The hum of Ram’s computer was a constant soundtrack to his life. He was a VFX artist, a master of digital destruction. He could conjure tornadoes, erupt volcanoes, and crumble skyscrapers with a few clicks and keystrokes. It was all for fun, creative escapism. He’d upload his creations to his channel, “Ram’s Rampage,” and bask in the online applause.
Lately, however, the applause was tinged with dread. His digital disasters were manifesting in reality. The miniature earthquake he designed as a tutorial? A tremor had shaken his city the very next day. The volcanic eruption he created for a short film? Ash rained down on a nearby town.
Ram was losing his mind. How was this possible? He checked his hardware, his software, everything. No viruses, no glitches, nothing. He was meticulous, a perfectionist. His creations were complex, yes, but they were lines of code, not spells from a grimoire.
What he didn't know was that he was wielding magic, albeit unconsciously. Locked deep within his mind was Babu, his alter ego. Babu saw Ram's creative destruction not as art, but as a blueprint to a world remade in his image.
As a child, Ram, or rather, Babu, had stumbled upon an ancient, leather-bound book hidden in his grandfather's attic. Written in a language he didn't understand, it was filled with strange symbols and cryptic diagrams. Babu, drawn to the darkness within, meticulously copied the contents, believing it to be a game.
Now, that “game” was reality. Babu, lurking in the shadows of Ram's subconscious, interpreted Ram's VFX as incantations. He used the symbols and rituals from the book, channeling dark energy to weave them into reality. He reveled in the chaos, the fear, the sheer power he wielded.
Ram, oblivious, grew increasingly paranoid. He stopped creating destruction videos, but the damage continued. A flood he had only imagined for a project submerged a coastal village. A wildfire he’d rendered for a commercial swept through forests. He was a walking, talking curse.
He consulted doctors, therapists, even priests. They offered explanations like stress-induced psychosis, anxiety-related delusions, and a bad case of coincidence. None of them got it right.
One night, the truth exploded in a torrent of pain and confusion. Ram was working late, trying to understand the science behind some seismic activity when a voice, not his own, boomed in his head.
“Fool! You think you understand power? You merely dabble. I shape reality!”
Ram staggered back, clutching his head. The world twisted and warped around him. He saw himself, but… different. Cruel eyes, a sneering smile, and a chilling aura of dark power.
“Babu,” the voice rasped. “I am Babu. And I am the architect of this new world.”
The truth crashed down on Ram like a collapsing building. He had a split personality. And his alter ego was responsible for all the devastation. He fought Babu for control, a terrifying mental battle fought in the corridors of his own mind. Babu was strong, fueled by years of pent-up resentment and the unholy power he wielded. He showed Ram visions of a world sculpted by magic, a world where Babu ruled supreme.
Days turned into weeks as Ram battled Babu. He researched split personality disorder, practiced meditation, even tried self-hypnosis. He learned to recognize Babu’s triggers, to anticipate his moves. The key, he realized, was not to destroy Babu, but to understand him, to integrate him.
Finally, exhausted and battered, Ram stood before Babu in the vast landscape of their shared mind.
“This has to stop, Babu,” Ram said, his voice trembling but firm. “You’re hurting people. You’re destroying lives.”
Babu laughed, a hollow, chilling sound. “They are insignificant. They are ants. I am a god!”
“No, you’re not,” Ram replied, his eyes filled with sorrow. “You’re just… lost. You’re afraid.”
He offered Babu his hand. “Let’s do this together. We can use our abilities for good, not evil.”
Babu hesitated, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. For a moment, Ram thought he was winning. But then the darkness returned, stronger than before.
“Never!” Babu screamed, lunging at Ram.
It was a brutal, desperate fight, a final clash between two halves of a fractured soul. Ram, fueled by the need to protect the world from Babu's destructive magic, finally managed to overpower him. He didn’t kill Babu, but he managed to suppress him, trapping him in the deepest recesses of his mind.
The destruction stopped. But the guilt remained. Ram was left alone, haunted by the devastation Babu had wrought. He saw the faces of the victims, the families torn apart, the cities reduced to rubble. He was responsible, even if indirectly. He mourned for the lives lost, for the world he had helped destroy.
He sat alone in his studio, the hum of his computer a constant reminder of his dark past. He was broken, lost, and filled with an unbearable weight of sorrow.
Then, another voice, gentle and calm, filled his mind.
“Ram?”
He looked up, startled. This voice was different, unlike Babu’s twisted malice. It was measured, intelligent, and carried an undertone of hope.
“Who… who are you?” Ram whispered, his voice cracking.
“My name is Dr.Bilasi,” the voice replied. "And let’s just say I am here to make things right.