The next few days were, in a word, exhausting.
Not physically—David was fairly certain his Viltrumite body didn't experience fatigue in the traditional sense. He could fly for hours, lift buildings, take hits that would vaporize normal matter, and still feel fresh as a daisy.
No, the exhaustion was mental. Emotional. The constant strain of trying to be everywhere at once, help everyone he could, and somehow maintain the delicate balance between "inspiring symbol of hope" and "terrifying alien powerhouse."
It was, he was discovering, considerably harder than the comics made it look.
Day One: The Learning Curve
David started his first full day of "serious heroics" at dawn, hovering above Jump City and listening.
His enhanced hearing was still something he was getting used to. The sheer volume of information was overwhelming—millions of heartbeats, countless conversations, the endless mechanical symphony of a modern city. Learning to filter it, to pick out the sounds that mattered, was like trying to find a specific drop of water in an ocean.
But he was getting better.
By mid-morning, he'd stopped three muggings, a carjacking, and a convenience store robbery. Each intervention followed the same pattern: he'd appear suddenly, the criminals would freeze in terror, and he'd calmly explain that they had a choice—surrender peacefully, or he would ensure they faced justice regardless.
They always surrendered.
It was efficient, but it left David feeling hollow. He wasn't connecting with anyone. He was just... intimidating them into compliance.
This isn't right, he thought, watching police load the latest batch of would-be robbers into a patrol car. I'm not inspiring anyone. I'm just scaring them.
He needed a different approach.
For the afternoon, he tried something new. Instead of waiting for crimes to happen, he flew low over the city, making himself visible. He waved at children who pointed up at him. He landed in a park and helped an elderly woman carry her groceries. He posed for photos with starstruck teenagers.
It was awkward. Deeply, profoundly awkward.
David had never been particularly charismatic in his old life. He'd been the quiet guy, the one who preferred listening to talking. Now, in this massive, intimidating body, every attempt at casual friendliness felt forced and unnatural.
But he kept trying.
By evening, something remarkable happened: a little boy, maybe five years old, ran up to him in the street and hugged his leg.
"Thank you for saving my mommy!" the boy said, his face pressed against David's thigh.
David had no memory of saving anyone's mother, but he didn't say that. He just knelt down—carefully, so carefully—and hugged the boy back.
"You're welcome," he said softly. "You take care of her, okay?"
The boy nodded solemnly and ran back to his mother, who was watching from a nearby doorway with tears streaming down her face. She mouthed "thank you" at David, clutching her chest.
David nodded back, a lump forming in his throat.
This, he thought. This is what it's supposed to feel like.
Day Two: The Joker
David was in the middle of helping firefighters evacuate a burning apartment building when his enhanced hearing picked up something that made his blood run cold.
Laughter.
Not normal laughter—that laughter. The high, manic cackle that he'd heard in countless movies and TV shows. The sound that signified chaos and death and madness given human form.
The Joker was in Jump City.
David handed the last evacuee—a terrified cat that had somehow climbed onto a tenth-floor windowsill—to a grateful firefighter and launched himself toward the sound.
He found the Clown Prince of Crime in the financial district, standing atop a pile of unconscious security guards outside a bank. His purple suit was immaculate, his green hair slicked back, his face painted in that horrible, eternal grin.
And he was surrounded by at least thirty henchmen, all armed with what appeared to be weaponized joy buzzers and acid-squirting lapel flowers.
"Oh, this is WONDERFUL!" Joker crowed, clapping his hands together. "A new audience! And such a BIG one!"
David landed in front of him, the pavement cracking beneath his feet.
"Joker," he said flatly. "You're a long way from Gotham."
"Gotham, Schmotham!" Joker waved dismissively. "Batsy's been SO boring lately. All brooding, no fun. I thought I'd take a little vacation, see the sights, rob a few banks, kill a few hundred people—you know how it is!"
David felt something cold settle in his chest. He knew the Joker's history. He knew what this man was capable of. The death toll, the suffering, the sheer evil that he represented.
In this moment, David understood exactly why Batman struggled with his no-kill rule.
"Surrender," David said, his voice dropping to a register that made several of the henchmen visibly flinch. "Now."
Joker's grin widened impossibly. "Oh, I don't think so, big boy. See, I've done my research on you. Omni-Man, right? Earth's Mightiest Hero?" He giggled. "But here's the thing—you've never killed anyone. Not once in fifteen years. Which means..."
He pulled out a detonator.
"...you're going to let me walk right out of here. Because if you don't, I blow up the school bus I've rigged with explosives three blocks away. Forty-seven children, Omni-Man. Forty-seven little lives, going BOOM."
David's heart stopped.
He's not bluffing, he realized. The Joker never bluffs about this stuff.
"You have five seconds to decide," Joker said cheerfully. "One... two..."
David moved.
Not toward Joker—toward the school bus.
He covered three blocks in less than a second, his body becoming a blur of white and red. The bus was exactly where Joker had said it would be, parked in an alley, filled with terrified children pressing their faces against the windows.
David didn't hesitate. He grabbed the bus—gently, so gently, despite his speed—and flew, carrying the entire vehicle straight up into the sky.
Behind him, he heard Joker's frustrated scream: "HEY! That's CHEATING!"
David didn't stop until he was three thousand feet up. Then, hovering in the cold upper atmosphere, he carefully examined the underside of the bus.
There. A bundle of explosives, amateur hour by supervillain standards, with a simple radio detonator.
He crushed the detonator with one hand, rendering it useless, then flew the bus back down to street level—depositing it gently in a parking lot far from the bank.
The children inside were screaming, crying, pressed against the windows in terror. David opened the emergency exit and leaned in, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible.
"It's okay," he said. "You're safe now. The bad man can't hurt you."
A little girl in the front row stared at him with huge eyes. "Are you a superhero?"
"I'm trying to be."
By the time he got back to the bank, the situation had changed dramatically.
The Titans had arrived—apparently someone had called them when Joker first appeared—and they had engaged the henchmen while David was busy with the bus. Joker himself was currently being restrained by Raven's dark magic, his arms pinned to his sides, his legs immobilized.
He was still laughing.
"Oh, that was BEAUTIFUL!" Joker crowed as David landed nearby. "The speed! The decisiveness! The complete disregard for my brilliant plan!" He cackled madly. "You know, I think I like you better than Batsy. At least you're not BORING."
David looked at the clown—at this monster who had caused so much suffering, who would continue to cause suffering as long as he drew breath—and felt the cold weight of temptation settle in his chest.
He could end it. Right now. One punch, faster than anyone could react, and the Joker would never hurt anyone again.
It would be so easy.
No.
David unclenched his fists, which had tightened without his conscious awareness.
That's not who I am. That's not who I want to be.
Superman never killed the Joker, even when he had every reason to. Because the moment you start deciding who deserves to live and die, you stop being a hero and start being something else.
"Get him out of my sight," David said quietly to Robin, who had approached cautiously. "Before I do something I'll regret."
Robin nodded, his expression unreadable behind his mask. "Gotham PD is sending a transport. Arkham's apparently been expecting him back."
"Of course they have."
David turned and walked away, needing distance, needing air.
Behind him, he heard Joker's parting words: "See you around, big guy! I have a feeling we're going to be GREAT friends!"
David didn't respond.
He just flew, higher and higher, until the city was a distant grid of lights below him and the stars were cold and silent above.
This is the job, he told himself. This is what Superman dealt with every day. Villains who can't be stopped permanently, who will always come back, who will always find new ways to hurt people.
And you have to keep fighting anyway. Not because you'll win, but because giving up means they've already won.
He floated in the darkness for a long time, letting the silence wash over him.
Then he descended back to the city and resumed his patrol.
There was always more work to do.
Day Three: The Dinner
David spent an embarrassingly long time trying to figure out what to wear to Diana's apartment.
His wardrobe, such as it was, consisted primarily of Omni-Man costumes in various states of repair. The original Nolan had apparently not been particularly interested in civilian clothing, though David did find a few suits in the back of a closet—expensive, well-tailored, and approximately two sizes too small for his current frame.
Right, he thought, staring at the shredded remains of what had once been a nice button-down shirt. Viltrumite muscle mass. Should have thought of that.
In the end, he settled for his cleanest costume and hoped Diana wouldn't judge him too harshly.
The flight to Diana's apartment—located in a upscale building in Washington D.C.—took about three minutes at cruising speed. David spent the entire time trying not to hyperventilate.
It's just a dinner, he told himself. A professional dinner between colleagues. Nothing to be nervous about.
She's only one of the most powerful and respected heroes on the planet. No big deal.
She also keeps touching you and wearing low-cut shirts around you, but that's probably just a cultural thing. Amazons are probably very tactile. It means nothing.
Right?
He landed on her balcony—the building had been designed with flying heroes in mind, apparently—and knocked on the glass door.
Diana opened it almost immediately. She was wearing a simple sundress, deep blue, that somehow managed to be both modest and devastatingly beautiful at the same time. Her hair was down, falling in dark waves over her shoulders, and she was smiling.
"Nolan. You came."
"I said I would."
"So you did." She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. "Please, come in. Dinner is almost ready."
David stepped into the apartment, immediately struck by how warm it felt. Not temperature-warm—though it was comfortable—but emotionally warm. The space was filled with books, art, photographs. Evidence of a life fully lived.
"Your home is beautiful," he said honestly.
"Thank you. I've collected most of these over the centuries." Diana moved toward the kitchen, which opened onto the main living area. "Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Water would be fine."
"Are you sure? I have wine. Whiskey. Several beverages from other planets that I've acquired over the years."
"Water is good. I want to keep a clear head."
Diana paused, looking at him over her shoulder. "Are you nervous, Nolan?"
"Terrified," David admitted before he could stop himself.
She laughed—a warm, genuine sound that did something complicated to his chest. "Don't be. This is just dinner. A chance for us to talk without the distractions of battle or League politics."
"That's what I'm terrified of."
Diana's expression softened. She walked back toward him, reaching out to place a hand on his arm.
"I'm not going to interrogate you," she said gently. "I'm not Batman. I just want to get to know you. The real you, not the public figure."
David looked at her hand on his arm, then at her face. Her eyes were kind, patient. Like she had all the time in the world.
She probably does, he realized. Amazons are immortal. A few hours of dinner is nothing to her.
"Okay," he said finally. "I'll try to relax."
"Good." She squeezed his arm, then returned to the kitchen. "Now sit. Dinner will be ready in five minutes."
Dinner was lamb—slow-roasted, seasoned with herbs David couldn't identify, accompanied by roasted vegetables and fresh bread. It was, without question, the best meal David had eaten in either of his lives.
"This is incredible," he said, not bothering to hide his amazement. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"
"Themyscira. We didn't have restaurants, so everyone learned to prepare food." Diana smiled, pleased by his reaction. "I'm glad you like it."
"Like it? I want to marry this lamb."
Diana laughed again. David was discovering that making her laugh felt like a significant accomplishment.
"Tell me about yourself," Diana said, refilling his water glass. "Not Omni-Man—you. Your history. Your people. Whatever you're comfortable sharing."
David hesitated. This was dangerous territory. He couldn't tell her the truth—that he was a dead physical therapist possessing the body of an alien conqueror—but he also didn't want to lie more than necessary.
"I come from very far away," he said carefully. "A planet that valued strength above all else. We were... conquerors. Warriors. We believed that power gave us the right to rule."
Diana's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes sharpened. "Believed? Past tense?"
"I don't believe that anymore. I'm not sure I ever really did, if I'm being honest. But it was how I was raised. What I was taught." David stared at his plate, unable to meet her eyes. "I came to Earth expecting to find a primitive world ripe for conquest. Instead, I found something that challenged everything I thought I knew."
"What did you find?"
"Hope." The word came out rough, almost painful. "I found people who helped each other not because they were strong, but because it was right. I found heroes who fought impossible odds not for glory or power, but because they couldn't stand to see others suffer."
He finally looked up at Diana. Her eyes were glistening.
"I found a better way to live," he said quietly. "And I've been trying to figure out how to embrace it ever since."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Diana reached across the table and took his hand.
"Thank you," she said softly, "for telling me that. I know it wasn't easy."
"You're the first person I've told. The whole truth, I mean."
"I'm honored." She squeezed his hand. "And for what it's worth, I believe you. I believe you've changed. I can see it in everything you do."
David didn't know what to say to that. So he just squeezed her hand back and tried not to let his emotions overwhelm him.
The rest of the dinner passed in easier conversation—stories from Diana's long life, questions about Earth customs that David pretended to need answered, gentle debates about heroism and justice and what it meant to use power responsibly.
By the time David left, several hours later, he felt lighter than he had in days. Weeks. Maybe ever.
Diana walked him to the balcony, standing close enough that he could smell her perfume—something floral and ancient.
"Thank you for tonight," she said. "I enjoyed it very much."
"So did I." David hesitated. "Maybe we could... do it again sometime?"
Diana's smile widened. "I would like that very much."
She leaned up—he had to bend down considerably to meet her—and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
"Goodnight, Nolan."
"Goodnight, Diana."
He flew home in a daze, barely registering the journey. His cheek tingled where her lips had touched it.
What just happened? he thought. Was that... did she just...?
He still didn't fully understand what was going on between them. But for the first time, he was starting to suspect it might be something more than just "professional collegiality."
Day Four: Solomon Grundy
The call came in just after midnight.
David was patrolling the outskirts of Jump City, listening for trouble, when his Justice League communicator—a small device Diana had given him at the end of their dinner—crackled to life.
"Omni-Man, this is Watchtower. We have a situation in Gotham. Solomon Grundy has emerged from Slaughter Swamp and is rampaging through the East End. Batman has requested backup."
Batman requested backup? David thought. This must be serious.
"On my way."
He changed course and accelerated, pushing his speed higher than he'd ever tried before. The world blurred around him, continents shrinking to colored smears below. In less than a minute, he was descending over Gotham City.
The situation was, indeed, serious.
Solomon Grundy was massive—easily twelve feet tall, with gray-green skin and the vacant, hungry eyes of a corpse. He was tearing through a city block like it was made of cardboard, tossing cars and chunks of concrete with mindless fury.
Batman was there, along with several other Gotham heroes David recognized from his research—Batgirl, Nightwing, Robin (a different Robin than the one in Jump City, he noted). They were doing their best to contain the monster, but it was clear they were outmatched.
David landed in Grundy's path, the impact creating a crater in the street.
"Grundy," he said, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Stop."
The zombie turned to face him, its dead eyes showing a flicker of something that might have been recognition.
"Strong man," Grundy rumbled. "Grundy crush strong man. Then Grundy find gold."
"I don't have any gold. And you're not crushing anyone."
Grundy roared and charged.
The fight that followed was unlike anything David had experienced. Grundy was strong—genuinely, frighteningly strong, in a way that most enemies simply weren't. His blows actually hurt, sending shockwaves through David's Viltrumite frame that he felt in his bones.
But David was stronger.
It took time—Grundy's undead physiology meant he didn't tire, didn't weaken, didn't feel pain the way living creatures did—but eventually, David managed to get behind the creature and lock in a chokehold. Not to cut off air—Grundy didn't breathe—but to immobilize him.
"Grundy... crush..." the zombie wheezed, struggling weakly.
"No," David said, tightening his grip. "Grundy sleeps now."
He applied pressure to specific points on Grundy's neck—pressure points he remembered from his physical therapy training, adapted for a much larger subject. It shouldn't work on an undead creature, but apparently Grundy's nervous system still followed some of the rules of the living.
After a long, tense minute, Grundy went limp.
David lowered the unconscious monster to the ground, breathing heavily—not from exertion, but from adrenaline.
Batman approached, his cape swirling behind him.
"Impressive," the Dark Knight said. "Most people try to punch Grundy into submission. It never works."
"Seemed inefficient." David straightened, rolling his shoulders. "Is there somewhere you can contain him?"
"Arkham has a reinforced cell. It'll hold him until he regenerates and escapes again."
"And then?"
"And then we do this all over again." Batman's expression was unreadable. "Welcome to Gotham."
David looked at the destruction around them—the shattered buildings, the overturned cars, the terrified civilians peering out from behind cover.
"This is what you deal with every night?"
"Every night. Sometimes twice."
David shook his head slowly. "I don't know how you do it."
"One night at a time." Batman turned to leave, then paused. "You did well tonight, Omni-Man. Better than I expected."
Coming from Batman, that was practically a standing ovation.
"Thank you," David said. "For the opportunity to help."
Batman nodded once, then disappeared into the shadows.
David flew home as dawn broke over the horizon, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with his body.
Day Five: Lex Luthor
The invitation arrived via courier—an actual physical envelope, hand-delivered by a man in an expensive suit who looked deeply uncomfortable standing in the hallway of David's apartment building.
"Mr. Grayson? This is for you. From Mr. Luthor."
David took the envelope, his mind racing. Lex Luthor. Of course.
The invitation was elegantly printed on heavy cardstock:
Mr. Nolan Grayson,
You are cordially invited to a private dinner at LexCorp Tower, Metropolis, this Friday evening at 8 PM. Your recent activities have caught my attention, and I believe we may have interests in common.
I look forward to meeting you in person.
Lex Luthor
CEO, LexCorp
David stared at the invitation for a long moment.
In the comics, Lex Luthor was many things—genius, billionaire, philanthropist, supervillain. His obsession with Superman was legendary, his hatred of the alien who represented everything Luthor believed was wrong with the world.
But in this universe, there was no Superman. Which meant Lex Luthor had never developed that obsession.
So what does he want with me?
David considered ignoring the invitation. Luthor was dangerous, manipulative, not to be trusted.
But he was also one of the most powerful men on the planet. And if David was going to be a hero in this world, he needed to understand all the players—not just the ones in costumes.
He wrote back accepting the invitation.
LexCorp Tower was a monument to ego—sleek, modern, towering over Metropolis like a middle finger pointed at the sky. David landed on the executive helipad at precisely 8 PM, where a small army of security personnel was waiting to escort him inside.
Lex Luthor met him in a private dining room on the top floor. The man was exactly as David had imagined him—bald, impeccably dressed, radiating intelligence and controlled menace in equal measure.
"Omni-Man," Luthor said, rising from his chair and extending his hand. "Thank you for coming."
David shook his hand, carefully controlling his grip. "Mr. Luthor. Thank you for the invitation."
"Please, sit. I've taken the liberty of ordering for us both—the chef here is exceptional."
David sat, watching Luthor carefully. The man moved like a predator, every gesture calculated for maximum effect.
"I'll get straight to the point," Luthor said, pouring wine for both of them. "I've been watching your activities over the past few days. Your... evolution, shall we say. It's quite remarkable."
"Evolution?"
"For fifteen years, you operated alone. No connections, no allies, no apparent interest in anything beyond stopping the occasional world-ending threat. And then, suddenly, you're attending Justice League parties, patrolling city streets, having dinner with Wonder Woman." Luthor smiled thinly. "It's enough to make a man curious."
He knows about Diana, David thought. Of course he does. He probably has spies everywhere.
"I had a change of perspective," David said carefully. "I realized I could do more good by engaging with the world rather than observing it from a distance."
"A noble sentiment." Luthor sipped his wine. "But I wonder if it's the whole truth."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, Mr. Grayson, that you are one of the most powerful beings on this planet. You could, if you wished, do virtually anything you wanted. Rule nations. Command armies. Reshape the world according to your own vision." Luthor leaned forward slightly. "Why haven't you?"
It was a test, David realized. Luthor was probing, trying to understand his motivations, looking for weakness or opportunity.
"Because that's not what power is for," David said simply. "Power is a tool. It can be used to dominate or to protect. I choose to protect."
"How... idealistic." Luthor's tone was faintly mocking. "And naive. The world doesn't reward idealism, Omni-Man. It rewards results."
"Results like yours?" David gestured at the opulent room around them. "Billions of dollars, political influence, the ear of world leaders? And yet you still want more."
Luthor's expression flickered—a brief crack in his mask of control.
"I want humanity to reach its potential," Luthor said, his voice hardening. "Without relying on aliens and gods and magical beings to save us. We are capable of greatness on our own. We don't need superheroes."
Ah, David thought. There it is. Even without Superman, Luthor still resents beings more powerful than himself.
"Maybe you're right," David said mildly. "Maybe humanity could achieve greatness on its own, given enough time and resources. But there are threats out there that don't care about human potential. Alien invasions, cosmic entities, forces that would destroy this planet without a second thought. Until humanity can defend itself against those threats, you need people like me."
"Do we?" Luthor's eyes were cold. "Or do we just need people like me, finding solutions that don't require godlike beings to swoop in and save the day?"
"Why not both?"
Luthor blinked, apparently surprised by the response.
"I'm not your enemy, Mr. Luthor," David continued. "I don't want to rule humanity or control it. I just want to help. And frankly, I think you could help too, if you focused your genius on protection instead of... whatever it is you're really doing behind the scenes."
A long silence.
Then Luthor laughed—a genuine, surprised sound.
"You're not what I expected, Omni-Man. When I heard you were attending League functions, I assumed you had some ulterior motive. A power play of some kind."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"On the contrary. You've given me much to think about." Luthor stood, signaling that the meeting was over. "I suspect we'll be seeing more of each other in the future, Mr. Grayson. I look forward to it."
"As do I, Mr. Luthor. As do I."
David flew home that night with a headache that had nothing to do with his invulnerable skull.
Lex Luthor was going to be a problem. Not an immediate threat, necessarily, but a complication. The man was too smart, too observant, too hungry for power to ever be truly trustworthy.
One more thing to worry about, David thought wearily. As if I didn't have enough already.
But as he landed on his balcony and looked out over the city—his city, he was starting to think of it—he felt a spark of something that might have been satisfaction.
Five days of being a hero. Villains defeated. Lives saved. Connections made.
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
But it was a start.