Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The men soon stood abruptly, their chairs scraping loudly against the concrete floor. The man who seemed to be in charge, a burly figure with a scar running down the side of his face, barked an order to one of the other men. "Go check it out. We'll cover you."

Don smirked from his perch high above, watching as one of the lackeys nervously adjusted his grip on his gun. It was clear they were using the poor fool as bait, sacrificing him to test if there was any real danger.

'But who will cover you?' Don thought, his eyes narrowing.

Their attention was completely focused forward, leaving their backs wide open—exposed. He could eliminate them all in one quick attack, but he decided against it. Just like the last time, he needed one survivor. Someone to spread fear, to unravel the gang from the inside.

Don's gaze shifted from the group of men to the far wall of the warehouse. He recalled the floor plans he had studied before the mission. 'There should be a fuse box nearby,' he thought, and sure enough, his eyes soon landed on it—a small gray box mounted on the wall near a stack of crates.

'Perfect.'

With a simple thought, a shadow tendril slithered silently from the darkness, coiling toward the fuse box. **Click.** The lights suddenly went out, plunging the warehouse into pitch-black darkness.

Don closed his eyes, disappearing entirely into the shadows as the men began to panic.

"Shit, what the fuck?!" one of them yelled.

"I can't see a damn thing!" another cursed, fumbling with his gun.

Don could see perfectly fine. His shadow sense allowed him to feel every presence, every movement.

He watched as they stumbled around blindly, trying to orient themselves. Moving swiftly, his figure blended into the inky blackness as a shadow tendril reached out and snaked around one of the men's necks.

Without a sound, the tendril hoisted the man into the air, pulling him up to the metal beams high above.

The man's legs kicked wildly in the air, his fingers clawing at the tendril constricting his throat. But it was no use. Don's strength, amplified by the suit, was far beyond anything the man could fight against.

Several more tendrils shot out, wrapping around his torso and head.

**Shk!**

In one quick, brutal motion, Don pulled.

The man's head was torn clean off, the sound of tearing flesh and cracking bone lost beneath the men's panicked shouts below.

The lights flickered back on, bathing the warehouse in a harsh, sterile glow.

What they saw next made their blood run cold. The man who had been taken was now lying on the floor, his body a twisted mess, his head detached from his torso. Blood pooled around him, spreading like an oil slick across the ground.

His neck stump looked as though it had been ripped apart by something inhuman, jagged and gory.

"What the fuck!" one of the men screamed, his face turning pale with horror. He backed away from the grisly sight, his gun shaking in his hands. "McCarthy, no! What the fuck is going on?!"

Another man, eyes wide with fear, stammered, "I'm out of here, man. I'm fucking out!"

But before any of them could react further, **click**—the lights went out again, throwing them back into suffocating darkness.

This time, the fear in the room was clear.

Every man left alive felt it deep in their gut, an overwhelming sense of dread that clawed at their insides. The thing stalking them wasn't just killing—it was playing with them. And they couldn't even see it.

Don, watching from the shadows, felt their panic as if it were a physical presence. Their hearts raced and their breath came in ragged gasps. They were paralyzed by fear.

He soon chose his next target—one of the three men still huddled close together, their eyes darting around frantically.

Another tendril shot out from the darkness, this time not bothering with subtlety. It wrapped around the man's arm, yanking him upward with such force that he barely had time to scream.

"Something's got me! Help! HELP!"

His friends reacted, backing away from the spot where he had been standing just moments before. One of them pointed upward, his voice trembling. "It's up there! Shoot it!"

The man beside him hesitated, then joined in, both of them firing wildly into the rafters, their guns blazing. **Bang! Bang! Bang!** The deafening sound of gunfire echoed through the warehouse as bullets tore through the air, ricocheting off metal beams and containers.

But amidst the chaos, two of the bullets hit their mark—not the monster they were aiming for, but their own friend. His body jerked violently as one bullet punctured his lung, and another lodged in his heart.

As the two remaining men continued firing blindly into the rafters, Don turned his attention to the one who had broken off from the group, frantically scrambling toward the exit, which he now couldn't even see.

He didn't know it yet, but there was no escape.

Don didn't need to chase him. With a thought, a wall of spiked shadow formed directly in the runner's path—razor-sharp tendrils lacing together in the blackness, waiting.

The man's desperate dash came to a gruesome end as he collided with the wall at full speed.

**Shk!**

A choked, gurgling scream escaped his lips as the spikes punctured his body in a dozen places at once—his eye, cheek, mouth, chest, stomach, leg, and hand.

Each spike pierced through him with brutal accuracy, skewering flesh and bone. The agony was immediate and overwhelming, his limbs jerking involuntarily as the realization of what had just happened hit him.

For a brief, horrific moment, he was suspended in place, impaled by the wall of spikes, his body twitching violently as blood poured from his wounds. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the spikes vanished, leaving the man to collapse heavily onto the ground, his life draining away in a rapidly spreading pool of crimson.

Don melted back into the shadows, his eyes glowing faintly as he observed from a safe distance. He flicked his wrist, and **click**, the lights in the warehouse came back on.

The two men who had been shooting up at the ceiling were momentarily blinded, their eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness. Blinking rapidly, they began to see once more, only for their horror to be renewed when **whoosh**, something heavy fell from above.

**Thud.**

Their friend's body slammed into the concrete floor between them with a sickening, fleshy **pop**.

The impact shattered bones and burst internal organs, leaving the body a broken, twisted mess. Blood pooled around the mangled corpse, and his limbs were splayed out at unnatural angles, his face smashed beyond recognition from the fall.

One of the men, unable to handle the sight, doubled over and vomited, the sound of his retching echoing in the now eerily silent warehouse.

The other man, still gripping his gun, backed away in shock, his weapon shaking in his hands as he continued aiming upward, searching for something—anything—that could explain what was happening.

As the man who had vomited lifted his head, his eyes widened further in horror. Just a few feet away, the body of their other friend—the one who had run—lay twitching in a massive pool of blood, his body riddled with puncture wounds from head to toe.

"Oh... oh God..." the man whispered, his voice trembling as he backed away from the grisly scene. His vision blurred and his breaths coming in short, rapid bursts.

The second man, still alert but terrified, finally tore his gaze away from the ceiling and glanced down at the body near his feet.

His face drained of color as he realized what had happened to their friend. He took a shaky step back, his eyes wide, unable to comprehend the sheer brutality of the killings.

He turned to his remaining companion, who was still frozen in fear, hunched over from vomiting. Their eyes met—one pair filled with terror, the other with sheer disbelief. For a brief second, it felt like time had stopped, both men paralyzed by the horror unfolding around them.

And then, **click**, the lights went out again.

The man who had just been looking down at the body felt his heart seize in his chest. His gun trembled uncontrollably in his grip as he stood frozen, his mind racing with the thought that he could be next. He could barely move, barely breathe, waiting for death to come from the shadows.

But Don had already chosen his next victim.

In the split second of darkness, a massive shadow spike shot out from the ground and pierced cleanly through the chest of one of the two men. **Shk!** The sharp, wet sound of flesh being torn apart echoed as the spike punched through bone, leaving a gaping, bloody hole in the man's chest.

**Click.**

The lights flickered back on, revealing the man who had been spiked. He stared down at his chest in disbelief, his mouth opening as if to speak, but all that came out was a wet gurgle. Blood dribbled from his lips as he coughed, his legs buckling beneath him.

He sank to his knees, one trembling hand reaching up to touch the bloody hole in his chest before he collapsed fully onto the concrete floor, his eyes wide and lifeless.

The remaining man, the one who had vomited earlier, could only stare in abject horror. He couldn't speak, couldn't move.

His body was locked in place, as if even the thought of moving would invite the same fate. His heart pounded in his ears, and he felt like he was drowning in his own fear.

**Click.**

The lights went out once more.

This time, the man's pupils darted wildly in the darkness, expecting to be torn apart at any moment. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to run, to flee, but he was paralyzed. Sweat poured down his face, his breaths shallow and desperate. He was alone in the dark, surrounded by death.

But then, just as suddenly as they had gone out, the lights flickered back on.

His heart still racing, the man realized he was... unharmed. He was alive. But why?

He mustered the strength to turn his head, and as he looked down at the ground in front of him, his breath caught in his throat.

Written in blood, smeared across the concrete, was a single message.

**Run and let them know. Predator is coming.**

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