Psylocke Vol 2 Ch 21: The Search For Power, The Man With The Black Afro!

Tristan stood on unsteady legs, his body drenched in sweat—his own and, to his dismay, Zuri's. The sheer heat from her skin, the way her presence seemed to press down on him like a physical force, was almost suffocating. And now, once again, that damn finger was coming for him.

He stared at it—if "staring" was even enough to take in the sheer scale of it.

Zuri's finger wasn't just big. It was massive.

The tip of it alone was like a boulder the size of a house, its surface lined with intricate whorls and ridges, unique patterns that spanned farther than Tristan's entire body. The rest of her finger extended behind it, stretching far beyond what he could even see from his position.

If her fingertip was a boulder, the whole thing was a mountain.

And he was expected to stop it.

The wooden surface beneath him rumbled as her finger slid forward, pressing against the table with a slow, deliberate force. She was going easy on him again—he could tell. But that didn't make it any less terrifying.

Focus, dammit!

Tristan clenched his fists and closed his eyes, reaching for that power inside him.

It was becoming easier now. Each time he tapped into it, he could feel it responding faster, surging through his veins like electricity. But as much as he improved, the truth remained—he wasn't strong enough. Not yet.

Zuri's finger could shake the ground with a tap. She could flatten buildings, send shockwaves through the earth. Holding back something like that was like trying to stop a landslide with his bare hands.

What am I missing?

And then—

A voice.

Not Zuri's. Not anyone he recognized.

Deep, smooth, calm.

"If there is ever a time that you feel you don't have enough strength," the voice said, "look deep inside yourself and find more."

A vision.

A man stood before him.

Tall, with warm brown skin, broad shoulders, and an afro so thick and full that it completely hid his eyes. His expression was one of quiet confidence, his smile serene and knowing.

The moment lasted only a breath, and then—

A flash of white light.

And he was gone.

Tristan's eyes snapped open.

The finger was nearly on him.

His chest burned, his limbs ached—but none of that mattered anymore.

He grit his teeth, planted his feet, and yelled.

A surge of energy exploded outward from his body, bright and blue, illuminating the space around him. The sheer force of it sent cracks through the wooden surface beneath his feet, pushing against the encroaching finger.

For the first time, it stopped.

Tristan felt like he was on fire. Every muscle screamed, every nerve felt like it was being set ablaze. His arms trembled violently, his bones threatening to give out—but he held it.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three.

Zuri's finger twitched, trying to push forward. He let out another defiant roar, his energy flaring even brighter, pushing back with everything he had left.

Four seconds.

Five.

And then—

He collapsed.

The energy vanished in an instant, his legs gave out, and he fell to his knees, gasping for breath. His whole body throbbed with exhaustion.

Zuri pulled her finger back immediately.

And then—

BOOM.

Tristan flinched as the sound of thunder rattled through the air. The wind that followed it was powerful, but it wasn't harsh—it was warm, refreshing, a breeze that cooled his overheated body.

He looked up.

Zuri was clapping.

Which, as it turned out, was a problem.

Every time her hands came together, another sonic boom rocked the air, shaking the entire table. Tristan winced, covering his ears.

"Alright, alright—ow—cut it out!" he shouted. "That feels nice, but the noise is killing me!"

Zuri grinned down at him. "Oh—oops! My bad, my bad." She let her hands settle, resting her elbows on the table again as she leaned forward. "But damn, Tristan! You held it this time! That was sick!"

He huffed out a weak laugh, still catching his breath. "Yeah, well... felt like I was about to explode."

"Almost did," she teased. "You were glowing so bright I thought you were about to ascend to another plane or something."

Tristan let out a groan, flopping onto his back. "Great. Maybe next time I'll actually survive stopping a finger without almost dying."

Zuri chuckled. Then, she extended her hand, her finger resting in front of him, palm up.

"C'mon," she said. "Hop on."

Tristan groaned again but pushed himself to his feet. His entire body protested the movement, but he ignored it. He grabbed onto the side of her finger and started climbing.

The surface was surprisingly firm, the skin smooth yet grippy enough for him to get a hold. It was like scaling a massive boulder—one that radiated warmth and pulsed with life. He pulled himself up, gripping the ridges of her fingerprint as footholds until he reached the top of her nail.

It was like standing on a platform made of polished stone. The nail was smooth, slightly curved, and large enough that he could probably jog across it if he had the energy.

Zuri brought him up to her face, grinning.

"You deserve a rest," she said.

Tristan let out a breath, finally letting himself relax. "Yeah," he muttered, flopping down onto his back again. "No arguments there."

Zuri hummed, her voice vibrating through her finger. "You know," she mused, "I could just keep you up there like a little mascot. Carry you around all day."

Tristan cracked an eye open. "You do that, and I swear I'll bite you."

Zuri laughed, and for once, the sound wasn't deafening—it was just warm.

"Alright, alright," she said. "Rest up, little guy. We'll go again later."

Tristan closed his eyes with a sigh.

He really wasn't looking forward to "later."