Psylocke Vol 2 Ch 37: The Voice From Afar!

I pressed my back against the wall of her toe—this mountain of warm, trembling flesh—as chaos crashed down all around me. The rain hadn't le

I pressed my back against the wall of her toe—this mountain of warm, trembling flesh—as chaos crashed down all around me.

The rain hadn't let up. Each drop was a monstrous bomb, slamming into the slick tub floor with deafening force. The sound alone rattled my teeth. Each one that hit nearby sent up geysers of steaming water taller than houses, and the sheer impact of it would've pulped my body if I'd been just a few feet further out. It was like standing on a battlefield, with the enemy being the sky itself.

I tried to focus. I had to get my powers working again—my telekinesis, something, anything. I'd mastered it. Or I thought I had.

But every time I reached for it, every time I tried to pull at the invisible strings I'd grown so used to sensing... there was nothing. It was like shouting into a void. No feedback. No pressure. No force to grab onto.

"What the hell is going on?" I muttered, gritting my teeth, frustration bubbling up behind my eyes. "Why can't I feel it?"

No answer, of course. Just the endless roar of water crashing down around me.

I looked up. That was a mistake.

Her leg—her leg—was like a tower of flesh stretching upward past the clouds of steam. I couldn't even see where it ended. Just an endless trunk of smooth skin, glistening with moisture and so absurdly large it barely even registered as a body part anymore. More like a moving wall of nature.

I was so sick of giants. Every trial, every test, every colossal being that treated me like a spec of lint or an insect to squash or mold or test until I broke. I was tired of surviving just to face the next towering monster.

Then—without warning—the foot next to me lifted.

It didn't just rise. It swept upward, dragging with it gallons of water stuck to its sole. The gust of wind that followed was unreal—like being hit by a train made of air. I felt my feet lift off the ground, my entire body tossed like a leaf in a storm. I flew backward, limbs flailing, barely able to keep my eyes open from the sting of the wind and water.

"NO—!"

I hit the ground hard, skidding and tumbling across the slick tub floor like a ragdoll before slamming into a shallow puddle of warm water that pinned me down with its weight. I wasn't even under much—maybe an inch or two to her—but to me it was like being shoved beneath a waterfall.

I choked, gasped, thrashed my limbs as best I could and finally broke free enough to drag myself to the edge of the puddle. I collapsed on the floor, coughing and sucking in air, my body aching all over.

The boom of her foot hitting the ground miles away sent a tremor rolling through the tub, a deep rumble that vibrated through my chest. I couldn't see her face from here, just the shifting of her limbs, the curve of her waist somewhere far, far above me, framed by the steam and the storm of falling water.

I groaned, my voice hoarse. "I am so over this."

No powers. No protection. Just me, a broken body, and the literal storm that was this giants shower.

The light dimmed around me.

At first, I thought it was just more steam—more of that suffocating mist swirling down from the heavens of this porcelain prison. But no, this wasn't mist. This was a shadow. A massive one. It swallowed the sky above me like a curtain being drawn over the sun.

I lifted my head, slow and shaky, wiping water and grime from my face. My ribs ached. My legs were on the verge of giving out again. And then—

Then I saw her.

Just beyond the stream of water crashing from the sky like a curtain of liquid death, there was a face. And not just any face.

Her head alone could've dwarfed a city block—no, a mountain. Smooth skin with a soft hue, impossibly proportioned, framed by thick, damp strands of dark blue hair that clung to her neck and shoulders like living rivers. Her lips were pulled into a smirk—sharp, cocky, almost smug—like she knew something I didn't. Like she'd been watching me scramble like an insect this entire time and was amused.

And her eyes... gods, her eyes were locked right onto me. There was no mistaking it. I was a blip in this oversized world, and yet—she saw me.

"Zuri," I breathed.

***

(Zuri)

He looked like a speck.

A little dot caught in the puddle clinging to the smooth porcelain floor.

I squinted—tilting my head just slightly to the side, watching him flail beneath the ripple of water that didn't even make it past the joints of my toes. At first, I wasn't even sure he was still alive. His movements were sluggish, his limbs jerking like a drowning insect caught in a sink that wouldn't drain. I wouldn’t let that happen, I would be in trouble if the little guy where in any real danger

"Really?" I muttered under my breath. "This is who made it through Senya and Zuri?"

I shifted my weight slightly, letting one hip cock to the side as warm water cascaded down my bare skin. I'd been standing here for longer than I realized, soaking under the shower, letting the droplets drum down my shoulders and thighs. Maybe too long for him. Poor thing. Lillis were always so... soft. I forgot how delicate they could be.

I bent slightly at the waist and let my long, wet hair curtain over my shoulders as I looked down at him—what had to be him. Tristan. The so-called "survivor."

Gods, I could barely see him. A twitch here, a weak flail there.

It was... kind of cute.

Pretty of adorable, if I was being honest.

I leaned lower, chest swaying forward, the steam rising around me. I wondered what it must look like from down there—this giant wall of naked flesh, these legs stretching skyward, my core and chest hanging over him like living architecture. He must feel like he's standing beneath a walking monolith... and I was doing nothing to dispel that illusion.

"I'm too nice," I murmured, rolling my eyes.

And then I lowered myself—really lowered—allowing my body to hover just over the poor drenched thing. Letting my shadow swallow him whole. I crouched, resting on the balls of my feet. The floor hissed slightly beneath me as water scattered under my soles.

He'd stopped moving.

My smirk faltered.

"Hey," I said, voice soft—though it still probably rumbled like thunder from his perspective. "You done already?"

I narrowed my eyes and gently reached forward with a single hand, extending my pointer finger. No sudden moves. No flicks. No jabs. Just careful, precise motion. I rotated my finger so the underside of my nail faced the floor and slid it under his tiny body with a patience I rarely ever bothered with. I could feel the light pressure of his wet form press against the curve of my nail as I lifted—slow, steady—bringing him up through the humid air and past my lips, up toward my face.

There he was.

So small he barely took up space on the edge of my fingernail.

Eyes closed. Chest rising. He was still breathing, just out of it.

"Impressive," I whispered.

And it wasn't sarcasm this time.

Senya's test alone should've crushed him. Varn's? That mind maze breaks psy-warriors at five times his mass. But he? He'd crawled through the wreckage, dragged himself through falling oceans, and stood beneath my foot without giving in.

Now... it was my turn.

I curled my lips into a slow grin, my breath warming him instantly.

"Let's see what you've really got, Tristan."