Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The Theatre of Nightmares remained frozen, every soul within locked in the moment.

All eyes were on the figure above. Some filled with dread, others with confusion, but none with understanding. It wasn't just the unnatural presence of the man that unsettled them—it was the fact that they didn't recognize him.

In a place like this, that meant danger.

Medusa's reaction was different. She wasn't afraid, not yet. Her concern was sharper, more focused.

Who was this? What did he want?

Pantheress, on the other hand, moved instinctively. Her posture lowered, muscles tensed, tail flicking just slightly behind her. Ready to strike.

Medusa, pushing her concern aside, fully turned to face him. Her arms folded, her chin lifted ever so slightly as she addressed him.

"Who are you? What do you want here?"

The figure tilted his head. No face, no expression—just the eerie, shifting shadows that curled and writhed at his feet like living things. The dim light flickered erratically, almost as if the darkness around him pulsed with breath.

Then, he scoffed. A sound that cut through the theatre like a slow-drawn blade.

"You know," his voice was deep, resonant… but almost casual in tone. "When you attack someone's family, do you really expect no consequences?"

A ripple of confusion spread through the audience and performers. Murmurs began, hushed, uncertain.

But Medusa's reaction was immediate. Her pupils shrank. The connection formed instantly in her mind, snapping into place like a vice.

'Shit.'

She didn't hesitate. "Pantheress—attack! The rest of you, go!"

Pantheress launched.

Her form blurred, muscles coiling and releasing all at once as she leapt forward, bypassing entire rows of seats in a single bound. The audience barely had time to flinch before she was mid-air, claws out, fangs bared.

The rest of the theatre erupted into chaos.

Screams rang out as performers and audience members scrambled, clambering over seats in a desperate attempt to flee.

They were too late.

Above them, Predator's head straightened, and the shadows twisted in response.

**CRACK!**

The overhead lights burst, glass shattering and raining down in jagged shards. The darkness swallowed the theatre whole—consuming it in an instant.

Panic turned to hysteria.

And then, the killing began.

The first victim, an audience member, barely had time to react before a shadow lashed around his throat.

It didn't strangle him. It yanked.

His body snapped upward, slamming into the rusted chandelier with a sickening **CRUNCH**. The old metal groaned as his spine folded against it, the unnatural angle of his limbs twitching for only a second before—

**SNAP**

The tendril unraveled. His body fell in an unceremonious heap onto the stage below, blood pooling from the jagged shards of bone puncturing through his skin.

The second, a performer tried to run.

She reached the emergency exit, her hands slamming against the push bar, but the door didn't budge. It wouldn't.

A tendril speared through her back before she could even scream.

Her body lurched forward, convulsing as the tendril twisted inside her, violating organs, ripping them apart from the inside out.

She choked, coughed, vomited blood, her hands shaking as they clawed at the door in sheer futility—before the shadow dragged her backward into the abyss.

The third, a performer as well, never even saw it coming.

She stumbled down the aisle, tripping over the steps in her desperation. She barely registered the cold grip wrapping around her ankle.

Until she was yanked downward.

Face-first.

The wooden steps exploded with teeth.

**CRACK**

**CRUNCH**

Her jaw shattered against the edge of a broken step, lower half barely hanging by muscle as she spasmed violently. Teeth scattered across the floor, mixed with the dark, pooling blood that oozed from her ruined face.

She wheezed. Still alive.

The tendril pulled again.

**THUMP** **THUMP** **THUMP**

Her skull cracked against each stair as she was dragged down the row, the wet sound of bone and wood colliding again and again until there was nothing left but a limp, deformed husk.

The rest of the audience suffered no better fate.

One was skewered through the eye—the tendril forcing itself in, twisting, writhing, turning soft tissue into pulp before pushing out the other side of his skull.

Another was impaled against the wall, his torso split open like rotten fruit, intestines hanging in frayed loops.

The last two were lifted high, bodies dangling helplessly in the dark.

Their screams choked off in unison.

A moment later, they were slammed together—headfirst.

The sound was indescribable.

Pantheress landed, crouched low, eyes scanning the darkness.

She could see.

And what she saw made her blood run cold.

She had expected an attack on Medusa. Maybe on her. Maybe even on some key figures in the theatre.

But this?

This was a slaughter.

Her ears flattened against her head.

She had never—never—seen people killed like this. Not with this much cruelty.

Her hesitation lasted less than a second.

A second too long.

She barely felt the tendril creep up her leg.

By the time she noticed, it was too late.

It coiled. Then tightened.

"Mistress! Run!"

Two more snapped out, binding her arms, lifting her off the ground, her body jerking in reflex as she thrashed. She snarled, twisted, clawed—but it was useless.

Medusa froze.

Her vision wasn't like Pantheress'. She didn't see in darkness. She saw in heat.

And what she saw was worse.

She saw bodies cooling.

She saw limbs stripped of warmth, blood congealing in puddles that no longer radiated life.

She saw death.

And she saw nothing from the tendrils. They weren't warm. They weren't cold. They weren't anything.

Her breath caught.

For the first time in a long time, fear gripped her.

This was bad. Really bad.

Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms as she forced herself forward, forced herself to swallow the panic crawling up her throat.

She gritted her teeth.

"STOP!" Her voice was loud, echoing through the madness.

"Don't hurt these people! I'm the one you want! They have nothing to do with this!"

Everything stopped. The screaming. The struggling.

The tendrils held Pantheress tight—but did not kill her.

And then, his voice came again.

"Ironic," it echoed, "neither did the family you just attacked."

Medusa had no response. Because if this was truly retaliation—if this was because of what they had done—

Then he was right.

She had attacked someone else's family. She had played her part. And now, she was on the other side.

Her breath hitched.

She was confused. She was worried.

And now…

Now she was afraid.

Her lips parted, dry, uncertain.

Then, finally, she gave up.

"Then kill me," she said, her voice quiet. "Not them."

Predator remained unmoved.

"Admirable," he said simply. "But I have no interest in the pawns."

His head tilted again.

"Tell me who sent you."

Medusa didn't move.

She barely even breathed.

Harold Barclay.

The name felt like poison on her tongue before she even spoke it. Because the moment she did, she knew—she was past the point of return.

But silence wasn't an option.

Not with Predator standing there. Not with Pantheress still trapped, her body suspended, her leg caught in an unnatural grip.

The air in the theatre was heavy. It wasn't just fear. It wasn't just the lingering scent of blood.

It was the sheer weight of how bad this could get.

Medusa's mind ran through her options at a blistering pace. If she gave up Barclay, would that be enough? Would this thing even care about the truth? Was there a way out of this without giving him everything?

For a moment, she hesitated—just a second too long.

Predator noticed.

**CRACK!**

Pantheress's scream tore through the room.

Medusa snapped back into focus, eyes wide, horror spreading across her face.

She didn't need normal vision to see what happened. Her heat-sense painted it clearly—Pantheress writhing in something's grasp, her body jolting as the heat from her leg suddenly spiked unnaturally before rapidly beginning to fade.

Her bone had been broken.

Medusa's lips parted, her breath caught in her throat once more.

Her mind screamed at her to move, to act, to fight—but against what? Against something she couldn't even see?

She finally saw Pantheress clawing at the air, her hands weakly reaching toward her ruined limb. It was clear even through Medusa's vision—her body was in full shock.

It made her sick.

She clenched her fists.

And then she yelled—

"STOP!"

The moment the word left her lips, the tendril around Pantheress's leg loosened just slightly—not enough to free her, but enough to show he had heard.

Medusa's gaze flicked around the theatre, searching for the source of his voice. Searching for him.

But she found nothing.

Only the glowing white eyes.

They weren't close.

They weren't far.

Just there.

Waiting. Watching.

Her nails dug into her palm, her lip quivering just slightly as she forced herself to answer.

"…It was Harold Barclay."

Silence.

Then, Predator stepped forward. Not far—just enough.

Enough to let her see the full form of him. The shifting blackness curling at his feet, the way his head seemed unnaturally still even as the darkness around him moved as if breathing.

Then, the voice.

"What did he send you to do?"

Medusa barely had time to process the question before the realization hit her.

Predator had reacted to the name. Not in anger. Not in confirmation.

Behind the mask, Don's mind worked quickly.

'Harold? Of all people? Andrew? Maybe. It would've made sense. But Harold?'

The man seemed to barely get his hands dirty. He was too powerful for that. Too smart for that.

This was sloppy. This was stupid. Unless ofcourse, Don was being underestimated.

And yet, Medusa didn't seem to be lying.

That meant one thing—he needed more information.

Unfortunately for Pantheress, Medusa wasn't providing it fast enough.

The tendril around the broken leg twisted.

"GRAAHH!!" Pantheress howled, her body convulsing violently as pain wrecked through her system.

Her claws lashed out—toward nothing.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

Medusa flinched. "Please stop!"

The words spilled from her lips before she even thought about them. Not a request.

A plea.

Her voice was tight, angry, but not with him.

With the situation.

She hated this. Hated being cornered like an animal. Hated knowing she was outmatched. She was a monster, damn it. She had earned her fear.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

Predator had made one thing clear—he wasn't bluffing.

Medusa didn't know what he was. Didn't know if he was even human.

Her mind worked against her.

Could she rush him? Would he even flinch?

Her nails dug deeper into her palm.

'No.' She wasn't willing to gamble with so many lives.

Not tonight.

She exhaled sharply. And then, with visible frustration, she spoke. "We were to kidnap one or two of the women there and turn them over to him. I don't know why he wants them. I swear, I j—"

She was cut off.

"I know." Predator's voice was steady. "You had your reasons. Something along the lines of he used you or you had no choice? Hm?"

Medusa's throat went dry. She swallowed hard, body tensing. It was clear he didn't care for her circumstances in the matter.

She took a step back, instincts screaming at her. Her body preparing to defend itself.

But Predator only continued. "Well, good."

He took a slow step forward. "It means you'll have no qualms betraying him."

Medusa stiffened.

Predator's head tilted just slightly. "You're clearly a pawn he thinks useful, and so he'll try to reach out again."

Another step. "Consider yourself lucky then. That gives me a reason to keep you alive."

A pause. "Everyone else here, however… not so much."

Medusa's chest tightened.

"No!"

The word left her lips before she could stop it.

She stepped forward this time, her desperation slipping through just slightly.

"Please! We didn't kill anyone in the family—We just—"

"But the intent was there." Predator's words were final.

"That's all that matters to me."

Medusa's nails scraped against her palm. "Fine."

Predator's voice grew quieter. Lower.

"Clearly, these people mean a lot to you. Good."

"Consider them insurance."

Medusa's breath caught.

"And as a premium—"

The tendrils shifted.

Pantheress gasped.

"I'll be holding onto your feisty cat."

Medusa's body locked. Her mind fought to keep up.

Her people—in danger.

Her second-in-command—taken.

And then—

The final words. Words that sent a slow, creeping chill through her spine.

"Help me deal with Barclay, and afterward, I promise…I'll only kill you."