Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 484: A Messy Visit (Part 4)

The seven who remained stood rooted where they were.

Predator’s eyes burned through the dark—two pinpoints of ghostly light suspended above the server aisles.

No sound came from him. Not a single step. Only the weight of his presence pressed in on the room, heavy and suffocating.

For a second, they didn’t move.

Then it broke.

Two of them—the drive handlers from before—snapped. They shoved their coworkers aside, stumbled over cables, and bolted toward the nearest lightless corridor.

"Help!! Somebody—help!!"

The cry barely left his throat.

schlck!!

A wet, cutting sound tore through the dark. Tendrils, unseen but fast, lashed out from nowhere—coiling around both his legs. There was a brief pause. Then a crunch—both bones snapped outward.

The man hit the floor screaming, dragging himself through the dark, hands slipping on his own blood.

The rest froze where they stood, eyes darting toward the sound but seeing nothing but shifting shadow.

The screams echoed off metal and concrete. Then—nothing again.

The quiet after it was worse.

One of the binary-eyed men blinked. His pupils trembled, code flickering briefly through them in a faint strobe of light. It was small, subtle—barely enough to notice. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

But Predator noticed.

His head turned a fraction toward it.

Before he could move, a distant alarm began wailing—faint, but loud enough to reach through the flooring.

wooo~ wooo~

Not here. Not this floor. Above them.

Predator tilted his head up, gaze lifting toward the ceiling as red light from somewhere far above flickered through the cracks in the metal.

Gary’s voice came through his mask, calm but clipped.

"Sir, it seems our presence has been discovered prematurely. How are you fairing?"

Predator lowered his head again, eyes narrowing on the glowing binary-eyed man.

He spoke, voice filtered through the mask, cold enough to cause the men’s spines to shiver. "The servers and power supply are down. And given the alarm, I’m sure a great deal of guards are coming this way."

Gary’s voice came back without hesitation. "I take it you’ll handle it? We could use this as a distraction to draw in on our target. The young Madam won’t have any problems with hers as well."

Predator’s tone didn’t shift. "Good. Then I’ll make my way up and thin down the resistance."

"Good hunting, sir."

The channel clicked off.

The techs hadn’t heard Gary’s side of the call, only Predator’s words—especially that last sentence. It crawled down their spines, set their hands trembling.

Predator’s eyes flared brighter for an instant.

"You’ll have to forgive me," he said, voice low. "You see... it’s very easy to kill you all. Oh, so very easy."

The light in his mask pulsed faintly as he stepped forward.

"But I’ve come to realize an unfortunate truth about myself."

Without explaining further, the shadows around the men stirred—then moved.

Tendrils uncoiled from the dark, long and fluid. They slithered across the floor, brushing over boots, sliding up legs, wrapping around wrists. The men panicked immediately—screams, struggling, pleading—but the shadows tightened fast.

Limbs jerked upward, torsos pulled taut.

"Stop—!"

"Wait! Please!"

"Oh God, don’t—"

Their voices twisted into overlapping cries as the black cords wound around their necks, pressing into flesh until their gasps came out thin and broken.

Predator walked slowly through them, the faint light from his eyes throwing distorted glows across faces contorted by terror.

He stopped just short of them.

For a heartbeat, the tendrils went still.

Then one snapped outward—fast as a whip—

CRRNNCH~!

It tore both arms off one of the men.

The sound was obscene—bone cracking, skin tearing, wet meat ripping free. Blood sprayed in twin arcs, splattering the racks and the faces of those beside him.

The man collapsed to his knees, screaming in a ragged, breathless wail that broke halfway through.

His eyes found Predator’s glow—pleading, shaking, begging wordlessly for mercy.

Got it. Here’s the revised ending of that scene — seamlessly replacing the old closing lines and staying true to your established tone and Predator’s psychology:

Predator met the gaze without a word.

The man’s eyes trembled—pure terror, broken sound rasping out of his throat. Predator tilted his head slightly, studying it, as though measuring the pitch of the scream rather than the pain behind it.

And in that flicker of stillness, his mind wandered.

Back—to when they were leaving the Citadel.

He had stood in the entry/exit chamber, the shadows of his suit suspended around him like a steel chrysalis. Elle had been there.

She’d stopped him before the final piece sealed shut. One hand on the edge of the frame, her eyes faintly reflective in the blue glow of the chamber.

"If you want to feed the suit properly," she’d said, voice unhurried, "you need to make them feel it. Fear."

He’d said nothing then as his mask lowered into place. "The suit doesn’t draw on blood. It draws on dread. Let them die knowing it’s coming."

That memory lingered like a pulse in the back of his head now.

The man before him still struggled to breathe, every ragged sound trembling between terror and agony.

Predator only exhaled once through the mask.

———

At roughly the same time, two floors above the blood and wreckage below, the mansion’s serenity was gone.

Hallways once quiet now echoed with footfalls and low radio chatter. Guards sprinted through archways in tight formations, rifles raised, muzzles sweeping corners. Doors slammed open and shut. Orders were barked in clipped bursts that echoed through marble and glass.

But inside the living area where Gerald Richmond sat, none of that chaos breached the air.

The guards within stood where they had been ordered to stand—lined along the edges of the room, weapons ready but postures fixed.

Only two men broke that quiet stance.

Kasanda and Han.

Abraham’s guards didn’t share the stillness. Kasanda’s head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring, eyes restless as he scanned the ceiling.

Han’s hand hung near the weapon under his loose shirt, his gaze cutting across each window, each doorway, each source of sound.

The alarm reached them a moment later.

No one panicked.

Instead, every set of eyes turned toward Gerald Richmond.

He stood near the center of the room, phone pressed to his ear. His tone was measured; his expression unchanged.

"I see," he said finally, and ended the call.

The faint click of the phone closing was the only sound left.

Abraham leaned forward from his seat, cigar smoldering faintly in his fingers. "What’s wrong?"

Gerald’s reply came smooth and detached. "It seems someone has invaded the underground levels of my home."

He stood, straightening his shirt with the unhurried motion of a man buttoning his cufflinks before dinner.

"Perhaps we should continue our conversation another time," he added. "It might be wise if we left the scene and allowed the guards to deal with it."

Abraham laughed—a short, genuine sound. "Ha! No problem." He waved a hand lazily, then added with a grin, "In fact, why don’t you come with me? You could show me what’s so special about this city that keeps you here. If you know what I mean."

He lifted his brows suggestively.

Gerald gave a faint smile in return. On the surface, polite. But his eyes shifted once toward the floor—just enough to show thought. Concern.

Kasanda noticed. His weight shifted closer to Abraham as he leaned down to murmur, "Perhaps—"

He stopped.

His head snapped upward, eyes narrowing. A faint sound brushed his ears—something distant, distorted. His body tensed immediately.

"Sir," he said under his breath.

Han moved before being told, closing in beside them, one hand raised slightly as his other dropped to his belt.

The mansion guards felt it too—the subtle vibration, a deep thrumming that wasn’t part of the alarm. Their grips tightened on their weapons. One of them glanced to Gerald, awaiting command.

Gerald felt the air change, pressure faint in the marble underfoot. He fought the urge to frown, forcing calm into his tone.

"I assure you," he began, "the problem is nothing worth concerning yourself with. I’m sure it will be dealt with, so—"

He never finished.

The sound came first—an approaching roar that grew fast, deep enough to rattle the walls.

whrrrrrrr~

The windows along the right wall exploded inward as the helicopter—the helicopter that had been patrolling outside—burst through the side of the mansion.

The impact came in a wave of shattering glass, splintering stone, and shrieking metal. The rotors ripped into pillars, tearing through chandeliers, flinging shards of marble across the floor like shrapnel.

BOOOMM~

The blast of displaced air knocked several guards off their feet. Furniture upended, curtains tore free, and a storm of dust swallowed the light.

Kasanda moved instantly—throwing himself between Abraham and the wreckage. Han dove low, sliding across the polished floor as chunks of debris slammed down where he’d been.

Through the blinding dust, the broken carcass of the helicopter skidded to a halt halfway into the living area, its tail section jutting back through the ruined wall.

One rotor still spun weakly, whining before it bent against the floor with a metallic noise.

Sparks spat out from its broken console. Fuel leaked in slow rivulets.

And then—silence, save for the faint creak of settling wreckage.

Gerald stood where he was, unmoving, dust clinging to his shirt, phone still in hand.

His expression hadn’t changed—but his eyes had.

They no longer looked bored.