Psylocke Vol 2 Ch 22: The Lilli Who Could Hold Back A Mountain, Graces Cold Expression!

Tristan's entire body felt like it was being ground into dust, but he wasn't about to stop now. His feet dug into the wooden surface of the table, his arms locked in place as he pushed against the approaching wall of flesh. Sweat dripped down his brow, but for once, he wasn't struggling just to keep up—he was actually holding it back.

Zuri smirked, her massive face looming over him like a rising sun. Her white teeth flashed in amusement, her brown eyes practically sparkling with disbelief.

"Breona was right," she mused, her voice carrying both admiration and playfulness. "This guy's got talent."

Tristan could barely spare the energy to roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah—tell me something I don't know."

Zuri chuckled, and the vibrations of her laugh rattled through his bones. She had been steadily increasing the force behind her finger, just a little at a time—not enough to completely overwhelm him, but enough to make him work for it. He could feel it. Every tiny increment made his muscles burn even more, made his legs shake, made his mind scream at him to give up.

But he didn't.

Ten seconds.

He was holding her back for ten whole seconds.

Zuri couldn't hide her excitement. She had all day to train him, and she figured it would take days before he was even close to stopping her.

But here he was. A Lilli. Actually pushing back.

And then—

Whoops.

She might have gotten a little too excited.

A sudden surge of pressure shot through her finger, just a little too much, and—

WHAM!

Tristan went flying.

He tumbled backward, rolling across the wooden surface before skidding to a stop.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Zuri blinked. "Oops."

A very small, very angry voice cut through the air.

"Hey! You're cheating!"

Zuri tried—really tried—to keep a straight face, but the way he was shaking his tiny fist at her like some sort of furious, pocket-sized warrior made it so difficult.

"Cheating?" she repeated, feigning innocence. "I never said I'd be using the same strength over and over again."

"Oh, come on! You nearly launched me off the table!"

Zuri grinned. "Yeah, but did you die?"

Tristan groaned and flopped onto his back. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

He lifted a single middle finger toward the sky.

Zuri cackled, her laughter booming like distant thunder.

"Alright, alright," she said, still chuckling. "Tell you what—since you actually managed to hold back my finger this time, how about we take a break?"

Tristan lifted his head, squinting at her in suspicion. "...A break?"

"Yeah! I even got a few snacks. We can eat together."

Tristan narrowed his eyes. "Define snacks."

"Something small."

"...Small for who?"

Zuri simply grinned.

Before Tristan could continue interrogating her, a new voice interrupted.

"Zuri."

Both of them turned.

Darcy stood at the edge of the table, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

Zuri raised a brow. "What's up?"

"I need a minute with him."

Tristan sat up properly. "Uh, me?"

"No, the other tiny person on the table," Darcy deadpanned.

Zuri gave her a curious look but ultimately shrugged. "Alright, sure."

She watched as Darcy extended a single, perfectly manicured fingernail toward Tristan. He hesitated only for a second before climbing onto it. With the same effortless grace she always carried, Darcy lifted him up and turned away, disappearing into the house.

Zuri leaned on the table, resting her chin in her palm, watching them leave.

Her smirk faded just a little as she stared after them, thoughtful.

She had trained plenty of Lilliputians before. She had seen the way they struggled, the way they pushed past their limits—some succeeded, some failed. But Tristan?

He was different.

Maybe he could be the one...

The thought sent a strange thrill through her chest.

With a small grin, she leaned back, stretching her arms over her head.

This was getting interesting.

***

As Darcy carried Tristan into the house, she cast a quick glance down at the little man resting on her fingernail. "So," she said casually, "how's the training going?"

Tristan let out a breath, still sore from the last round of being launched like a ragdoll. "Slow," he admitted, rubbing his shoulder. "But I can feel it. Every time I try, it gets a little easier to use my powers. I don't think I'm anywhere close to being strong, but... I'm getting there."

Darcy smirked at that, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. He really has no idea, does he? Most people took years just to get a handle on even the simplest form of psychic power. And here he was, already managing to push back a Brob's finger after only a few days of real training.

She didn't say anything about that, though. Instead, she simply walked through the house, carrying him effortlessly until she reached the large wooden table near the center of the room. Carefully, she lowered her hand and tilted her nail down, letting Tristan climb off.

He hopped onto the surface with ease, stretching his limbs, but the moment he turned around, his entire body froze.

Standing at the far end of the table, arms crossed, was Grace.

"Grace?"

His voice came out light, surprised—happy, even. He hadn't seen her all day, and for a second, he felt a rush of excitement. Without thinking, he sprinted toward her, looking up at her towering form.

But something was off.

As he neared her boots, his gaze traveled up—past her long legs, up to the familiar sight of her sharp, striking face. But the second he saw her eyes—his smile disappeared.

She wasn't just angry.

She looked cold.

Her blue eyes were sharp, distant—like she wasn't even looking at him, but through him.

Tristan felt his stomach drop.

This wasn't the Grace he knew.

"Grace...?" His voice wavered slightly.

She didn't respond.

She just stood there, arms still crossed, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line.

Tristan had rarely ever seen her like this. Even when she was mad, even when she was annoyed, she still looked at him like him.

But now?

Something was wrong.

What happened?

Tristan swallowed hard, his mind racing.

What the hell did I do?