Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Medusa felt hollow.

Predator's words had drained what little color remained in her face, leaving her even more pale, looking lifeless.

Betray Barclay. Save the others. Die anyway. It was a cruel mockery of her earlier plea for sacrifice.

And the worst part? It was logical.

If she meant what she said—if she truly wanted to protect her people—then this was the only solution.

So why did it feel so wrong?

The weight of his words settled in her chest, heavy, suffocating. She parted her lips, ready to speak, but—

"Mistress, don't do it!" Pantheress' voice reached out through the darkness. A desperate plea.

Medusa barely had time to react before—

"Mistress! Egor will save you!" The voice came from above.

A thunderous roar, heavy footfalls slamming against the theatre steps, each one a declaration of unshakable, foolish loyalty.

Egor.

Medusa's chest seized as she whirled around.

"No! Egor, STOP!"

But it was too late.

The cyclops of a man was already charging down, fists clenched, ready to fight a battle he couldn't begin to understand.

Two tendrils lashed out from the darkness. They coiled around his legs mid-stride.

**THUD!**

He crashed forward, his massive form hitting the steps with a bone-rattling impact.

Medusa could see it.

Her thermal vision painted the scene in reds and yellows—the tendrils were nothing, pure void, but they moved like they had a will of their own.

Pantheress could see it too, her feline eyes locking onto Egor's struggling form.

Neither of them were prepared for what happened next.

The ground beneath Egor shifted.

Then—

**SHLK!**

Shadowy spikes erupted from below. Massive, jagged, and unforgiving.

They tore through flesh, bone, organs.

One ripped through his stomach, skewering him upward like meat on a spit. His intestines twisted around the spike, shredded beyond recognition.

Another pierced through his ribs, shattering them outward, exposing what lay beneath.

His right arm was severed instantly, a spike cutting clean through the shoulder, sending the dismembered limb tumbling down the steps with a wet slap.

But the worst was the one through his throat.

It silenced him before he could even scream.

His one eye bulged, blood filling it instantly as his body convulsed in sheer, indescribable agony. A gurgle escaped his lips, wet and unnatural, blood spilling in a thick stream down his chin.

Pantheress screamed. "NOOO!!"

Medusa collapsed. Her knees buckled under her, legs refusing to support her any longer.

She had seen violence. She had killed before.

But this?

This was something else. This was loss.

Regret crashed into her like a freight train, suffocating and cruel.

Barclay's deal. The mission. The moment she accepted.

It had led here.

To this.

The spikes lingered for only a second. Then—

**SHHHK—**

They retracted, vanishing back into the bloodstained floor as if they had never been there.

And Egor's ruined body fell.

**THUMP**

The impact sent a spray of blood outward, splattering across the steps—across Medusa's face, her chest, staining the fabric of her attire deep red.

She barely reacted.

Her vision blurred—not from tears, but from the anger clawing inside her.

Pantheress, however, did not restrain herself.

"YOU BASTARD!!" Her voice was raw, animalistic, all traces of playfulness gone. Her fur bristled, her eyes burned with pure, unfiltered hatred, her fangs bared completely.

Her body trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer rage ripping through her.

Predator didn't acknowledge her. Didn't acknowledge Egor. Didn't acknowledge the carnage.

His voice came unbothered.

"Make your choice quickly. I have better things to do."

Medusa's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear him apart.

But she had nothing.

Nothing but more death waiting if she made the wrong move.

She bit her tongue—literally, hard enough to taste blood—just to keep herself from yelling.

Pantheress didn't hold back. "I'LL KILL YOU!! I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU!!"

Her body struggled against the tendrils, teeth bared like a wild animal. She had never looked more primal—more feral.

Medusa felt everything.

Rage. Pain. Hate.

But she couldn't afford any of it.

She forced her lips to move.

Forced the words out.

"…Fine." Her voice was dead. "…I agree to your terms."

Predator tilted his head slightly. Then, as if nothing had happened, his voice came calm, detached.

"Good."

A pause.

"You'll be hearing from me very soon."

Then—

His presence faded.

Just like that.

———

A few minutes had passed.

Predator moved through a darkened alleyway, his steps soundless.

The only noise came from the distant crackle of bin fires and the occasional drip of leaking pipes. The alley stretched long, empty, like a corridor to nowhere, littered with old crates, broken glass, and the remnants of lives that had long since fallen apart.

In his grasp, Pantheress hung limp, unconscious, her body slung under one arm like nothing more than a discarded bag of meat.

She was breathing—shallow, slow—but otherwise still.

The weak lights flickering in the alley seemed to react to his presence.

Shadows on the walls shifted unnaturally as he passed, stretching, curling, following.

At the alley's end, the passage opened into a wider, equally desolate street.

The few figures lingering outside—a pair of men smoking near a rusted dumpster, a woman digging through trash—glanced his way.

They didn't see much.

Only the faint outline of something wrong.

A silhouette that the weak lamp from blocks away barely illuminated.

Then, a vehicle appeared.

A black EV sedan turned the corner, its electric hum barely noticeable as it rolled down the street before coming to a stop directly in front of Predator.

The rear door unlatched on its own.

Predator didn't hesitate.

He lifted Pantheress slightly, then tossed her inside with as much care as someone might give a sack of groceries. Her limp body hit the seat with a dull thud.

The door then clicked shut and the car pulled off immediately, disappearing into the night.

A few eyes remained on Predator.

They couldn't fully see him. But they knew—whatever they were looking at didn't belong here.

One of the men shifted uncomfortably, flicking his cigarette away. The ember landed in a small puddle with a soft hiss.

Then, Predator stepped backward—

—and vanished into the wall.

———

Several minutes later.

A different place. A different mask.

Don stepped out of the darkness.

No longer in the alleyways, no longer deep in the ruins of New Coral City's underbelly.

Now, he stood just outside the stadium parking lot.

The shift was almost surreal.

Bright lights. The sound of murmuring voices, distant sirens and so on.

A crowd had gathered.

Most of them were bystanders—civilians desperate for news, for answers, for a glimpse of someone they knew.

Some had family inside. Some were just curious, eager to see the aftermath of something they didn't understand.

The security presence had doubled. Armed personnel held the crowd back beyond the perimeter.

Don scanned the area. His eyes settled on the G-Wagon.

He waited.

A few minutes passed. Then, three familiar figures emerged and headed toward the car.

Donald. Hector. Tori.

They looked wrecked.

Donald's usually neat hair was a mess, his glasses smudged, his clothes covered in dirt.

Hector's shirt was ripped at the sleeve, his face marked with exhaustion.

Tori's expression was unreadable, but the way she carried herself—slow, fatigued—told Don all he needed to know.

They had been through hell.

Don pushed off the wall he had been leaning against and stepped forward.

As he did, Hector let out an irritated sigh, lifting his phone up and down, shaking it like that would somehow fix the issue.

"Damn it, the network was there for like a minute or so, but now it's just gone again!"

Donald, still cleaning his glasses with his sleeve, answered somberly. "Could be they only made minor repairs. Now the system's overloaded with users."

Before anyone could add to the conversation, Tori's eyes locked onto Don.

Her hand shot up to her mouth. "Oh my gosh—Don, are you okay!?"

Her eyes ran over him—the blood stains, the cuts, the bruises.

To be fair, he was already healing. His body worked fast. But exhaustion? That stuck around.

Her question brought Hector's attention over.

He took a step closer, eyes narrowing as he got a better look.

"Hey, bro—that was crazy. We saw the damage on the way down. Was that all you and Silverwing?"

Then, before Don could answer, Hector added—

"The bodies—?"

"Hector!" Tori cut him off, her tone sharp.

Don withheld a sigh. He hadn't even thought about how they'd see him after all this.

To him, the deaths back there were inevitable. A necessity.

But to them?

To Tori?

What did they see?

There was no avoiding it.

So he answered plainly.

"It was. Unfortunately."

His voice carried no pride. No guilt. Just exhaustion.

Hector, oblivious to the weight of that answer, started—

"Unfortunate? That was awe—"

**THUD**

Tori's fist connected with his shoulder. Hard.

Hector winced, rubbing the spot with a scowl.

Donald, however, had been silent.

From the moment Hector mentioned the bodies, he had gone distant.

His mind had wandered back—

To the church. To the corpse pile he almost became a part of. To the moment he nearly wasn't here at all.

Don noticed.

So he called to him directly.

"Hey, Donald."

Donald blinked, snapping back to reality.

Don continued.

"We should probably get going. Are you good to drive?"

Donald stared for a second.

Then he nodded, quickly, almost too quickly, fumbling with the keys in his pocket before clicking the car open.

He got in fast, closing the door behind. Inside, he gripped the steering wheel. Took a slow breath.

Muttered to himself.

"I'm good… yeah."