In the square before the White House, two groups of people stood in confrontation, hoisting banners to broadcast their opposing ideologies.
One side roared:
"Incompetent officials! You're wasting taxpayer money!"
"The plan to kill the White Demon must be reinstated! He is humanity's greatest threat!"
"No to the Mutant Liberation Treaty!"
In stark contrast, the other side countered:
"Free the mutants!"
"Mutants are no different from us; they are part of humanity!"
"Stop the senseless sacrifices! We are no match for the White Demon!"
"He can withstand a nuclear blast; he is a fallen angel, a living god!"
"Continuing to target him is the true path to extinction!"
To Aurelius Viremont's surprise, the majority of those supporting the treaty had dyed their hair white and wore white coats similar to what he wore during his first news report. A few "cosplayers" looked remarkably like him—identical in height, build, and hairstyle, even wearing azure contact lenses. If not for the Six Eyes detecting microscopic differences, Aurelius Viremont might have thought a mysterious organization had manufactured clones of him!
Scanning the crowd, Aurelius Viremont's sensory perception revealed several mutants hiding among the supporters. Within the energy field, he spotted Mystique disguised as one of his lookalikes and several X-Men members on the outer perimeter.
What's going on? Isn't Mystique a member of the Brotherhood? Why is she with the X-Men? Aurelius Viremont mused. Did Professor X talk her into it again? It was likely; Mystique didn't hate humans like Magneto did; she was simply disillusioned by their broken promises. Now that the government was considering a liberation treaty out of fear of the White Demon, she had probably rejoined the X-Men to push for it.
But what's with all these imitators? Aurelius Viremont didn't think his public image was particularly "heroic," yet he had a massive following. He walked up to a young lady cosplaying as him and asked:
"Why are you dressed like the White Demon? And why support the treaty?"
The girl turned around, her eyes lighting up. This was the most accurate cosplayer she had ever seen—even the aura was a perfect match! The idea that the man before her was the actual White Demon never crossed her mind.
Because of Aurelius Viremont's handsome appearance, she ignored the oddness of the question and chirped: "Because the White Demon is hot, obviously!"
Her friends gathered around, their eyes gleaming as they crowded Aurelius Viremont. They began rubbing their soft shoulders against him while chiming in:
"He's so cool! He's incredibly charismatic!"
"Exactly, exactly..."
Aurelius Viremont's forehead twitched. Typical fangirl logic. He subtly used the Limitless to push the grabby girls aside and pressed further: "Any other reasons?"
A young man with acne, watching Aurelius Viremont be surrounded by beautiful girls with envy, interjected:
"Of course there are. The White Demon can survive a nuke now. Humanity has no way to kill him! In all likelihood, he'll rule the world soon. And when he does, his personality suggests he'll purge everyone who opposed or attacked him. We're showing support early so we might survive the cleansing!"
Aurelius Viremont was speechless. When did I decide to rule the world? I don't have the patience for that! He didn't bother explaining. He just gave a slight smile and walked forward. Ignoring the girls' requests for his contact info, he headed straight for the White House entrance.
As he advanced, the chatter behind him died down. The noisy arguments of the crowd vanished in seconds, replaced by a heavy silence. The Limitless expanded slowly, pushing the dense crowd aside so no one could touch him. Some who were pushed tried to turn and curse, but before they could open their mouths, a terrifying repulsive force launched them through the air, knocking over groups of innocent protesters.
More and more people noticed the distinct white-haired man. He became the center of attention, drawing thousands of gazes. The girls he had just spoken to began to tremble; the one he had questioned stood catatonic, whispering to herself: "It's him... it's really the White Demon!"
At the junction of the two groups, the leaders stopped their shouting matches. Whether they were supporters hoping for a reprieve or opponents wanting him dead, they didn't dare make a sound. Like the proverbial "Mr. Ye who loved dragons," they were bold when talking about him in his absence, but faced with the reality, their courage vanished. They feared drawing even a second of his attention.
One of the opposition leaders actually wet his pants, a dark stain spreading until liquid dripped onto the pavement.
Fortunately, the White Demon ignored them. He walked to the front of the White House, facing a battalion of fully armed soldiers and dozens of Sentinels that had just been deployed.
He slowly floated into the air, standing in the void. He looked down with a mocking sneer at the heart of the nation's political power and the supporters behind him. He prepared to speak, but then tapped his forehead as if remembering something.
"Sorry, wait a second. I forgot something!"
The next moment, he vanished, reappearing directly in front of the opposition leader.
Under the gaze of every protester, and the desperate shouts of the arriving X-Men trying to stop him, Aurelius Viremont reached out toward the trembling man.
A horrific repulsive force accompanied by black lightning erupted, annihilating everything in front of him. First, the leader's body shattered into dust, then everything behind him—every voice of opposition, every banner of hate—was pulverized into a fine red mist that drifted in the air.
Just as Aurelius Viremont had told Professor X: dissenting voices only exist because the power suppressing them isn't strong enough.
With the task finished, Aurelius Viremont used a burst of repulsion to spray the floating crimson blood outward. It stained a large area, splattering across the faces of the terrified supporters and the horrified X-Men.
Aurelius Viremont ignored the screams of terror and the X-Men's angry questioning. He didn't care about the lingering bloodstains. He returned to his position in the air, framed by a hellish background of gore and smoke, and grinned down at the building ahead.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. President!"
....
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