Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 508: Path Chosen (Part 10)

The walk took longer than it looked.

The path wound through cleared lanes cut into the forest, temporary lights strung between trees, their glow muted beneath thick branches overhead.

The ground was packed dirt and crushed leaves, marked by tire tracks and boot prints layered over one another. No one walked shoulder to shoulder. Spacing was precise—two, sometimes three meters apart—enough room to move, enough room to react.

Don noticed the shift immediately.

So did everyone else.

No one spoke.

Not because they didn't want to—but because too many of those present could hear too much. Superhuman hearing, enhanced perception, passive sensory abilities. A careless whisper could travel farther than intended. So instead, they watched.

Eyes moved. Heads turned in small increments. Postures were read and catalogued.

Everyone here was strong. That much was obvious.

Don caught looks aimed at him and Charles more than once. Some flicked away the instant he met them. Others lingered just long enough to weigh something before moving on.

A few didn't look away at all. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

Frostbite walked several paces off to the side, arms folded, gaze fixed forward until it wasn't. When her eyes slid to Don, they stayed there—cold, measuring. He didn't respond. Didn't need to.

The forest thickened again as they moved deeper, branches arching overhead like a low ceiling. The hum of the larger camp faded behind them, replaced by quieter sounds—boots on dirt, gear shifting, radios clicking softly—chk~.

Then the trees opened.

A second camp sat tucked beneath the canopy, smaller and tighter, easy to miss from the air. Military personnel stood watch along the perimeter, rifles angled low but ready.

Scientists worked fast at compact stations, loading sealed cases and running last checks on instruments that hummed and beeped in steady patterns. Another cluster of tables held FBI equipment—screens, receivers, cables feeding into portable hubs.

At the center of it all was the hole.

It wasn't clean.

The ground had collapsed inward, leaving a wide opening reinforced with metal braces. Thick, slimy vines crept over the edges, clinging to dirt and steel alike, pulsing faintly as if alive.

A faint wet smell hung in the air.

Don felt it immediately.

So did Charles.

Neither reacted outwardly.

They'd seen worse. Different shape. Same message.

A man stepped away from the FBI station and approached the assembled groups. He was older, lines cut deep into his face, hair graying at the temples.

His jacket bore FBI markings, reinforced at the shoulders and elbows, practical rather than ceremonial. His eyes were sharp, restless, taking in everything at once.

"Welcome," he said, voice carrying without strain. "Agent Jeffrey Holmes. We've been waiting on you."

He moved down the line, greeting the various operation leads with firm handshakes, eyes studying faces as he went. Counting. Assessing.

By the time everyone had arrived, the number settled just over seventy.

For Elite superhumans, it was substantial. Enough to flatten most threats.

Holmes didn't look reassured.

Elliot noticed. "Something wrong?"

Holmes shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "Just… surprised how young a lot of them are."

"They wouldn't be here if they weren't capable," Elliot replied without hesitation. "What's the situation?"

A few of the other group leaders glanced at Elliot, brows knitting, silent questions hanging between them. Who put you in charge?

Holmes didn't catch it. He was already walking closer to the edge of the hole, planting his boots wide and resting his hands on his hips.

"Well," he said, looking down into the dark, "as you already know, the initial team sent down there has gone dark."

He gestured with one hand. "We've attempted to deploy surveillance drones. None of them made it far. Destroyed before they could reach deeper levels."

A murmur rippled through the younger Elites.

"We requested assistance from the UPSDF and our own superhuman division," Holmes continued. "For one reason or another, there's no manpower to spare."

A hand went up.

Starboy.

He hadn't said a word until now.

"I get the manpower issue," he said, not waiting to be acknowledged, "but surely you've got androids strong enough to send down there without risking trainees."

It wasn't a bad question.

Even Don thought so.

Unknown enemy. Unknown environment. Sending trainees first made no sense on paper.

Some of the younger Elites shifted, nodding faintly. Others looked almost eager—eyes bright, posture leaning forward, like this was a chance to prove something.

A laugh broke out before Holmes could answer.

Low. Heavy.

It came from one of the largest figures present.

The man stood well over 213 centimeters, broad enough to make his tactical gear look stretched tight. His build was massive—thick arms, barrel chest, neck like a tree trunk. Short dark hair sat close to his scalp, beard trimmed rough, eyes a pale gray set deep beneath a heavy brow.

He shook his head once. "What's the matter?" he said, voice rumbling. "Getting cold feet, Starboy?"

He snorted. "These flashy media heroes are all the same. Probably only came here for the publicity it'll bring."

There was no venom in it. No sneer.

Just observation.

Starboy didn't hear it that way.

His face darkened. "Better than coming here like a fool who doesn't know he's about to be sacrificed."

"That's enough," Elliot cut in at once.

He turned toward Starboy. "If you don't like it, you're free to stay behind. The more time you waste complaining, the less likely it is we find survivors."

Starboy scoffed and crossed his arms. "Hmph."

Elliot frowned but didn't push further. Respect only went so far—and Starboy sat outside the range most people were willing to test.

Holmes stepped forward before the air could thicken any more.

"If you're ready to begin," he said, "we may descend."

He motioned to the opening. "I'll guide this group. My colleagues will take the others. Both camps will be tracking our movements, so rest assured."

He raised two fingers. "However—whatever happens down there. One: do not get separated. Two: if you do, move toward any designated location on your mini-maps. They form automatically when large groups gather. If you're lost or in trouble, head for one."

He looked around the circle. "Understood?"

Heads nodded.

"Clear."

"Understood."

Don said nothing. He inclined his head once, eyes already on the dark below.

With the briefing finished, movement finally followed.

Agent Holmes went first, swinging one leg over the edge of the hole and gripping the steel ladder bolted into the reinforced wall.

Elliot followed close behind him, boots ringing dully against metal as they descended—their forms swallowed gradually by the dark.

Don stepped up to the edge and looked down.

The drop wasn't sheer, but it was deep enough that the surface light died fast. Mounted flood lamps ringed the lower walls, casting a wide cone of pale light over the entrance chamber below.

He descended with the others not far behind.

The bottom opened into a broad circular space, reinforced with steel ribs driven into packed earth.

Moisture clung to the walls in streaks. Four tunnels branched outward from the chamber, evenly spaced, each mouth marked by a fixed light bolted into the stone.

Four guards stood watch—one at each tunnel—faces hidden behind visors, rifles held ready but angled down.

Elliot stepped off the ladder and rolled his shoulders once, scanning the chamber. "How far did the androids make it before they were destroyed?"

Holmes lifted his arm, bringing the mini digital map mounted into his sleeve to life. The screen flickered on with a soft chirp~.

An overhead layout appeared—entrance chamber clearly mapped, the four tunnels extending outward before dissolving into grid patterns. Deep within those grids, small dots blinked intermittently.

"Here," Holmes said, tapping several of the flickering points. "This is where the signals cut out."

He swiped the display.

The grid shifted, reshaping into a more defined layout—tunnels branching and looping much like the entrance area—but the edges of the paths glowed red, uneven and broken.

"This is only an estimate," Holmes continued. "We had a geomancer and a subterranean survey specialist analyze the area. Given the depth, the data's unreliable."

He lowered his arm slightly. "Another team attempted excavation at one of these points."

Elliot's brow furrowed.

"A large spore-type organism surfaced," Holmes said. "It ruptured. Released an organic acid compound. Casualties were… severe."

Elliot exhaled through his nose and stepped toward the second tunnel. "That explains the gear."

Don glanced down at his own suit.

The material was matte black, layered with segmented plating beneath—a high-grade composite polymer engineered to resist corrosive agents and extreme pressure. It flexed when he moved, sealed tight at the joints.

Elliot reached the tunnel mouth and turned as footsteps approached.

Don, Charles, Starboy, Frostbite, and two others closed the distance, their boots crunching softly against grit.

"This tunnel," Elliot said, gesturing behind him, "splits into three roughly one-point-six kilometers in."

He pointed as he spoke, mapping it out in the air. "We'll move in teams of three."

His gaze settled briefly on Don.

"Don. Starboy. Pyro. You're team one. Leftmost tunnel."

Pyro stepped forward half a pace.

He looked late twenties—slim but built, muscle defined without bulk. Around 193 centimeters tall. Blonde hair cut short, beard stubble lining his jaw. A shark tooth necklace hung against his chest plate, swaying slightly as he moved. His brown eyes were alert, posture loose but ready.

Elliot turned. "Silverwing. Frostbite. Gigawatt. Team two. Rightmost tunnel."

Gigawatt gave a short nod.

He was in his thirties, around 180 centimeters, broad through the torso—soft at the edges but dense underneath. A thick moustache sat above his upper lip, no beard to match. His curly white hair stood stiff, strands twitching faintly as thin arcs of electricity danced between them—krk~.

"Agent Holmes and I will take the middle tunnel," Elliot continued. "Same route the missing team used."

He paused, letting the weight of it land.

"If anything goes wrong," he said, "or you encounter something you can't handle—retreat and report. If you can't…" He glanced at the walls, then back at them. "Record whatever message you can. It'll be retrieved later."

No one asked what later meant.

They stepped closer to one another without being told, groups forming naturally.

Elliot nodded once, then added, "We'll go first. Team one follows once we confirm arrival at the junction. Team two moves after team one confirms."

He looked directly at Don. "You're in charge of team one."

Starboy's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Elliot shifted his gaze. "Gigawatt. You're leading team two."

"Got it," Gigawatt said, electricity popping faintly along his hairline.

Elliot turned back to Holmes. "Ready?"

Holmes adjusted his grip on his rifle and nodded. "Let's go."

They stepped into the center tunnel, lights swallowing their backs as they moved deeper—footsteps fading until only the hum of the lamps and the distant drip of moisture remained.

Don watched them go.

Then he turned toward the left tunnel.

"Alright," he said quietly. "We're up next."