Psylocke Vol 2 Ch 32: Erupting Blue light, Naomi’s High Expectations!

Okay. No time to think.

The moment I realized where I was—still standing in Naomi's hand, still alive—I started running.

There wasn't any command telling me to move. It was instinct. Like my body just knew what it needed to do before my brain could catch up. I sprinted across the soft ridges of the back of her hand, the skin beneath me warm and textured, like living leather. The grooves of her hand felt like small valleys and hills under my boots, the wrinkles and creases stretching out like a map I didn't understand.

And strangely... I felt calm.

Like, weirdly calm.

After dying... what? Twenty times now? Probably more? You'd think I'd be curled up in a fetal position crying about my lack of life insurance, but no. My heartbeat was steady, my breath even. There was this clarity in my chest, this subtle pulse like a compass pointing me toward something important.

I didn't know where it was taking me, but I followed it anyway.

A blue light. Faint at first. Just a flicker deep in my mind. But the closer I got, the stronger it became—like I could feel it humming beneath my ribs.

Then the shadow came.

It was slow at first, like dusk rolling over the land. I didn't think anything of it until the sky started moving. That's when I looked up—and nearly ate my own heart.

A finger.

Her finger.

It descended from above like the Sword of Damocles, so huge it blotted out the sky and everything else. I saw the lines in her skin, the sheer size of it, and felt the pressure in the air shift. The weight of that one finger alone was probably enough to turn an entire district into dust.

My body reacted before I could.

Everything in me screamed MOVE, and suddenly I was lighter. Not floating, not flying—just... accelerating. My panic hit a new level, and with it came a surge of psychic energy I didn't understand. My legs burned, my heart threatened to punch a hole in my chest, and I shot forward so fast I barely remembered taking a step.

The wind screamed past me.

The ridges of Naomi's finger got closer and closer, rising like a mountain as it made contact with the back of her own hand.

I wasn't going to make it.

But somehow—I did.

By inches.

I threw myself into a desperate roll just before the finger flattened the spot where I had just been. The ground shook like an earthquake behind me, and then—

I was flying.

Not because of power. Because of physics. The impact launched me off her hand like a marble from a slingshot, and I went sailing between her fingers, plummeting down toward the remains of the city far below.

"OH COME ON!" I screamed as the wind tore the breath from my lungs.

The clouds of dust and smoke still lingered from her earlier step. I plunged through them like a rock through water, spinning helplessly, watching bits of debris float past as the ruined city below rushed up to meet me.

I braced.

I hit.

Hard.

The ground caved in under me with a thud, a small crater blooming around where I landed. My limbs jolted and a flash of pain shot up my spine. But... I was breathing.

I was alive. Again.

"Damn," I coughed, my voice dry and shocked.

I laid there for a second, staring at the sky that peeked through Naomi's massive fingers overhead. My body ached like I'd been beaten with metal pipes, but it was manageable. I could move. I wasn't broken.

I actually made it.

I dodged her finger.

My psychic energy was increasing, increasing a lot, without a doubt it saved me.

And for the first time since this training hell began... I felt like I might actually be getting somewhere.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Hopefully.

...Or she was just playing with me again.

Who knows.

***

(Naomi)

I blinked.

For a moment, I wasn't even sure what I had just witnessed. One second, I saw Tristan—clear as day—running across the back of my hand, heading directly for the tip of my finger. I had planned to tap him lightly. Just pin him in place so I could lift him up, tell him he was done for the day. Maybe even let him nap in my palm, he looked like he needed it.

But in a blink... he vanished.

I stared at the spot. My finger had touched down exactly where he'd been. He wasn't under it. He wasn't smeared on my skin. He didn't die—I would've known if he did. Being a Sensory Type means I don't need to rely on vision or sound to track people. When a life flickers out, I feel it. A snap. A void in the air. A final breath caught on psychic wind.

There was no snap. No void.

He was alive.

He dodged it.

My lips curled into a small smile, the kind you give when someone surprises you in just the right way. He was actually adapting. Psychic energy feeds off survival instinct—it sharpens under pressure, like a blade honed against stone. It expands the more you use it, but in life-or-death moments, it evolves.

I narrowed my eyes, activating my clairvoyance. My vision shifted—beyond sight and into intention. Thought and energy bloomed like threads across the battlefield of the city. And there he was. A speck running through the wreckage between my fingers, his aura flickering erratically—but glowing brighter than ever.

He's accelerating.

My eyes followed him. He wasn't just moving randomly. There was purpose in his trajectory. He was headed east—toward the far edge of my hand—toward the outskirts of the simulated city.

And then it hit me.

The orb.

He was moving toward the blue orb—the condensed node of my own psychic energy I had hidden within this mental plane. A core. A test. A piece of myself.

Can he sense it?

That wasn't part of the assignment. I hadn't told him about the orb. Hell, I didn't even think he was close to being able to detect something that subtle. That orb was cloaked, buried in layers of psychic fog. He shouldn't even be able to sniff it out. But he was heading straight for it like a moth to a flame.

I could end this right now.

All I'd have to do is bring my fingers together. Press them lightly—just enough—and he'd be gone. A single flick, a casual crush, and the challenge would be over.

But I didn't.

Instead, I pulled back.

I let him run.

Let's see where this goes.

Because for the first time since this whole hellish exercise began... I had hope. Just a sliver. But real hope. Maybe this wasn't a waste of time after all.

Maybe Tristan could really become something.

Maybe... he is a Sensory Agent.

"Don't disappoint me now," I whispered under my breath, watching the little speck of a boy dart between my fingers, chasing a power even he didn't understand yet.