The voice had claimed he could create anything. Anything at all. That idea alone was absurd, utterly unbelievable. How could anyone wield such power?
But curiosity got the better of him. Closing his eyes, he focused on the first thing that came to mind: money. A $1000 bill, to be precise. He imagined its size, the color, the intricate details of its design, though he knew he couldn't possibly recall everything perfectly. When he opened his eyes, his breath caught.
There it was. Perfect, pristine, and unmistakably real. He had braced himself for a crude imitation, some poorly rendered version with glaring errors.
After all, he was as normal as they came—or at least, he thought he was. But no, this was flawless. Every line, every detail was exactly where it should be.
He rushed to his phone, his hands shaking as he searched for an image of a $1000 bill. It didn't take long to confirm what he was seeing. Even the finest, most minuscule details—details he'd never noticed before, like those faint, intricate lines running across the note—were there. Perfectly replicated.
"Damn," he muttered, his voice brimming with excitement and disbelief.
If this was real, then… wow. The implications sent his mind spinning. His ability was one of creation—true creation. There was only one entity he could think of with that kind of power: God. And hadn't God created the universe with nothing but a command?
The thought aligned with an ancient idea he'd once heard: that even God didn't fully know what would emerge from His commands.
The Bible itself said as much. When He declared, "Let there be light," and the sun burst into existence, even He was awestruck by its brilliance.
Could it be the same for him? Could he wield such boundless potential? Could he create an entire universe? The thought both thrilled and terrified him. His only limitation, as far as he could recall from the strange information he'd received about his ability, was something called xymic energy.
But how was he supposed to measure this energy? Did he have an infinite supply, or could he run out?
"I should be able to see it if I concentrate," he mused.
Closing his eyes, he focused inward. Almost immediately, he felt a strange pull on his subconscious, like an invisible force urging him forward. It didn't feel dangerous, so he let it guide him. Suddenly, he found himself in a vast, empty expanse—a place of utter darkness, devoid of even the faintest glimmer of light.
His subconscious soared through this void for what felt like an eternity until it reached a swirling mass of blue energy.
The energy pulsed gently, about the size of a medium-sized apartment. Yet, compared to the infinite void surrounding it, it looked insignificant—a mere drop in an endless ocean. He tilted his head, studying it with awe.
Is this my potential? he wondered silently. What could I create if I filled this entire space?
After a moment, he decided it was time to return to reality. Slowly breathing in and out, he grounded himself. Pinching himself to check if he was dreaming seemed absurd. He wasn't some clueless protagonist in a cheap novel.
Back in the real world, he considered testing his limits. But what should he create? Money and cars were obvious choices, yet in the 21st century, untraceable wealth or vehicles would raise more questions than he was ready to answer.
Additionally, bills aren't just created and sent out. they all are marked with a serial number code unique to each individual bill, and no two bill will have the same code, and all serial codes are cataloged. so, if you use a bill that doesn't have a registered serial code, or one with a duplicate code, it will alert the government.
No, he needed something practical. Something safe.
His gaze swept the room, and he smiled. Household items. No one was going to inspect his sofa or microwave to see if they were government-certified. Grinning, he grabbed his phone and called a moving company. Within fifteen minutes, a truck arrived.
It took the movers nearly two hours to clear out his apartment—sofa set, dining table, TV, refrigerator, microwave, everything.
Now, standing in the empty space, he let out a triumphant laugh. Then he got to work.
An hour later, he lay sprawled on the floor, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving. But he was smiling. His once-bare apartment was now filled with everything he had ever wanted: luxurious furniture, cutting-edge appliances, and gadgets he could only have dreamed of owning before.
"So, that's how it works," he muttered, half-laughing. "Would've been nice if the system told me about the side effects, though."
Through his experiments, he had drawn three conclusions:
First, he bore the weight of everything he created. If he ever tried to create something massive—like, say, a galaxy—it would crush him under its sheer weight.
He'd attempted it once, and the memory of the pain was enough to ensure he never tried it again. If he wanted to become a true creator, he'd need to strengthen his body significantly.
Second, his xymic energy grew with each creation, albeit at a painfully slow rate. The more energy he expended, the more it regenerated, but the growth was so minimal it was almost negligible. Still, it was growth.
Third, energy expenditure depended on complexity, not size. Creating a king-sized bed and mattress had barely dented his reserves. But when he created a smartwatch, the energy it consumed far surpassed the bed and mattress combined. Complexity, not scale, was the true cost of creation.
With these discoveries in mind, he formed a plan. Step one: sleep. He was utterly exhausted. Step two: tomorrow, he'd focus on building his physique to levels no ordinary human could achieve. If he was going to wield this power, he wanted to become a real-life Superman. Step three: experiment with ways to rapidly grow his xymic energy.
Oh, and one last thing: his creations? They were permanent.
The future was limitless, and for the first time in his life, Watts felt ready to seize it.