Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 328: A Night To Remember (Part 10)

The last of the attackers stood frozen, their blank, unblinking gazes locked onto Don. Their stance, rigid yet poised, suggested they were about to charge all at once, but before even a single step could be taken—

**FWOOOM!**

A sudden blur of silver and wind ripped through the air. Charles moved with a speed that barely registered to the eye, his wings expanding fully as he shot past the group like a fighter jet slicing through the sky.

For a brief moment, the metallic sheen of his feathers caught the dim light, a silver arc flashing across the ruined room.

Then—

**SPLURT!**

Blood erupted into the air in violent, crimson sprays.

Two heads, cleanly severed from their bodies, spun through the air before landing with soft, wet **thumps** onto the blood-slicked floor. The bodies that once belonged to them swayed for a fraction of a second, as if confused, before crumpling to the ground.

The attackers still standing let out strangled, gurgling sound, their hands clutching desperately at the deep, fatal wounds across their throat. Blood pulsed between their fingers before they too collapsed onto their knees, then face-first onto the floor, unmoving.

The room was eerily silent for a second.

Then—

"Aaaahhh!"

A shrill scream pierced the moment of stillness. One of the women near the VIP section shrieked as blood rained down in fine droplets, speckling her ruined expensive dress. Another gasped, covering her mouth, while the men who had been clutching makeshift weapons stood frozen, eyes blown wide with horror.

Charles came to a controlled stop a few feet ahead, his wings folding back in with effortless precision. The once-pristine silver feathers were now stained red, flecks of blood dripping off their edges. He turned slightly, glancing toward Don—not with regret, nor remorse, but with calculation, as if assessing how Don would react.

Don didn't give him the satisfaction of a response.

On the surface, he was unfazed, his expression remaining impassive as he watched the bodies settle into their final, motionless state. But inwardly, he was… surprised. Not at the brutality of the act—Don had killed before—but at the sheer skill with which Charles had executed it.

This wasn't a man reluctant to kill. It was a man trained to kill.

There was a difference between killing out of necessity and being this good at it. To execute a maneuver like that—precision, speed, and lethal efficiency combined into one seamless motion—it took practice. Experience.

The question wasn't whether Charles had done this before.

It was how many times.

Don exhaled through his nose, shelving that thought for later. He had more pressing matters to focus on.

Before he could say anything, two of the men from the VIP section rushed forward, expressions full of gratitude.

"Oh, thank you, Silverwing! Thank you!" One of them gasped, practically stumbling toward Charles, his voice shaking with a mix of relief and fear.

But not everyone was so grateful.

"You killed him!" A broken, anguished voice rang out.

One of the survivors—the man dressed in a now-bloodstained navy-blue suit—staggered forward, his face pale with grief. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he dropped to his knees beside one of the decapitated attackers, his hands trembling as he reached out to clutch the lifeless body.

"You killed my brother!"

The raw emotion in his voice made the air feel heavier. He wasn't screaming in rage. He wasn't charging forward in blind vengeance.

He was just… broken.

He hunched over the corpse, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed into the bloodied fabric.

No one spoke. Not the survivors. Not Don. Not even Charles.

For a long, heavy moment, there was only the sound of quiet, shattered grief.

Then, Charles moved.

He walked forward, his footsteps light. The man flinched as Charles approached, but didn't move from his spot, his hands still gripping the corpse of his brother.

Charles came to a stop beside him, looking down at the scene with an unreadable expression. Then, in a voice softer than before, he said, "That's no longer your brother."

The man didn't respond. Charles continued, his tone measured but firm. "Would you have preferred he suffer more? That I let him kill more innocent people before stopping him?"

The words cut deep.

The man's grip on his brother's clothing tightened, his teeth grinding together as he kept his head bowed. He didn't answer, but the way his shoulders trembled said enough.

He knew Charles was right.

But knowing didn't make it hurt any less.

Another silence followed, one even heavier than the last.

Then—

**Thud** **Thud** **Thud**

The sound of hurried footsteps. Don's head snapped toward the entrance in an instant, his senses flaring.

Charles noticed immediately and turned to him. "Do you hear more?"

Don nodded once, his muscles tensing. "A lot more."

Don's senses sharpened as the overwhelming rush of footsteps became clearer—dozens, maybe even over a hundred bodies swarming toward them like a tidal wave.

His eyes flicked toward Charles, his voice serious. "We need to take care of them on the stairs, or they'll swarm us."

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Without waiting for a response, Don moved.

He sprinted toward the entrance, his boots slamming against the blood-slicked floor. The moment he passed through the doorway and turned toward the staircase, he was met with a sight that made even him pause for a fraction of a second.

A mob of attackers, packed shoulder to shoulder, rushed up the wide stairwell in a chaotic frenzy. Their numbers were so dense they practically trampled over one another, bodies crashing together in their mad charge.

The glow of their corrupted weapons flickered among the mass of writhing limbs, the thorned vines wrapped around their makeshift bludgeons cutting into their own flesh with every erratic movement.

And the worst part?

They didn't care.

Some had chunks of flesh missing, their arms or legs barely functional, yet they still sprinted forward like puppets on frayed strings. Others had broken limbs, jagged bones tearing through pale skin, but they kept moving without hesitation.

A few even looked half-dead, their faces torn open from the reckless trampling of those behind them.

It was the church fire all over again. Mindless, self-destructive obedience. No hesitation. No concern for their own survival.

Don didn't have time to think about the implications. He clenched his fist.

And jumped.

Then—

**BOOM!**

He came down with force, slamming his fist into the ground with a thunderous impact. The sheer shockwave tore through the structure, sending deep cracks splintering outward in all directions. The floor beneath him caved inward like brittle glass, the supports giving way in an instant.

**CRACK!** **CRASH!**

The entire staircase collapsed in on itself, taking two full floors down with it.

The moment of destruction was chaotic. The nearest attackers didn't even have time to react before the ground beneath them vanished. Bodies tumbled through the air, flailing as they plummeted into the abyss of shattered concrete and mangled steel beams.

Some were crushed outright, their screams cut short as the collapsing debris buried them. Others were impaled, jagged metal rods skewering them mid-fall like insects pinned to a collector's board. The luckier ones simply broke apart on impact, their bodies turning limp as they smashed into the ruins below.

Chunks of the stairwell detached entirely, sending slabs of marble careening down like guillotine blades, slicing through flesh and bone as they crashed into the swarm of fallen attackers.

Even the ones who survived the fall weren't spared. They were crushed by the sheer weight of their own comrades, bodies piling over one another in a grotesque mountain of tangled limbs and broken bones.

Debris and dust filled the air, making it nearly impossible to see.

Charles, still above, narrowed his gaze at the destruction before him. He hadn't expected Don to wipe out an entire section of the building in a single move. But more than that, he noticed something—

The survivors were still climbing.

Even with broken spines, shattered ribs, missing limbs— some of the attackers still crawled over the wreckage, dragging themselves toward Don with disturbing persistence.

This just wasn't normal.

Charles didn't hesitate.

He shot forward, wings snapping open as he dove into the chaos.

The moment he reached the wreckage, he twisted his body mid-air, allowing the momentum of his descent to carry his leg through the throat of one attacker still clawing its way upward. The force sent the body flipping backward, crashing into the horde below.

Without missing a beat, Charles spread his wings again and hovered just above Don, dodging the debris that still rained down from above.

Meanwhile, Don had already pivoted for another attack.

**BOOM!**

He slammed his fist down again, this time even harder. The stored kinetic energy from the debris pelting him tripled the force, sending a new wave of destruction crashing downward.

The surviving attackers were sent flying back into the abyss of rubble, their bodies colliding against metal bars, broken railings, and collapsing support beams.

Charles took advantage of the falling bodies.

With a flick of his wrist, four silver feathers detached from his wings, spinning in mid-air before launching forward like bullets.

**FWIP!** **FWIP!** **FWIP!** **FWIP!**

Each feather found its mark, piercing the heads or chests of the falling attackers with surgical precision. Those hit mid-air simply went limp, dropping like ragdolls into the carnage below.

Others, still clinging to the wreckage, had no such luxury.

Charles dove into them like a predator, moving too fast for them to react. He grabbed one by the neck mid-air and twisted sharply, the crack of vertebrae snapping lost in the chaos. Before the body could even drop, he kicked it downward, sending it crashing into another climber below.

Another attacker lunged at him, swinging a jagged piece of metal—

Wrong move.

Charles dodged effortlessly, twisting his body sideways before raking his wing across the attacker's stomach.

A deep, clean slice opened up across their torso, and before they could react, Charles hooked his leg behind theirs and kicked them backward, sending them careening into the wreckage.

The method was brutal, but efficient.

Don didn't have time to be impressed.

He clenched his fist again—

And drove his knuckles straight into the last remaining foundation beneath them.

**BOOOOOOM!**

The final structural support gave way.

And with it, the entire stairwell collapsed.

Everything came crashing downward in a violent cascade, reducing what remained of the staircases into a crumbling pile of concrete, steel, and shattered bodies.

The impact was so strong that even the ground floor buckled under the weight, creating a massive crater where the lower stairwells once stood.

The dust cloud that followed was immense, rolling out in thick waves that blanketed everything in its path.

For a few seconds, there was only silence.

Then—

A gust of wind blew through the space.

Charles flapped his wings once, sending a controlled burst of air forward. The dust scattered instantly.

And there, standing atop the massive hill of broken bodies and debris, was Don.

Blood-stained dust coated his clothes, his expression unreadable. His stance was relaxed, yet tense, like a predator assessing its next move.

Charles hovered just slightly above, his wings still stained with red, his sharp gaze scanning the wreckage below.

And beneath them…

Hundreds of attackers stood in waiting.

Their eyes all turned toward Charles and Don, blank, unblinking, their bodies twitching with restless energy.