No body, really—just the sensation of self tumbling downward while colors that didn't exist painted impossible geometries across his consciousness.
[SOUL HARVESTED]
The words appeared in his mind without sound, burning with golden authority.
[CAUSE OF DEATH: TRAUMATIC IMPACT]
[AGE AT DEATH: 22 YEARS, 4 MONTHS, 17 DAYS]
[ORIGIN: EARTH-PRIME, PAKISTAN, KOT ADDU]
[KARMA EVALUATION: POSITIVE—SELF-SACRIFICE]
[ELIGIBILITY: CONFIRMED]
Eligibility for what? Haroon tried to ask, but he had no mouth.
The void answered anyway.
[WELCOME TO THE GOD DOMAIN, CANDIDATE 7,291,446,882]
[PREPARE FOR TUTORIAL SCENARIO: ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE—ORIGINAL WORLD]
[DIFFICULTY: F-RANK]
[SURVIVAL RATE: 34.7%]
[BONUS: TALENT AWAKENING IMMINENT]
Zombies? Haroon would have laughed if he could. He'd spent half his teenage years watching anime and playing video games, dreaming of exactly this kind of second chance. The irony of getting isekai'd by a Mitsubishi truck wasn't lost on him.
Then the pain started.
Not physical—something deeper. Something that reached into the core of whatever he was now and twisted. Information flooded his consciousness: the nature of the Domain, the endless scenarios, the competition between dead souls from infinite realities. He understood the currency of Scenario Points, the danger of revelation to natives, the forbidden truth that players who climbed high enough could extract characters from their worlds, bringing fiction into reality.
And he understood his own Talent.
[TALENT AWAKENING COMPLETE]
[RANK: TRIPLE EX UNIQUE—SOLE INSTANCE IN MULTIVERSE]
[TALENT 1: INSTANT MAX LEVEL]
[DESCRIPTION: Any skill, technique, ability, or power acquired by the user instantly achieves theoretical maximum proficiency and mastery. No training required. No practice necessary. Perfection upon conception.]
[TALENT 2: FUSION]
[DESCRIPTION: User may merge any two or more skills, items, bloodlines, energy types, or conceptual powers into new hybrid existences. Fused creations retain strengths of components while eliminating weaknesses. Limit: User's comprehension and energy reserves.]
[WARNING: UNIQUE RANK TALENTS ATTRACT ATTENTION. RECOMMENDATION: CONCEALMENT]
Haroon would have blinked. Then he would have grinned.
Even in death—especially in death—his luck was absurd.
The void spat him out into a world of rust and ruin.
He hit concrete knees-first, gasping as sensation returned to his body. It was his body, he realized. Younger, maybe—nineteen, twenty at most—but unmistakably Haroon Parhar Rai: wheat-brown skin, curly black hair, the same scar above his left eyebrow from a childhood cricket accident. He was wearing his favorite hoodie, the dark green one with Punjab University's faded logo, and jeans that had definitely seen better days.
Around him, a city screamed.
Not metaphorically. Literally screamed—the high, hungry shrieks of the infected, the desperate shouts of survivors, the distant thunder of collapsing infrastructure. Haroon stumbled to his feet in an alley that smelled like rotting garbage and older, fouler things. Three meters away, a corpse in a police uniform twitched and began to rise, its neck at an impossible angle, its eyes milky with hunger.
[TUTORIAL OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE 24 HOURS]
[HINT: SEARCH FOR WEAPONS. AVOID HORDES. TRUST NO ONE]
The zombie—because that's what it was, undeniably, actually a zombie—lurched toward him with the jerky speed of fresh reanimation. Haroon backed against a brick wall, heart hammering, and realized with distant surprise that he was still smiling.
Old habits.
His hand brushed something metal in a pile of trash. A pipe, rusted but solid. He gripped it automatically, and—
[WEAPON ACQUIRED: STEEL PIPE (POOR QUALITY)]
[SKILL GENERATING...]
[BLUNT WEAPON MASTERY—MAXIMUM LEVEL ACHIEVED]
Knowledge flooded him. Not memory—muscle. The perfect grip for crushing skulls. The optimal angle for preserving stamina. The exact force required to shatter a human temple. He knew this pipe like he'd trained with it for twenty years, knew the weight and balance and weak points, knew precisely how it would sing through the air when swung with intent.
The zombie lunged.
Haroon sidestepped without thinking, body moving on instincts that shouldn't exist. The pipe came up, around, down—a clean arc that terminated in the zombie's skull with a wet crunch. The creature dropped. Didn't rise again.
He stared at the body. At the pipe. At his own hands, trembling now but not from fear.
Oh, he thought. Oh, this is dangerous.
Not the power itself. Haroon wasn't stupid—he'd read enough light novels to recognize a broken protagonist ability when he saw one. No, the danger was the attention. The warning in his Talent description. In a place where the strong preyed on the weak and information was currency, possessing the only Triple Ex Unique rank in existence made him either a king or a target.
And Haroon Parhar Rai had never been particularly good at being a target.
He wiped the pipe on his jeans and looked up at the burning skyline. Somewhere in this nightmare, there would be other players. Veterans who'd survived dozens of scenarios. Monsters wearing human skin. People who would see his cheerful demeanor and underestimate him, or see his potential and try to crush him before he grew.
He could hide. Should hide, probably. Play the weakling, the lucky fool, the harmless support character while secretly maxing every skill he touched and fusing them into things the Domain had never seen.
Or he could trust. Find allies. Build something real in this place of second chances.
The zombie at his feet twitched. Haroon brought the pipe down again, just to be sure, and made his decision the same way he'd made the one that killed him—without hesitation, without regret, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes yet.
He would survive. He would climb. And somewhere between the scenarios and the slaughter, he would find people worth keeping.
Because Haroon had died once already, alone on hot asphalt with strangers screaming around him. He had no intention of dying that way again.
[TUTORIAL TIMER: 23:47:12]
[PLAYER STATUS: ACTIVE]
[CURRENT LOCATION: SECTOR 7, ABANDONED METROPOLIS]
[THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: FIND SHELTER]
The holographic display flickered in the corner of his vision—semi-transparent, game-like, utterly surreal. Haroon experimentally thought minimize and watched it shrink to a subtle golden thread at the edge of his perception. Useful. He'd need to master this interface quickly.
The alley opened onto a street choked with abandoned vehicles. A bus had crashed through a storefront, scattering mannequins like broken dolls. Smoke rose from a dozen fires, painting the sky in shades of orange and black. And everywhere, the sounds of chaos—the infected shuffling, survivors screaming, the occasional gunshot echoing from distant blocks.
Haroon stayed low, moving from cover to cover with a grace that surprised him. [Blunt Weapon Mastery] apparently included tactical movement, or perhaps his younger body was simply more responsive than his original. He filed the question away for later study.
His first priority was information. The tutorial hint said trust no one, but Haroon had always been selective about following instructions. He needed to understand this world—its rules, its threats, its opportunities—before he could make informed decisions about concealment versus revelation.
A pharmacy loomed ahead, its windows shattered but structure intact. Medical supplies would be valuable, and the upper floors might offer a defensible position. He approached carefully, pipe raised, and nearly walked into the ambush.
They came from the shadows of the pharmacy—three men in tattered clothes, armed with knives and desperate eyes. Not zombies. Human. Desperate.
"Drop the pipe, kid," the leader growled. He was middle-aged, balding, with the soft hands of someone who'd worked an office job before the world ended. The knife in his grip shook slightly. "Food, water, whatever you got. Hand it over, and you walk away."
Haroon considered. With [Blunt Weapon Mastery], he could probably disable them without killing. But that would reveal competence. Better to appear weak, lucky, perhaps slightly pathetic.
He let his shoulders slump. The pipe clattered to the ground.
"I don't have anything," he said, making his voice crack. "I just woke up here. I don't even know where here is."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "Bullshit. Everyone knows about the Domain."
Domain. Not "zombie apocalypse" or "the outbreak." The Domain. These weren't native scenario characters—they were players. Like him.
Haroon filed the information and doubled down on his act. "The what? Look, I was in an accident, okay? I hit my head, and then I was here. Please, I just want to find my family—"
"Newbie," one of the others muttered. "Fresh harvest. Probably hasn't even checked his status."
The leader's expression shifted from predatory to calculating. "What's your name, kid?"
"Haroon. Haroon Parhar." He deliberately omitted the Rai—his mother's family name, the one that marked him as landed gentry in Kot Addu. No need to give them anything they could use.
"Haroon." The leader tasted the name. "Pakistani?"
"Yes."
"Muslim?"
Haroon tensed internally. "Does it matter?"
The leader laughed, harsh and humorless. "Not to the zombies, kid. Not to the Domain either. But it matters to some players. There's a group downtown—calls themselves the Caliphate. Recruiting anyone who'll bow to their particular interpretation of scripture." He spat. "We're not with them. We're just trying to survive."
He kicked the pipe back toward Haroon. "Pick it up. You look like you can swing it, even if you act like you can't."
Haroon hesitated, then retrieved the weapon. "You're not robbing me?"
"Was going to. Changed my mind." The leader gestured to his companions, and they lowered their knives slightly. "Newbies are rare in F-rank tutorials. Usually means you got something special—good karma, maybe, or a useful talent. Could be worth more as an ally than a victim."
Or you want to see what I can do before deciding to kill me, Haroon thought. But he smiled anyway, the expression coming naturally after years of practice. "Thanks. I think."
"Don't thank me yet. Twenty-three hours left, and this sector's about to get hot." The leader extended his hand. "Marcus. Marcus Webb. This is Sarah and Jin."
Haroon shook it, feeling the calluses there. Not an office worker, then. Or not anymore. "You said 'Domain.' Is that what this place is called? The God Domain?"
Marcus's eyes sharpened. "So you do know something."
"I know I died. I know something brought me here. I know—" Haroon paused, considering how much to reveal. "I know I have a talent. But I don't know how anything works."
It was close enough to truth to be safe. Marcus studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
"Alright. Crash course, then. The God Domain pulls souls from dying realities—people who died with unfinished business, usually, or strong enough will to want a second chance. It drops us into scenarios based on fiction—movies, books, anime, whatever. We survive, we earn Scenario Points, we buy skills and gear and climb the ranks."
"And if we die?" Haroon asked, though he suspected the answer.
"Real death. Final. No more chances." Marcus's expression darkened. "I've seen three players go down in this tutorial alone. The zombies are bad, but the real danger is other players. Some people... they get a taste of power, and they decide the rules don't apply anymore."
Haroon thought of his [Instant Max Level], of how easily he could become one of those people. The temptation would always be there—to max a combat skill and dominate, to fuse abilities until he was untouchable, to treat everyone else as NPCs in his story.
He thought of his mother, praying for his soul in Kot Addu. Of his little sister, who'd wanted to be a doctor. Of the child he'd pushed from the truck's path, never knowing if they'd survived.
"I don't want to be that kind of person," he said quietly.
Marcus clapped his shoulder, hard enough to bruise. "Good. Keep that attitude, and you might actually survive." He turned toward the pharmacy. "Come on. We need supplies, and you've got twenty-three hours to learn how to stay alive."
The pharmacy was a treasure trove of useful items, most of which Haroon couldn't identify until he touched them. The Domain helpfully provided information:
[ITEM: ANTIBIOTICS (COMMON)]
[EFFECT: Treats infection]
[VALUE: 50 SP]
[ITEM: PAINKILLERS (COMMON)]
[EFFECT: Reduces pain, minor healing]
[VALUE: 30 SP]
[ITEM: FIRST AID KIT (UNCOMMON)]
[EFFECT: Restores 20% HP, stops bleeding]
[VALUE: 150 SP]
Haroon gathered everything he could carry, watching Marcus's team work with practiced efficiency. Sarah was young, maybe twenty, with sharp eyes and sharper movements. She handled a crowbar like an extension of her arm, and Haroon noted the way she always positioned herself to cover the exits. Jin was older, silent, with the haunted look of someone who'd lost too much. He carried a shotgun with the ease of long familiarity.
"You're staring," Sarah said without looking up from her inventory.
"Learning," Haroon corrected. "You move like you know what you're doing."
"Second scenario. First one was a cakewalk—some romance drama world, barely any danger. Got cocky." She tapped her crowbar against her palm. "This one's teaching me humility."
"How many scenarios do people usually survive?"
Sarah exchanged a look with Marcus. "Most don't make it past five. The difficulty ramps up fast, and some people... they freeze. Can't adapt." She studied him with uncomfortable intensity. "You don't look like you'll freeze."
Haroon smiled, making it reach his eyes this time. "I already died once today. I'm not eager to repeat the experience."
They moved out ten minutes later, heading toward what Marcus called a "safe house"—an apartment building with reinforced doors and a rooftop vantage point. The streets were worse than the alley, choked with abandoned cars and worse things. Haroon learned to identify the infected by sound: the shuffling of the slow ones, the sprinting footsteps of the freshly turned, the terrible silence of the lurkers who waited in shadows.
He killed three more zombies on the way. Each time, the pipe moved with mechanical precision—crushing skulls, shattering jaws, ending threats before they could escalate. He let himself appear winded after each fight, leaning against walls, breathing heavily. Let them underestimate him.
But Sarah was watching. He could feel her eyes during the third encounter, when he twisted to avoid a lunging infected and brought the pipe down in a perfect arc that caved in its skull. The move was too clean, too efficient. [Blunt Weapon Mastery] at work, and he hadn't figured out how to dumb it down yet.
"You're good," she said as they climbed the apartment stairs. "Too good for a newbie."
"Cricket," Haroon said, the lie coming easily. "Played for my university team. Batting practice."
"Hmm." She didn't sound convinced, but she didn't press. Not yet.
The safe house occupied the building's top floor, four rooms converted into a defensive position. Barricaded windows, multiple escape routes, a small arsenal of improvised weapons. Two other players were already there—a middle-aged woman named Rosa who handled medical supplies, and a teenager called Mouse who seemed to specialize in scavenging.
"New blood?" Rosa asked, looking Haroon over with clinical assessment. "You're too thin. When did you eat last?"
"In my previous life? Breakfast." Haroon accepted the protein bar she offered with genuine gratitude. "Thank you."
"Previous life." Rosa snorted. "That's one way to put it." But her eyes were kind. "Rest while you can. The nights are worse."
Haroon found a corner and sat with his back to the wall, pipe across his knees. He pulled up his status screen with a thought, studying the information only he could see:
[NAME: HAROON PARHAR RAI]
[RANK: IRON (0/1000)]
[HP: 100/100]
[MP: 100/100]
[SP: 0]
[TALENTS: INSTANT MAX LEVEL (TRIPLE EX UNIQUE), FUSION (TRIPLE EX UNIQUE)]
[SKILLS: BLUNT WEAPON MASTERY (MAX)]
[EQUIPMENT: STEEL PIPE (POOR)]
Zero Scenario Points. He needed to earn some, needed to understand how the economy worked. But more importantly, he needed to understand his Talents better. [Instant Max Level] was straightforward enough, but [Fusion]... that was where the true potential lay. Merging skills, items, bloodlines. Creating things that had never existed.
He thought of the pipe in his hands. Poor quality, limited durability. But what if he fused it with something else? A knife, perhaps? Or a concept like "sharpness" or "durability"?
Experimentation would have to wait. For now, he needed to survive the tutorial. Needed to learn the rules before he started breaking them.
The sun was setting over the ruined city, painting everything in shades of blood and gold. Haroon watched through a cracked window as shadows lengthened and the infected grew bolder, drawn by the darkness.
Twenty-two hours remaining.
He was smiling again, he realized. Not from fear this time, or from habit. From something else. Anticipation, maybe. The thrill of a new game with rules he was only beginning to understand.
"Hey, newbie." Marcus settled beside him, offering a water bottle. "You holding up?"
"Surprisingly well, actually." Haroon accepted the water, drank deeply. "Is it always like this? The scenarios, I mean. Always so... visceral?"
"Sometimes it's worse. Sometimes it's just weird." Marcus stared out at the darkness. "I heard about a guy who got dropped into a romantic comedy scenario. Had to help the protagonist get a date while avoiding the yandere childhood friend. Died anyway—turns out he was the childhood friend's ex-boyfriend in the story, and she remembered."
Haroon laughed, genuinely amused. "That's absurd."
"That's the Domain." Marcus stood, stretching. "Get some sleep. I'll take first watch. Tomorrow, we move toward the extraction point. If we survive the night, we clear the tutorial."
"And then?"
"And then you get to see the real game." Marcus's smile was thin and sharp. "Welcome to infinity, Haroon. Try not to break."
He walked away, leaving Haroon with his thoughts and the distant screams of the dying city.
Haroon closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep. Instead, he practiced. Reached out with his senses, feeling for the boundaries of his [Fusion] ability. Could he merge the water bottle with his pipe? Probably, but the result might be useless. Better to wait for better materials.
Could he fuse skills? [Blunt Weapon Mastery] with something else? He needed another skill first.
Could he fuse concepts? The tutorial hint mentioned energy reserves as a limit. He was at 100/100 MP. What would fusion cost?
Questions upon questions. And beneath them all, the constant awareness of his [Instant Max Level], waiting like a coiled spring. Any skill he acquired would instantly become his greatest strength. Any technique would be mastered in moments.
The responsibility of that power weighed on him. The temptation of it whispered in his mind.
You could be a god, it said. You could dominate. Rule. No one could stop you.
But Haroon thought of his mother again. Of her voice, soft and certain: "Power without mercy is just cruelty, beta. Remember that."
He would remember. He would hide his strength until he understood who deserved to see it. He would build alliances, create family, find purpose in this infinite chaos.
And when the time came—when someone truly threatened what he built—he would show them why the Domain had given him a Triple Ex Unique rank.
But not yet.
For now, Haroon Parhar Rai, formerly of Kot Addu, Punjab, Pakistan, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. The smile never left his face, even in dreams.
Outside, the zombies howled.
And somewhere in the darkness, something ancient turned its attention toward the sector where a new player had begun to climb.
[CHAPTER ONE: END]
[TUTORIAL PROGRESS: 4.2%]
[NEXT: CHAPTER TWO — FIRST BLOOD]