Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The rumbling didn't stop.

It pulsed through the ground like the earth itself was trying to cough something up. Loose dirt scattered across the floor. Hairline cracks crept along the cavern walls, slow but concerning.

Somewhere overhead, a wet snap sounded as a vine lost its grip and dropped, landing near Charles with a limp slpft.

But it wasn't the structural collapse that set Don on edge.

It was the figure standing near the boulder.

Father John—or what wore him—was changing. Not drastically. Not dramatically. Subtly. Which made it worse.

The smile had already stretched too wide, but now the eyes began to follow. Pupils fixed, but the whites expanded, eating more of the sockets. No blinking. No moisture. Just that steady, inhuman gaze.

Don's mouth tightened behind the gaiter.

"We need to leave," he said, voice almost lost in the rumbling.

Charles nodded immediately. Agent Hathaway, gun still raised, gave a sharp exhale and stepped forward, nodding toward the tunnel.

"You two first. I'll cover the rear while Don clears any stragglers."

It was a solid plan. Clean. Functional.

Don gave one short nod. Charles followed suit, wings staying wide just in case things got uglier faster than expected.

But as Don turned to head back the way they came—

**KRRRRRAK—CRRASHH**

The ceiling gave.

Slabs of rock and hardened organic matter dropped like a guillotine, sealing the tunnel they'd just emerged from. A cloud of dust rose into the air like breath from a dying lung.

Don skidded to a halt. So did Charles. Hathaway turned, confusion cracking across his visor.

"What are you—" he started, but the words died as soon as he saw it.

Their exit. Gone.

His stomach sank.

"Shit," he muttered, eyes flicking to the ceiling above them. "At this rate the whole place will collapse."

But Charles didn't panic.

His brow furrowed, and he took a slow step forward, eyes narrowing toward the fractured walls. Toward Father John.

"No," he said quietly. "It won't."

Hathaway turned. "What?"

Charles didn't look away.

"This isn't a cave-in. Not a natural one."

He tilted his head slightly toward Father John.

"He's doing this. The rumbling. The collapse. It's him. He's using… earth manipulation."

Don's jaw clenched. The implications were immediate—and bad.

If the thing inside Father John could manipulate the earth, then every wall, every ceiling, every rock in this pit was a weapon. They were already in the grave. All it had to do was bury them.

Hathaway wasn't convinced.

"You sure?" he asked, voice thin.

Before anyone could answer, the thing in Father John laughed.

The smile didn't move. Still fixed, still stretched.

But the laugh rolled out like it was being poured through his teeth.

"Very clever," it said. The voice was layered now. Multiple tones. Human and something else trying to be human.

"You see… before Father John graciously handed over his body, he was quite the talented meatsack by your standards. A bit rigid, but the skills were there."

He stepped forward, hands still behind his back.

"But I've grown bored of him."

His gaze slid back across them, casual, almost fond.

"Your bodies will serve far better uses. So rejoice. Rejoice at the blessing Mother has granted you."

Hathaway's hands twitched. He kept the gun level, but a cold sweat had started to bead under his helmet.

It felt wrong to even breathe near this thing.

He muttered, "You're telling me these things can use the powers of the people they possess?"

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.

Don didn't answer. Charles didn't either. But both looked like they already understood.

Then—

Father John's smile twitched once.

"Enough pointless chatter."

**THRRRRMMBL**

The rumble surged, louder than before. Stones jumped. The air itself vibrated.

Don's instincts screamed. He turned toward the other tunnels—four of them, leading in from different directions. His gaze flicked between them, hyper-focused.

And then—

**Grrrrrrrkkk—shhhhhhk—**

The first one stepped out. Hunched. Too many limbs. Its head tilted at a crooked angle, jaw split in a way that showed more gums than teeth.

Then another.

And another.

Each one slithered or stalked or dragged itself into the cavern. Thirty feet from them. Twenty-five.

The moonlight didn't help. It just revealed more—more split skin, more twitching joints, more bone where there shouldn't be.

They looked worse now.

The light made them real.

Don shifted forward, fists curling.

Charles spread his wings wider.

Agent Hathaway felt his stomach drop as more of the creatures poured in. They didn't run. They didn't lunge. Not yet.

They stalked. Crept. Surrounded.

Too many.

Too open.

He couldn't fire freely—not with Don and Charles in the blast zone, not with so much space and so many targets. Any shot not precise would be wasted. Or worse—hit one of their own.

Still, there was one target that stood still.

Father John.

"Like hell I'm becoming some freak puppet!" Hathaway snapped, and raised his gun.

**BLAM**

The shot cracked through the cavern, echoing between the walls like a broken bell.

It didn't reach its target.

One of the creatures lunged, intercepting the bullet midair. The impact tore half of its torso open, splattering the floor with meat and pulp. It collapsed at Father John's feet with a wet **THUMP**.

Father John's grin didn't vanish.

But his brows twitched.

The smile stayed locked, grotesquely permanent—but irritation flickered behind his stare.

"You insolent meat sack!" he screeched, the voice no longer even pretending to be human.

"Children! Rip his limbs off and bring him to me! Bring all of them to me!"

He spread his arms wide like a preacher at the pulpit, face alight with deranged reverence.

The creatures roared.

And charged.

Charles didn't wait.

"Don't let them overwhelm you!" he called out as his wings beat hard against the air—WHMP-WHMP—dust and shredded vine peeling off the floor beneath him.

He didn't go for the exit.

He rose. Then dove.

Hard and fast—angled toward the left flank of the cavern.

Three creatures leapt up after him mid-air.

Mistake.

Charles snapped his wings open mid-dive—KRSSSSCH—and the result was carnage. Bone and muscle parted like soaked paper, shredded on contact. Pieces hit the floor before the echoes did.

More lunged.

Charles rose again, glancing down to Hathaway.

"Keep trying to shoot that man!"

Hathaway didn't waste a breath. Gun raised, he fired again.

**BLAM—BLAM—BLAM**

Each shot aimed for Father John.

Each one blocked by another creature throwing itself into the bullet.

Don moved next.

He darted toward the right flank—no hesitation, no buildup. Just movement.

His fists blurred—WHMP—CRNK—SPLRT

One creature fell with its head inverted. Another folded backward at the waist after a body blow caved in its spine. Don flowed between them like water, his fists snapping through whatever weak points his system highlighted.

Two at once? No problem. Three? They died faster.

He was a walking guillotine.

Meanwhile, Hathaway kept firing. Every shot drew another beast to take the bullet. And for every one that tried rushing him, Charles would dip from the air—SHLKT—FWHMP—and slice them down with those terrible wings.

They were holding.

For now.

Then—

Don's voice rang out.

"Hathaway! Watch out!"

It wasn't shouted. Just urgent.

Agent Hathaway spun, confused.

Nothing.

Then he looked down.

The light from above was disappearing.

The circle of moonlight on the floor was narrowing.

No. Not narrowing. Shrinking.

He looked up.

A boulder.

Huge. Fast. Falling.

**KRRRRSHHH**

There was no time to think. He dove sideways, instinct overriding thought. His legs kicked back, body twisting mid-fall—

But not fast enough.

**CRUNCH**

The boulder landed. Hard. Unforgiving.

His left foot didn't make it.

The scream tore out of him—"AAAAAAGH!"—as pain exploded through his leg, his sidearm slipping from his hand as he hit the ground.

Blood pooled fast.

Father John laughed.

Louder now.

Triumphant.

From above, another stone began to shift.

Then another.

Then many.

**CRKRKRK—RMMMMBL**