From Superman’s god-like might to Luffy’s boundless optimism, power fantasies in comics and anime tell us more about ourselves than we realize.
When Superman #709 came out, not many people thought that one panel—the one where The Flash casually says he can “think at the speed of light”—would become the subject of years of discussion. The panel was previously part of Superman: Grounded, a storyline that followed the Man of Steel’s journey across America as he sought to find himself.
However, it has since been taken out of its original storyline. Today, it’s mostly used in arguments about who is faster, bigger, or smarter, which can last for hours. The funny thing is that the Flash’s line wasn’t meant to brag. It made me feel better. A boost for tired Superman. But as comics grew, so did the need to measure power. This turned what used to be emotional stories into a game of numbers.
Barry Allen has always been considered the fastest speedster, but his nephew and new boss, Wally West, is often referred to as the fastest being in the universe. This hero once built a bridge between towns in under 30 seconds and ran faster than the speed of death. His feats don’t make sense, but they also make me wonder how writers keep raising the stakes for people who have already done amazing things.
That’s one of the things that makes making comics such a tricky business. How do you make something tense when the characters can easily destroy worlds or turn back time?
Even gods have trouble being human.
Batman is still one of the most beloved DC heroes, and that’s not an accident. Because he doesn’t have any abilities, he seems vulnerable and real, even among divine figures. This difference is often emphasized by writers. In group stories, each Justice League member has a unique quality that makes the story balanced and stops any one character from taking the lead. Batman is smart and tough, Flash is fast and funny, and Superman is pure, unwavering hope.
Balance is very important in stories. Weak supporting characters, such as Krillin and Nami, slowly fade into the background as the main story unfolds, and a similar phenomenon occurs in Western comics. How can you make being all-powerful an interesting concept?
But being strong doesn’t mean a character has to be dull. Many people admire superheroes like Superman because they are perceived as strong. Because they are hard to reach, they create a different kind of connection—not one of weakness through empathy, but of admiration through ideas. We see bits of our own humanity in their imperfection when they trip or doubt themselves.
For example, Superman wasn’t always a god. At first, he possessed only basic skills, such as leaping instead of flying and raw strength instead of cosmic power. However, he grew alongside the DC Universe. To stay super, he had to stay one step ahead of every new wonder worker that came out.
And with that evolution came tragedy: an alien who had to be better than everyone else was forever split off from the people he guarded.
If you look more closely, even Krypton seems to know you.
The fall of Krypton isn’t just a sci-fi show; it’s also a warning. Its leaders ignored ecological collapse and shut down experts who said the Earth was going to die. When the foreign look is taken away, Krypton could very well be Earth’s future. The story of how Superman came to be isn’t just a myth; it shows how fragile we are.
People admire All-Star Superman for having two sides to him. In just twelve issues, it tells the story of the character from his victories to his humanity to his death. Grant Morrison, the writer, doesn’t tone down how silly Superman’s world is; he embraces it. It is up to the readers to see through the mix of cosmic weirdness and find love, loss, and a sense of purpose.
The story’s power lies in its quiet moments. Superman can’t stop a heart attack. The poignancy of that discovery holds the story together. He might be the strongest person in the world, but time and fate are stronger than him.
His victories mean more to us because he is so vulnerable. He doesn’t have to do impossible things; they’re won. That may be why people continue to believe in him after all these years.
Gods want to be better men sometimes.
Fans of both Superman and Goku are more likely to admit that they share more DNA than they’d like to. Both are aliens from worlds that are soon to end. Both fight not to win, but for the love of the places they’ve been given. Both are always trying to improve, not because they are proud, but because they are curious and genuinely care about others.
Goku’s never-ending search for strength is like Clark Kent’s quest to be a good person. They fight for different reasons—Goku does it for fun, while Superman does it for justice—but their stories all come together at one deep truth: they represent hope. Seeing them go beyond their limits makes us think that maybe we can too.
The same attraction drives characters like Monkey D. Luffy. Luffy’s spirit is what makes him strong, despite being made of rubber and not seeming to understand logic. With a smile and an empty stomach, he brings down tyrants, starts uprisings, and changes the course of history. His fights aren’t for power; they’re for freedom.
And when he gets godlike powers, like his “Gear 5” form that makes me think of Looney Tunes, it doesn’t feel like an exaggeration anymore; it feels more like the end of a story. What happens when you use your mind and willpower together? A cartoon dream comes true.
The issue is not power; what you do with it matters.
This theme is looked at in more depth in Marvel’s Mutants than in any other comic book series. Their feared, misunderstood, and often uncontrollable skills are like the struggles of finding your identity and being accepted. People like Jean Grey exemplify the paradox of being emotionally vulnerable yet physically strong.
As the host of the Phoenix Force, Jean once wiped out a society of five billion people. But now, having fused with the Phoenix instead of being destroyed by it, she uses that same cosmic fire to protect herself. Her story isn’t just about being forgiven; it’s also about getting back in touch with your own potential.
Then there’s Storm, the Omega-level weather goddess who rules the sky and is also the host of Eternity, the world itself come to life. Her “Eternal Storm” change shows not only power, but also transcendence. She is like Jean in that she demonstrates that divine power and human empathy can coexist.
These kinds of figures show that the journey of an underdog can be just as deep as the journey of a hero who is outclassed. The stress changes from “Can they win?” to ” How are they going to carry the weight of victory?
The fastest person in the world can’t escape his responsibilities.
This is wonderfully shown by Wally West’s evolution. He was once a cocky partner, but after Barry Allen died, he took over as the Flash. This was a passing of the torch that happened over two real-life decades. That was the story of Wally’s life: growth, leaving a legacy, and impossible demands.
Now that he is married and has a child, he juggles work and home life at super-speed, trying to be everywhere at once. Being known as “the fastest dad alive” makes him more real than if he were just a spectacle. Being responsible for many things makes him powerful, not because of physics.
This complex picture of what happens when power meets morals goes beyond DC. In Invincible, Mark Grayson’s gradual loss of interest in violence illustrates the worst consequences that can occur when power is unchecked. He becomes more sure of himself, and it becomes clearer what his strength costs him. It gets harder to explain what “doing the right thing” means as heroes die and worlds fall apart.
There are also heroes who are too strong just for the sake of it. Some characters, like Squirrel Girl and Gwenpool, make fun of the genre. Gods and giants are no match for Squirrel Girl’s squirrel powers and positive attitude. Gwenpool changes the facts of her own story because she knows she’s in a comic book. The fear that rejection will mean death is so strong that even she feels it. Being self-aware turns out to be both her biggest strength and biggest weakness.
Not being able to be stopped doesn’t mean you can’t be broken.
Kryptonians who can see through X-rays all have a weakness, whether it’s magic, kryptonite, or pride. For every Flash, there’s a Captain Cold ready to stop him in his tracks. These weaknesses suggest that the stakes are always present, regardless of how far-fetched the story may be.
That’s what makes stories about gods interesting: gods have problems too. Power, by itself, can’t bring peace, whether due to physical limitations or mental turmoil.
Let’s look at Dragon Ball’s famous Frieza story. The first time Goku turns into a Super Saiyan is exciting, not because of a showy effect, but because he needs to get help badly. He’s been beaten, made angry, and pushed past his limits. The change he went through because of loss gave his strength meaning. The formula—challenge, failure, and growth—has been effective for decades because it reveals a fundamental aspect of human nature.
And maybe that’s the truth: there is no such thing as a principal who is “too powerful.” Power shouldn’t be used as a metaphor for duty, self-discovery, or strength.
Perhaps we can change if they can.
No matter if they are Kryptonian, Saiyan, alien, or pirate, these heroes continue to rule pop culture not because they are strong, but because of how kind they are. Their stories teach us that power is only useful if it is used with kindness.
Even though Superman, Goku, and Jean may be able to fly higher than we can and beat the gods, their problems are the same as ours. They fail, learn, and get back up. And through them, we picture a better version of ourselves—one who can do the impossible, break the rules, and stand up for something bigger.
