Psylocke Vol 2 Ch 28: Limit Reached, Return To The White Void!

(Naomi)

I looked down at the city beneath me, barely larger than a sketch drawn in the dirt. Skyscrapers, roads, cars—they all looked like toys from my vantage point, scattered pieces on a board I had absolute control over. My gaze swept lazily across the illusion I'd crafted, perfect in its scale, fragile in its permanence.

And there he was.

Tristan.

Running.

If I hadn't been so used to disappointment, I might've felt something. Pity, maybe. Or concern. But instead, all I could feel was... apathetic amusement.

How pathetic.

To think this was the one Zuri and Breonia held in such esteem. That this little Lilli scurrying like a beetle across the pavement might one day be a "true" psychic—a master of energy, perception, control. Hmph.

I dragged my finger forward, slow and deliberate. From my perspective, it barely moved. But to him? It might as well have been a tidal wave made of skin and intent. I could see him look up, panic in his steps as he turned to run. It was a little funny—like watching a speck try to outrun a planet.

Still, I didn't stop.

My fingertip slid forward across the cityscape, casting its shadow over him like a dark cloud. I didn't even have to try—he just wasn't fast enough. Not yet.

And then—contact.

My finger completely covered him. I couldn't feel anything, of course. He was far too small for that. But I knew. He was there, beneath the pad of my finger, and he wasn't going anywhere.

"Another win for me," I said with a quiet smirk.

I closed my eyes.

For a brief moment, I thought about ending the simulation right there. Ending the lesson. Letting him stew in his frustration or whatever pitiful emotion he'd sunk into this time.

But then—something stirred.

A whisper along the edge of my perception. A ripple in the energy. My eyes snapped open, and immediately, they found him again.

Still there.

Still fighting.

"...It seems that it's about time," I murmured.

***

(Tristan)

I screamed.

Loud, raw, and panicked.

I opened my eyes wide, jerking upright as if I had just been shot out of a cannon, and every nerve in my body was on fire. Sweat soaked through my shirt, clinging to my skin. My hands were shaking. Hell, everything was shaking—my arms, my legs, even my teeth felt like they were chattering. My heart pounded like it was trying to punch through my chest and run for the hills on its own.

In my mind, it all kept flashing—images. Dozens of them, overlapping like a nightmare I couldn't shake.

Her finger flattening me against the pavement. Her tongue licking through the city, buildings melting under a wave of saliva before I got sucked up like a snack. Her casually dropping down, and all I could see were white socks, lace, and an avalanche of underwear before darkness. Her boot grinding everything into dust with me right there.

All of it. Over and over. Like a loop. A dozen ways to die, all starring Naomi as the executioner.

And yet... it was just an illusion.

Or at least, that's what she said.

"I c-can't take much m-more of this," I muttered, my voice trembling. I could barely get the words out. My body might've been fine, but my mind... felt like someone took a baseball bat to it.

Then the city began to vanish.

Buildings crumbled into light. The streets dissolved into blank space. Everything faded to white.

"What's happening?" I asked, spinning in place. No fire, no rubble—just... nothing. Just white.

"You're at your limit."

I turned around fast—too fast—and almost fell over my own feet.

And there she was.

Naomi.

But this time... she wasn't a skyscraper or some impossible goddess staring down at me like a god judging an ant. She was normal-sized. My size. Calm. Standing with her arms loosely at her sides, eyes just as sharp as ever, but no longer glowing with monstrous power.

"Another illusion?" I asked, half-dreading the answer.

She smiled. Didn't say a thing.

I took a step back. "Why did we stop?"

"Didn't you hear me?" she asked, tilting her head just a little. "You reached your limit. Push it any further and your mind could start fracturing. That's not something I'm interested in dealing with."

I let out a long breath and wiped my forehead. My legs were trembling so much it felt like I was made of Jell-O. I wasn't going to argue with her. My mind felt like it had been microwaved.

Then she lifted her hand and made a small gesture.

A table and two wooden chairs blinked into existence like a magic trick. The space around us rippled and bent, reshaping itself until we were sitting in the middle of a wide, peaceful grassy field under a blue sky. Birds chirped faintly in the distance. Warm sunlight brushed against my skin.

It was... kind of beautiful.

"Come and sit," Naomi said.

I didn't question it. I awkwardly shuffled forward, still half-wary of this being some trick. But I sat down across from her. The chair didn't collapse or launch me into the sun, so I took that as a good sign.

She poured tea from a porcelain pot that hadn't existed ten seconds ago. The liquid steamed gently in the cool breeze.

"This tea comes from a memory," she said as she poured my cup. "One of my favorite brands. Don't ask where—it's complicated."

I accepted the cup with slightly shaking hands and looked down at the golden-brown liquid. I took a sip.

It was... good. Light, floral, something minty too.

"I like it," I said with a shaky little smile.

Then the smile faded.

I looked up at her. "I don't think I'm cut out to be a Sensory Agent."

She didn't flinch or look surprised. "Maybe not," she said flatly. "It's too early to tell."

I didn't reply. I just stared down at the table, the tea rippling slightly from my unsteady hands. I felt like a failure. Like a joke. How was this supposed to be training? I'd just been mentally stomped, crushed, drowned, and ripped apart by every part of her imaginary body. If that was lesson one, then lesson two was probably a stroke.

"Stop sulking," she said.

I blinked, looking up.

"You're focusing on the wrong thing," she continued. "Psychic energy doesn't come from your biceps. It's energy of the mind. Your body isn't the tool here—your thoughts are."

I raised an eyebrow. "Okay, but how am I supposed to focus when you're literally killing me every five seconds without warning?"

Naomi shrugged like it was a stupid question. "Focus through it. Push through. Spread your energy out, like a radar. It's not about brute-forcing it. It's about control. Calmness."

She leaned forward just a bit, her eyes narrowing.

"Feel it through every fiber of your being. And instead of throwing it out like a punch, let it flow. Guide it. Let it wrap around your body, then stretch it out, like you're gently painting the space around you. A slow expansion. Controlled."

I stared at her. "Like... scanning a room with a flashlight?"

She nodded once. "Exactly. But you're the flashlight. And the beam isn't light—it's your awareness."

I sat back in the chair, still unsure, but... listening.