Absolute Power (-from scrap to omnipotence)

Chapter 1; part 1: {The First}

Hi.
This is me—Kalyan.

A name that means hope. Or light.
I wish it had been true from the beginning.

For most of my life, I gave up easily. Not loudly, not dramatically—just quietly. I would stop trying, stop expecting, and let time move forward without me. I spent years sitting inside despair, not fighting it, just existing alongside it. It wasn’t pain anymore. It was routine.

The only thing that ever broke that routine was a novel.

The Chronicles of Archana.

It wasn’t popular. In fact, most people never even heard of it. The story didn’t have dramatic twists or spicy moments to keep readers hooked. It was heavy—filled with explanations, systems, and details that demanded effort to understand. There was so much information that keeping up with it felt like work.

And I loved it.

I loved it because of the possibilities.

The world structure was unlike anything I had seen. From the very beginning to the very end, Archana felt consistent—its scale, its logic, its laws. It wasn’t just fantasy; it felt like a world that could exist if reality allowed it. The more I read, the more amazed I became by how carefully everything fit together.

There were very few readers.

But what made me different was this—I talked to the author.

Constantly.

I never suggested changes. I never told him what to write. Instead, I asked questions.

“If this exists as you mentioned earlier,” I would say, “could we do something like this using that principle?”

It was more like fan fiction thinking than criticism.

And he loved it.

He replied often. Sometimes with explanations. Sometimes with uncertainty. Sometimes just saying, Maybe. Or, That’s a very interesting observation.

Those replies mattered to me more than they should have.

It felt like a father acknowledging his son. Like someone saying, You’re thinking in the right direction. That feeling pulled me deeper. I became more dedicated. I started taking notes—not just about the story, but about what he said outside of it. His thoughts were marvelous. Even his doubts were fascinating.

I began forming theories.

Loopholes in the world. Hidden implications. Long-term consequences that weren’t explicitly written. When I shared some of them, he would respond with surprise.

“That’s quite an interesting observation.”

That single sentence fueled me for years.

Without realizing it, I started researching more—science, physics, energy, systems, structure. I didn’t notice the shift at first, but slowly, my life changed direction. I stopped drifting. I started building knowledge.

Before I knew it, I had become a scientist.

ISRO. Research centers. Years spent working with reality itself—all because of one novel.

That’s how much it meant to me.

When I shared this story during a public interview, the response exploded.

The comments flooded in.

Some said, Why that boring story?
Some said I was boasting about a meaningless obsession.
Some accused me of being the writer himself.

A few—very few—who had actually read the novel said something different.

They said it might be possible.

Because the novel was just too detailed.

The debate never ended.

Seven years later, in my forties, I finally reached the end of the story.

The author always compared the world of Archana with our own. Because of that, I realized something strange—I had read over a hundred thousand years of Archana’s history in just fifteen years of my life.

I enjoyed every moment of it.

But the ending…

It ended with one line:

“The world is stable—but not to my liking.”

That was it.

Confused, I contacted the author immediately.

“What happened?” I asked. “Why such a sudden shift? Are publishers bothering you? If that’s the problem, I’ll arrange a new one.”

His reply came calmly.

“No,” he said. “My brother from another world. I just think the concept is solid in growth, but it isn’t perfect. You can see it yourself from the viewer count. I’m trying to quit.”

Then I made the mistake every protagonist makes at the beginning.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll help you. I’ll prepare concepts. I’ll help make the story more beautiful.”

He became excited.

He agreed.

A week later, I shared an idea.

Absolute power.

There was a pause.

Then he replied, “Then I want to see what you’ll do with this concept.”

And suddenly—

A rift opened inside my computer.

Light twisted inward. The screen cracked like glass folding into itself. Before I could react, something pulled me forward.

Hard.

When I came to, the first thing I noticed was the smell.

I stink.

I hate being dirty. I hate being stinky more than anything. My clothes were soaked, torn, filthy. My body felt wrong—lighter, weaker. I pushed myself up and felt mud under my palms.

I looked around.

A jungle.

Dense trees. Thick air. Sounds I didn’t recognize.

Panic hit.

I ran until I found water—a small pond nearby. Kneeling beside it, I looked at my reflection.

And froze.

This was the main character of my absolute power concept?

A dirty, skinny beggar child stared back at me.

“What is going on?”
“Where am I?”
“What is this place?”
“And what does any of this mean?”

The water rippled.

Above me, unfamiliar light filtered through leaves.

And somewhere in this vast world—

Archana had accepted me.