Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 385: Uncovering The Truth (Part 10)

The ceiling kept falling.

Not in full collapse, but in chunks—varying sizes of stone and boulder raining down like punishment.

Some hit hard, scattering debris in thick clouds of dust. Others cracked into pieces midair, bouncing once, twice, then rolling into stillness with the weight of a dropped sentence.

**KRMMM—KRKK—WHUMPH**

Agent Hathaway lay prone, the boulder still pinning what was left of his foot. Pain rolled through him in violent pulses.

Sweat mixed with grime across his brow. Every breath hitched in his chest like it had to fight its way out.

This was it. This was where it ended.

Then—**CRK—SPLRT**

Don smashed through another lunging creature without slowing, its skull crumpling beneath his punch like wet plasterboard. He turned, eyes immediately scanning the falling debris, and sprinted back toward Hathaway.

At the same time, Charles dove.

His wings cut through the dust as he descended fast, arcing sharply midair.

He didn't aim for the creatures.

He aimed for the rocks.

His wings swept wide—SHKSHKSHK—and as he flew through the descending chunks, he cleaved through them with pinpoint angles.

The mid-sized ones split cleanly, clattering harmlessly to the sides. Smaller ones turned to shrapnel and fell like gravel. But the largest—too wide, too fast—passed through untouched, just out of range of his reach.

Charles banked upward again as Don reached Hathaway, skidding slightly in the dirt before dropping to one knee.

He grabbed the boulder.

Lifted.

Muscles strained. Dust coated his outfit like ash.

**CRRRK—GRND—**

He heaved it off.

Hathaway screamed again, not from the lift—but what came after.

His foot.

Or what used to be one.

The crushed boot had split, torn where the weight had forced it flat. What remained inside was mangled, misshapen. Skin flayed back in parts, bone visible beneath mashed tissue. Blood had soaked through the fabric into the dirt. One toe hung off by a thread of something too red to name.

Don grimaced, dragging Hathaway back from the open floor toward one of the walls—a sloped curve in the cavern where at least the boulders wouldn't fall directly overhead.

"Look out!!" Hathaway yelled suddenly, pointing.

Don turned just in time to see another creature barreling toward them.

He tensed.

But before he could act—

**FWMP—SHLKT**

Charles came down again from behind the beast, wings angled low. He zipped past in a blur of silver, his feathers catching the moonlight as they sliced through the spine of the creature like it was made of rope.

It collapsed, twitching once.

Another behind it turned toward the noise.

Saw Charles's wings.

And then it lost its head.

Charles banked back upward—WHMP—before pausing midair and turning. His wings flared once.

Then—**THUNK—THUNK—THUNK**

Feathers fired like darts.

Each one pierced clean through the skulls of four charging creatures from the left side of the cavern. Only three missed their mark, clattering into the wall behind.

Don used the moment.

He crouched beside Hathaway, eyes narrowing on the mangled leg. No time. No options.

Charles landed nearby, folding his wings halfway as he stepped close and reached across his back. A faint click as one of his metallic feathers came loose.

He held it out.

"It needs to be cut off and tied. You'll bleed out if it isn't."

Don looked from the feather to the wound, then back.

Charles was right.

Hathaway, breathing hard but not hysterical, nodded once through gritted teeth. He reached up, took the feather in his shaking hand.

"Give me that," he said quickly. "I'll handle it. You two—make sure that freak doesn't end us all."

Charles didn't argue.

He turned, wings snapping open again.

"To the center," he called to Don, lifting upward. "Let's try to get close."

Don stood, fists already tightening.

As he moved forward, dodging another minor tremor in the ground, he glanced at Charles's wings.

What were they made of?

He didn't ask. Just filed it away for later.

"Got it," he muttered—and charged.

Behind them, Agent Hathaway tore off his helmet, tossing it aside. His fingers shook as he pulled a small pen-sized injector from his belt, pressed it into his thigh.

**Sssht—click**

A stimulant. Fast-acting. Temporary pain duller.

He pulled a strip of cloth from his sleeve with his teeth, started tying it tight around the leg. Above the crushed foot.

"Shit…" he growled through clenched teeth, preparing for the cut.

Father John's voice continued in the background, warped and fevered.

"Why do you resist?! Submit! Submit yourselves!"

Another tremor rolled through the chamber.

And the battle resumed.

The plan was simple: close the gap and put him down.

Don and Charles moved like opposing storms—one grounded, brutal, and unrelenting; the other a flash of metal and motion in the air.

Every creature that stood in their path didn't last long.

Less than 100 meters now.

Father John felt it. The air around Don shimmered faintly with every punch, a pressure that grew more visible with each swing.

His fists left trails of heat in the air, the space around them growing heavier—not from any supernatural force, but from sheer momentum.

He hadn't released any of the stored kinetic energy yet.

Didn't need to.

Every blocked swipe, every countered lunge, every crushed rib or shattered spine added to the growing reservoir in his fists.

The creatures could sense it.

Just before impact, they would freeze—if only for a split second—as their instincts caught up to what their eyes couldn't. The heat. The pull of pressure. Then the impact—WHMP—CRACK—THNK—and they were pulp.

Charles remained above, sweeping like a hawk. His movements had become almost rhythmic—dive, slice, ascend, repeat. Wings flared to full span mid-turn. Creatures reached up to grab him only to lose arms or heads. The precision was unmatched.

They were getting closer. Too close.

Father John's expression didn't break into panic, but the signs were there. Subtle. His smile stayed, but the twitch at the edge of his eye gave it away.

His fingers moved like he was wringing an invisible cloth. His gaze flicked—Don, Charles, Don, Charles—calculating, jittering.

Then he snapped. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

His voice turned on the creatures with wild fury.

"You damned useless things—kill them! Kill them!"

They surged again, even more frantic this time, as if his desperation was contagious. But it didn't change much.

Don kept pressing forward, movements tight and efficient. His body radiated pressure now. That strike—the strike—was coming.

Father John saw it too.

"No! No!" he shrieked, voice raw. "I won't be killed by you meat sacks! I will serve Mother's will! Even if it means crushing you completely!"

He raised both hands.

The boulder beside him rumbled.

Then—

**BOOM**

It detonated outward—not in pieces, but in force. A sudden, focused burst that hurled rock like cannon fire across half the cavern.

Don had just enough time to throw his arms over his face—THUD—SKRRK—before he was thrown back, skidding across the ground. Dust engulfed him. A few rocks pattered off his legs. One cracked against his ribs.

Charles turned too late. A chunk of stone the size of a torso clipped his wing mid-air—THNK—and sent him spiraling down, crashing to the ground with a pained grunt.

Agent Hathaway, still near the wall, barely had time to brace. He covered his head, already bloody from smaller hits, and let the rubble rain down.

Smaller rocks hit with force. One cut across his shoulder. Another split his lip. His vision blurred. For a moment, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears and the low, distant rumble.

But it wasn't over.

Not yet.

A deep, groan followed from above.

Don looked up.

Cracks webbed across the ceiling.

Then—

**KRKRKRK—THRRRRMMMMMBLL**

The entire upper half of the cavern began to give.

A ceiling's worth of death.

And it was coming down fast.