David knew people in the DC world didn't rush into battle blindly. Fighters like Batman would study an opponent's abilities, probe for weaknesses, and plan accordingly. He couldn't afford to hand them any easy openings. That meant he had to be careful about how much of himself he revealed.
So he decided to limit what the world could learn about him, restricting his visible arsenal to just two aspects: Infinity and Blue. Those two were more than enough to handle anyone who might oppose him.
Sighing softly, David activated the Six Eyes. It annoyed him that the Six Eyes didn't run 24/7 — if he were knocked out, they would shut off. That limitation was inconvenient, but it carried a small upside: if he wasn't using the Six Eyes and someone managed to remove one of his eyeballs, they would only possess an ordinary eye, not the Six Eyes themselves.
That, at least, offered a layer of protection. Of course, the logic cut both ways — if his Six Eyes were active when someone managed to take them, the thief would gain the Six Eyes along with the stolen organ.
"The difference is huge," David said softly, feeling his mind snap into a new mode of operation. Instantly, his brain became something like a supercomputer — able to simulate countless possibilities in a single breath, to iterate strategies and prune bad options before they ever fully formed. Decisions that once took seconds now resolved in the span of heartbeats, and he could sketch a plan for his next move almost as soon as a problem appeared.
So what came next? The answer was straightforward: get the government to give him legal authority to take lives. It was a cold, practical conclusion, arrived at without drama. Information was everything in this world, and everything useful could be found online.
He opened his laptop and began to learn. Tutorials, forums, archived threads — he moved through them at machine speed, studying methods and tools until they made sense. An hour later, the screen on his iPad flooded with data: highly guarded documents, networks of withheld files, classified materials spread out like a map. In the time it took most people to blink, David had pulled up a sea of sensitive information and was already sorting it into priorities.
'I just realized that if I wanted, I could be a jack of all trades. I could build tech that rivals Iron Man, to having the strength to fight someone like Superman,' David thought. Yujiro by all means wasn't on Superman's level… but what about if he had the Six Eyes and Limitless? That combination would push Yujiro's template into a completely different tier. It would put him in the same ballpark as the kinds of feats Superman had already shown — lifting entire buildings, moving at speeds over five hundred miles per hour, and similar displays of raw power and speed.
David mulled it over coldly: he would say he was stronger than this version of Superman. Of course, he reminded himself, this was still a younger Superman — not the comic-book incarnation who reportedly moved planets, sneezed away solar systems, held black holes in a palm, and performed other absurdly cosmic feats.
"Human experiments, so many war crimes… I should go and slaughter them first…" David muttered, frowning as he scrolled through the mountain of dirt he had dug up on the world governments. The files were sickening—evidence of experiments, coverups, and atrocities. Corruption wasn't surprising, but actually reading the reports, seeing the details laid out, left a bitter taste.
Sighing, he downloaded everything, printed a handful of documents, then erased every trace of his activity. Once the paperwork was handled and his digital footprints wiped clean, he teleported to the White House after pulling up its exact location. The method wasn't mysterious—Limitless provided the means.
The Limitless power granted two styles of teleportation. The first was long-range, "long-distance" teleportation. A Limitless user could manipulate space itself to traverse vast distances under the right conditions. Practically, this worked by compressing the space between the user's current position and the intended destination, effectively shortening the gap so travel became near-instantaneous over huge spans.
The second type of teleportation was short-distance teleportation, achieved by using Blue to pull the user's body forward. The movement was so quick that to outside observers it appeared indistinguishable from actual teleportation, even though it was simply extreme acceleration.
"Who are you!" The president shouted, leaping to her feet the instant a white-haired man wearing a blindfold appeared in the chair across from her desk. What looked like a single arrival was in fact seven separate jumps—six that carried David to the air above the White House, and the seventh that placed him neatly into the seat before her.
David ignored her words completely and tossed a stack of papers onto her desk. The sound of footsteps followed immediately as guards burst into the office, weapons raised and ready, but all of them froze when the President lifted her hand to stop them.
"He could have killed me. He instead came to talk," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. David gave a small nod in agreement, acknowledging her words without adding more.
Letting out a slow breath, the President lowered her gaze to the papers before her. As she flipped through them, her expression shifted, and in the next instant, her heart nearly forgot to beat.
"The government sure has a lot of dark secrets," David said softly. "From the assassination of one of its former presidents, to those who once fought for justice, and so many more… slaughtering thousands to cover your tracks, starting wars for personal gain. How would the whole world react to this?"
The president's eyes widened, and with a sharp wave of her hand, she stepped back. Instantly, bullets rained toward David as the guards opened fire. Hidden guns embedded in the walls and ceiling slid out of place and activated, revealing themselves before unleashing a storm of rounds. Some of the weapons were clearly alien tech, their design unmistakable.
But it made no difference. Every bullet, every shot of advanced weaponry, froze in the air just before reaching David, unable to touch him. The storm of firepower hung suspended around him, powerless to break through.
David reached out toward one of the suspended bullets, watching closely as his finger neared it. The instant he was about to touch it, the bullet slid backward, pushed away by the invisible force surrounding him. It didn't drop or fall to the ground; it remained floating, locked in place but unable to make contact. When David drew his finger back, the bullet shifted forward again, following the motion as if tethered, always moving but never able to truly reach him.
Ignoring the sight, David lowered his hand and turned his attention back to the president. She was frozen in place, her ears covered against the deafening gunfire, though her expression betrayed her shock as she stared at the impossible display before her.
He stepped forward, and so an hour passed in the blink of an eye. Soon after, David sat calmly once more, while across from him the president's face was wet with tears. Red palm marks stood out against her skin, clear evidence of how she had been slapped again and again.
These were not simple slaps. David had employed a technique known as Whip Strike. The move required making the body completely loose and fluid, the practitioner relaxing every muscle until the arm could move like a whip. In this state, each strike wasn't a mere slap—it became a devastating blow that targeted the body's largest organ, the skin.
The force generated was enough to strip the skin from a victim's body, leaving behind raw pain that went far deeper than surface level. Anyone struck by Whip Strike would find themselves writhing, the agony so sharp that cries of pain became inevitable.
And this agony wasn't ordinary. It was a level of suffering so intense that even Yujiro himself could not endure it without consequence. When he had once been struck by this same technique, he had been forced to tense and flex every muscle in his body simultaneously just to withstand the pain, biting back the scream that tried to tear from his throat.
But David had taken it a step further—he had layered curse energy onto the Whip Strike. That meant the pain didn't stop at the surface; it traveled through the president's body on a spiritual level, searing not just skin but the soul as well. The first blow made her cry as if she was in the lowest parts of hell; the second broke her down further, each strike amplifying the agony beyond what ordinary flesh could register.