Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 534: Resistance V1 (Part 6)

For a split second, Don thought it was Silverwing.

The wings were wrong for that conclusion—too large, too rigid—but his brain reached for the familiar anyway, desperate for something that made sense.

That illusion died the moment the man turned his head just enough for Don to catch the face in full.

And before he could finish registering it, something else pulled his attention away.

Across the sprout’s remaining vines, cuts appeared.

Not impacts. Not explosions.

Lines.

They formed all at once—thin at first, then spreading as if the structure itself had decided to fail. The vines reacted late, coiling and wrenching in uneven motions, mass shifting in a panicked attempt to pull back.

It only made it worse.

The movement widened the tears. Fibrous layers split apart under their own weight, the internal cords stretching until they snapped. One by one, then in clusters, the vines began to fall.

WHUMM—!

CRRRAASH~

Each section hit the ground with crushing force, stone pulverizing beneath them. The shockwaves sent hounds scattering in blind panic.

Some fled outright. Others froze, heads craning upward—not toward the wreckage, but toward the figure hovering above the ruined sprout.

What remained was a butchered crown.

Every vine was left at a different length, all of them severed well past halfway, their ends torn open and leaking as they twitched uselessly against the rubble.

Don didn’t need more time.

He knew exactly who that was.

He’d only seen him in recordings— footage, distant angles, moments cut short by censors or chaos—but there was no doubt now.

The Silver Guardian.

Charles’s father.

Starboy shifted nearby, pain still etched across his face, but the panic had drained from his expression. He dragged himself farther from the impact zone as another severed vine crashed down nearby, landing just close enough to kick debris across his boots.

He landed awkwardly, one knee buckling, but he stayed upright. His gaze never left the man above.

The Silver Guardian wasn’t looking at them anymore.

He scanned the battlefield instead—head turning in slow, measured arcs. His eyes paused on each sprout still standing, brows drawing together as if assessing damage rather than threat.

Then he looked back at Don and Starboy.

He gave a single nod.

And vanished.

The air tore apart as he accelerated, a silver blur ripping across what remained of the town. The sound chased him a second later as he dipped low, skimming the ground before climbing toward the next sprout on the far side of the ruins.

Vines lashed out at him.

He didn’t react.

He didn’t need to.

Any vine that crossed his path came apart before contact—split open along invisible paths, sections peeling away mid-swing as if they’d struck something solid at impossible speed.

He banked hard near the base, turned upward in a tight spiral, wings flaring once as he spun and shot straight up along the sprout’s length in a flash of silver.

A second passed.

Then the entire structure split.

Not jagged. Not uneven.

Nearly perfect.

The sprout collapsed inward as the two halves separated, its mass giving way under gravity. When it hit, the rupture spilled everything it had been hiding.

Smaller vines tumbled out in tangled heaps. Clusters of spine-worm growth scattered across the ground, writhing briefly before going still. Chunks of flesh followed—human organs fused together, torn free and flung outward.

Bodies fell too.

Some hit the ground intact.

Others didn’t make it whole.

Don forced himself fully upright, boots grinding against broken stone.

Starboy straightened beside him, one hand pressed tight against his ribs. He sucked in a breath and asked, "Where’s Pyro?"

Before Don could answer—

Shuffling sounded from above.

Not the scrape of a hound.

Don and Starboy both turned as Pyro came into view at the rim of the crater, half leaning on a slab of debris. His hair was dusted white with concrete powder. One arm hung loose at his side, not quite useless—but close.

His breathing came in rough pulls.

He grinned anyway.

"Yo..." he said, voice hoarse. "It’s the—huff—the Silver Guardian."

He lifted his good hand and gave a shaky thumbs-up. "We’re safe, dudes."

The gesture lingered for a second—then Pyro slouched, sliding down the debris until he hit the ground and leaned back with a long exhale.

"Man," he muttered, smiling despite it all. "I’m beat."

Don and Starboy watched him for a moment.

Then both looked away.

Starboy clicked his tongue, irritation bleeding through the exhaustion. "Your dumb choice to stay nearly got us killed."

Don didn’t look at him. "Never asked you to follow me."

Starboy scoffed. "Yeah. Whatever." He shifted his stance carefully. "I’ll make sure there’s no next time."

Neither of them said anything after that.

Above them, the sound of air being ripped apart kept echoing as the Silver Guardian continued his work elsewhere.

And for the first time since the ground had started breaking open, nothing moved toward them.

———

Several hours later, night had settled over what was left of Havenridge.

The sound of fighting was gone.

In its place came motion.

Portable lamps ringed the ruined town, flooding broken streets and collapsed structures with hard white light.

Their glow reflected off drifting dust and exposed rebar, turning the wreckage into a patchwork of shadow and glare.

Military tents of varying sizes had been erected in disciplined rows, fabric snapping lightly in the night wind as personnel moved between them at a constant pace.

Helicopters touched down at designated clear zones, their rotors kicking grit and loose debris across the ground before lifting again, replaced almost immediately by the next inbound craft.

Makeshift roads were being carved straight through rubble fields, soldiers in dark blue camouflage—so dark it passed for black—lifting slabs of concrete and twisted steel with ease, tossing them aside as if they weighed nothing.

It looked like the earlier camps.

Only tighter.

More guarded.

Orders carried cleanly through the air.

"Delta team, establish perimeter grid C-four! Keep those lamps hot!"

"Copy that—C-four secured!"

"Science unit three, you’re cleared to approach the severed growth. Do not touch internal mass without shielding!"

"Command, we’ve got anomalous readings spiking again—confirm if that’s residual or active!"

"Negative, that’s dormant. Keep moving!"

Science teams worked under reinforced canopies, examining the remains of the sprouts with careful distance.

One section had been sealed off entirely—thick walls of armored fabric enclosing a massive, cut portion of vine.

Armed guards stood watch while technicians in layered suits moved in and out, data streaming across wrist-mounted displays.

The whole operation bustled.

Contained. Controlled.