Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 531: Resistance V1 (Part 3)

The leg didn’t just fail.

It practically gave up.

What little structural integrity remained along its lower mass buckled under the accumulated damage, fibers tearing loose in a staggered collapse rather than a clean break.

The limb folded inward on itself and slammed into the ruined street below—BOOOOM~—sending a rolling shock through the town that cracked pavement, kicked debris skyward, and knocked several nearby buildings the rest of the way down.

As the sprout lurched.

Its massive upper body tilted, weight shifting unevenly as the remaining legs strained to compensate. For a brief, violent moment, it looked like it might actually fall.

That sound—the leg hitting—cut through everything.

Pyro snapped his head down mid-burn, flames sputtering as his focus broke. Starboy did the same, hovering higher than he’d been moments before, eyes wide as he tracked the damage below.

They saw it.

Don, half-buried in churned asphalt and broken concrete, already moving again.

Hounds swarmed him from every direction, malformed bodies scrambling over one another as they rushed the crater his impact had left behind.

Don didn’t slow. He didn’t even turn to acknowledge them. He launched forward through the pack, shoulder-checking one hard enough to shatter its ribcage, planting a foot on another’s spine to spring upward.

He went straight for the next leg.

The sprout reacted instantly.

Lower vines tore free from the structure and whipped downward in a violent curtain, striking without pattern or restraint.

They crushed through the hounds just as readily as they tore up street and building alike—wet impacts and snapping bone filling the air as bodies were pulped beneath the blows.

Don smiled.

It was quick. Barely there. Dirt and blood streaked across his face, sweat running into his eyes as his teeth showed in something that wasn’t joy and wasn’t fear either.

He then jumped.

Hard.

The leap took him straight through the falling chaos, his body clearing the first wave of vines by meters as they smashed together beneath him—BOOM BOOM BOOM~—flattening dozens of hounds in a single indiscriminate sweep.

The shockwave from the impacts caught the survivors and flung them outward, bodies slamming into debris or sailing helplessly before gravity reclaimed them.

That was the blow.

Not the kill.

But enough. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

High above, Pyro sucked in a breath. "Holy—"

Pyro didn’t finish whatever he’d been about to say. He didn’t need to. The angle had changed.

With the sprout tilting, the upper mass no longer aligned cleanly. Vines meant to intercept them swung wide instead, smashing into the main structure itself—CRRRAAASH~—shearing loose thick chunks of fibrous matter that spun away and crashed down through the town like artillery.

"Now!" Don yelled.

His voice cut through the noise, raw but clear. He was still airborne, twisting to keep his balance as gravity came down at him. He looked up at them, eyes locked.

"Once you reach the top—Pyro, burn the tip! Starboy, keep him—"

His ears twitched.

The warning came too late.

A vine surged up from below, faster than the others, its mass coiling and uncoiling in a brutal snap. Don didn’t have the space to dodge. He adjusted instead—turning midair, bringing his arms in, bracing every muscle he had.

The vine filled his vision.

It hit like a piledriver—and sent him hurtling back toward the ground.

He struck hard.

The impact punched a fresh crater into the street, debris blasting outward as Don bounced once and slid to a stop.

The air tore from his lungs in a violent rush, pain flashing white behind his eyes as what remained of his upper attire shredded completely—fabric tearing free and scattering across the rubble.

Only fragments remained: torn sleeves clinging to his arms, his gloves intact, headgear still in place. Below the waist, his pants held—ripped and worn thin in places, boots scarred deep, soles ground down almost smooth.

Don didn’t move.

Not yet.

His ears caught it first.

Scraping. Many claws. Closing fast.

Above him, the vine rose again, lifting high and drawing back with force. This one wasn’t lashing blindly.

It was lining up.

Don forced air back into his lungs and rolled his head to the side, vision swimming. The crater walls trembled as hounds poured in from every opening, bodies colliding as they rushed him.

The vine paused at its apex.

The system flashed.

1:10

1:09

"...shit," Don breathed.

Battlefield scan would finish soon. Too soon. It felt like time dragged where help should’ve been and sprinted where it mattered.

The sprout leaned harder now, weight shifting as if it had finally decided what it wanted—to crush them outright.

Don knew he could hold.

Beastshift, brute force, everything he had left—it would be enough to delay.

Barely.

As the second tick vanished, he looked past the poised vine and up instead.

Pyro and Starboy were already at the top.

They followed his call—Pyro’s flames pouring over the slick surface of the sprout’s tip, burning slow and shallow, the material resisting more than it should have.

Starboy hovered close, arms wide, intercepting every vine that snapped upward toward Pyro, blasting them aside before they could land cleanly.

It wasn’t enough.

The damaged leg below had begun to mend—fibers crawling back into place, structure stabilizing faster than Pyro’s fire could chew through the tip.

Don saw it.

A weak point. No doubt.

Just not enough force.

The vine above him started coming down, mass accelerating, shadow swallowing the crater as it came.

Don’s jaw set.

And in that shrinking slice of time—an idea sparked.

Don pushed himself up with a low, broken grunt.

It wasn’t clean. One knee dragged. His left arm shook as he planted it, fingers digging into loose stone and pulverized asphalt. He didn’t leap. Didn’t brace. Didn’t even look up at first.

The vine was already coming down.

It tore through the air in a brutal arc, mass compressing as it fell, shadow swallowing the crater whole. The sound alone made nearby debris jump and roll toward the impact point.

The hounds noticed.

They didn’t rush him.

They slowed instead—some stopping outright, others skirting the edge of the crater, malformed heads tilting as they tracked the descending limb.

A few even backed away, claws scraping as they gave the vine room. Jaws hung open. Thick strings of saliva stretched and snapped as they watched.

Waiting.

Don staggered forward a step.

Another.

His posture sagged just enough to sell it. Shoulders low. Breath ragged. He looked like he was done.