Silver-Tongued Company Devil Ch.1 (Patreon)

[Tags: Fanfic, Snippet, Star Wars, Prequels/Legends, Waifu Catalog x Essence META, OC Essence, Charisma/Seduction/Persuasion-based MC, Goal-Oriented, Lawful-Neutral Alignment, Politics, Nobles, Movin’ n’ Schmoozin’, Eventual Smut, ‘The Company’ Lore]

[AN: This story starts off a bit front-heavy with exposition and stuff. I'm usually not a huge fan of that sort of thing but it felt necessary for this story. I'm doing something new with the Waifu Catalog and the 'Company fucks everyone' Lore a la Cherico, Leecifer, and Mizuki Stone. I won't claim to be an expert in it but I thought this was an interesting take. You don't usually hear much about the children of Contractors/Agents. So I thought it would be fun to do a story of one of those kids as they try and step out of their parents' shadows. At the same time, I've already done a couple of stories using the Catalog as a powerset so I thought it would be interesting to switch that up a bit as well. This is what I ended up with. Should be fun.]

IIIII

Control. Power. Conquest. Three things that had been (metaphorically) beaten into my head since birth.

Control was power. Power led to conquest. Conquest was the best way to secure something for yourself in this infinite, uncaring multiverse. Something to call your own. Stories unique to you and you alone. A legacy was written in conquest.

Considering who my mother was and the circumstances of my birth, it was a sound philosophy to live by. I was born into the Company. That seemingly infinite multiversal enterprise that dealt in good, evil, and everything in between.

My father was an Agent. Not a Contractor. The difference was slight but important. Contractors were the superstars of the Company. Agents were the ones who made everything happen behind the scenes.

The Company was most known for its Catalog. For how it handled ‘Personnel’ and entire worlds as if they were just another minuscule item on a long, long list. But what it should really be known for were its stories: the true currency of the multiverse.

Gold? Laughable. Paper money? Even more useless than it normally was without a fiat to back it. Souls? A dime a dozen. The exchange rate would have been terrible.

But stories? Every being in the multiverse needed entertainment. It was a common saying that boredom kills all immortals eventually. So the Company strove to be anything but boring.

So much of the Company only made sense when looked at through that lens. X-amount of waste and loss to ‘harvest’ a single world? How was that profitable? Oh, the Contractor responsible had a dedicated following of Eldritch, unknowable beings. Compared to what they could contribute, the resources from the world itself were negligible.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the multiversal ‘publishing rights’. Or the profit that could be collected when that story spun off into a whole new Worldline. And then that new Worldline did the same again. And again. Really, it was no wonder why the Company was as large as it was. Even their profit made profit.

The protagonists of those Company stories were usually Contractors. That’s where the difference between an Agent and a Contractor lies.

Also, in a tendency for Agents to be ‘internal hires’ and Contractors to be scouted or recruited externally in some way. But that wasn’t an absolute rule. The best way to tell the difference between an Agent and a Contractor was to ‘check the end credits’, so to speak.

Oh, sure, sometimes an Agent would get a chance to be the star of the show. But the vast majority of the time, they clocked in, did their jobs, and clocked out. They made things possible for the ‘real’ stars — collecting resources, preparing worlds for insertion, and doing ‘milk runs’. They didn’t have to be especially interesting on their own, just prep the stage so something interesting did happen.

My father was an Agent. A behind-the-scenes wage-slave. But in a Company where even the desk jockeys could be X-Tier world-ending threats? That wasn’t saying much. He certainly hadn’t survived long enough to see me grow up by being weak or bad at his job.

My mother, on the other hand, was a Waifu. That was the way things tended to go in the Company. Agent/Contractor and Waifu. Usually, Waifus (plural).

My father was something of an exception in that field, having only four Waifus total and not increasing that number if he could help it. He also tended to limit his children to one at a time, raised collectively by the whole harem.

So I didn’t grow up in one of the endless Contractor harems. I had a relatively small and loving — if eccentric, but whose family wasn’t? — family. That didn’t mean I grew up smelling of roses. With who my birth mother was, that was almost guaranteed.

Makima, of Chainsaw Man fame. The Control Devil. Conquest, the first of the Four Horsemen in her native world. And my birth mother.

Oh, hello, mommy issues. I hardly know you. Who knew having a Devil as a mother would be so complicated? Honestly, I was just thankful I didn’t end up with an Oedipus complex.

She wasn’t the only motherly figure in my life, but she certainly made an impact. Especially with the philosophy she’d impressed upon me and the need I felt to make her proudly acknowledge me and get her off my back at the same time.

I’d known my path in life from a very young age. Being born into the Company, it was somewhat decided for me already. I wasn’t Company property, per se, but I’d certainly have a Hell of a time finding work anywhere else.

Then, of course, mommy issues reared their head and made my choice even clearer. My father was content as an Agent. I was shooting for Contractor.

Some might say I was groomed into this. They’d be right. But I preferred to think about it as my mother preparing me for success. The word ‘grooming’ didn’t have much meaning in the Company anyway. On a scale of multiversal good and evil, it was just so… mundane.

‘Groomed’ or ‘prepared’, I was ready for my path in life. And satisfied with its direction. No, eager. Eager for my chance to take control of my fate. For the shot at power. For the opportunity to conquer my way to a legacy of my own.

So there I was. Graduation Day. One of many in the Company’s history. Standing on a stage at one of the Company’s poshest Finishing Schools, I’d waited for this moment my entire life.

This wasn’t the typical ‘Boot Camp/Meat-Grinder’ program that the Company’s external recruits were subjected to. No, I’ll freely admit to being privileged by my father’s position in the Company.

He wasn’t the type to skip out on giving his children opportunities. He didn’t coddle me and all of my parents made damn sure I wasn’t spoiled. But this was the reason he only had one child at a time. To ensure we got every advantage he could possibly give us.

Nepotism was one Hell of a drug. Fuck if I was going to spit on my father’s hard work though. No, I worked my ass off, in and outside this posh school for Nepo-babies, preparing myself for my one shot at success, at securing my legacy and the privileges that profit bought in the Company.

I stood out from my peers. Because my father was ‘merely’ an Agent. Not a ‘real’ Company employee like their Contractor parents. But also because most of them were idiots and brats. The types that needed nepotism to succeed. Because even big Contractor-Waifu harems had leftovers.

My graduating class had plenty of big names in it. The kids of powerful Waifus and powerful Contractors. But for every, Gremory or Schnee, there was a Zor-El or Pendragon. Then there was the fact that the Company temporarily capped our growth to Tier 4 until graduation to implement a base level of tension to every Contractor’s story.

Genetic potential meant next to nothing to a Company that could elevate Tier 1s to godhood with a negligible investment of resources. Power doesn’t necessarily equate to interest or the ability to hold an audience. What mattered was their personality and their ability to actually be a Main Character, not just act like it.

Half of them wouldn’t make it through their first insertions as Contractors. The other half would be demoted to cushy desk jobs even if they made it back alive. Because, as it turns out, Nepo-babies don’t make for good protagonists.

These posh Finishing Schools, despite the guaranteed Contractor slot upon graduation, were actually just death/cringe compilation farms for the Company. Because, apparently there was an audience for those. Enough of one that the Company felt fine wasting resources on the token Contractor slots.

And if a few actually interesting stories came out of a single graduating class? That was just extra profit someone could use to pad their budget or line their pockets.

As a ‘mere Agent’, my father was involved enough in the backend of the Company to know about the not-quite open secret of Finishing School. He sent me there anyway. Because even if its graduates were treated as jokes, it was still a good school. Just not usually taken seriously by the Nepo-babies.

It was certainly much safer (until after graduation) than the Company’s Boot Camp. That was to be expected though. Boot Camp was focused on survival. A short but effective trial by fire.

Finishing School was much longer — typically five years for the Nepo-babies, four if you actually focused. Thanks to that, it was able to delve into multiversal theory, the inner workings of the Company, power management/development, standard civilization-uplifting procedures, workable Waifu relationships/harem politics, and much more.

It was honestly a shame this kind of education was wasted on Nepo-babies. But that was just the way of the world, even on a multiversal level. Money, status, and favors talked. Idiots and spoiled brats failed upward. Until they suddenly didn’t.

I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad for them. Even standing on the same stage, waiting for our names to be called so we could be teleported to our Company Reps to get our assignments and build our Catalog builds. Even now, Lily Gremory and Penny Dallon couldn’t stop whispering and giggling to each other. Just like in four years of classes. I would miss Penny’s half-sister Madeline ‘Mads’ Dallon though. She was a sweetheart.

“Dick Jackson.”

Finally, they called my name. And as always, I twitched slightly. Damn, my father’s poor taste in humor. Deep breath. One foot in front of the other. Step. Step. Take the ceremonial Company Contract. Handshake. Smile and wave at the crowd. Wink at my birth mother’s unspoken question.

Yes, Mother. I have a plan. I won’t end up like the majority of this graduating class. I had no intention of throwing away the chance you’ve given me. Or the training. Or your countless intense studying and scheming sessions. What is it? You’ll just have to wait and see. Don’t give me that knowing look!

And yes, that entire exchange happened with just a raised eyebrow and a wink. Control Devil. Son of the Control Devil. Even artificially limited as I was by Finishing School and its Contract, my mother and I were more than capable of communicating at length nonverbally.

Considering all the social manipulation skills she’d crammed into my head from a very young age — my ‘specialization’, if you will —, I would have disappointed her if I wasn’t able to read her facial expressions to a tee.

Ugh… I shuddered involuntarily. Yeah, disappointing Mother was… not an option, to say the least. Which was why I had a plan. A plan that was about to be put into action. A plan that would make me stand out from my peers even more than I already did after graduating Salutatorian — second only to Tobi Tohsaka, someone with his own mommy issues to motivate him.

As the teleportation spell on the Ceremonial Contract activated, I flashed my mother one last confident grin. One that I’m sure told her I’d be back to boast for her approval, smug as a bug with my success. Damn, mommy issues…

Then I was somewhere else, sitting in an honestly middling chair in an honestly middling office with an honestly middling man sitting across from me.

“Dick Jackson?” He asked.

I nodded absently. Something about this man was off. Like he wasn’t quite comfortable with having a face to express himself with. His features were set in a constantly dead expression.

So… I’d been assigned to Class D? Or maybe Class C with a Company Rep that wasn’t used to the Human form. If it was the latter, I hoped I’d be able to skip the Class’ standard initiation process.

“Welcome to Class B,” The man continued in his dead voice. “You’ve been drafted on the standard Finishing School Contract. Your continued employment as a Contractor will be discussed after your first assignment.”

I blinked. Oh, that was slightly surprising. Perhaps ideal though. I’d been hoping for Class D primarily, with Class B as my secondary. The Fae brought problems with them that the Undead were simply too apathetic to care about.

I could work with either though. Maybe even better with the Fae. My mother had certainly taught me a thing or two about contracts, loopholes, and Control.

“The world you have been assigned is Star Wars, the Prequel Era to be specific. Your job is to prevent the Jedi Order from falling. Failing that, you are to make inroads and connections with the Empire. Either will count as a success, though you will be docked points for the latter,” The Rep explained. He didn’t even sound bored. Just… dead.

“The universe starts at Rating Four. The Prequel Era Condition brings it up to a Rating of Five. You have 225 points to work with and the standard Finishing School Contract grants you access to the Premium Catalog. How do you wish to proceed?”

I took a deep breath. Right, this was it. Plan Leave a Profitable Legacy: go, “May I see the Catalog?”

The man complied without so much as a nod or twitch of his face. I was pretty sure he wasn’t even breathing. He handed me a tablet. One that would obviously display the Catalog so I could make my choices.

I didn’t even turn it on, “I’d like to sell this back to you.”

The first expression I’d seen from the man’s face was a slow blink of surprise, “I’m… sorry…?”

I didn’t flinch or waver, only pressing forward, “The Catalog is mine, correct? Or at least, access to it. That much is granted to me by the Finishing School Contract. Which has been signed since I enrolled. So I’d like to sell my Catalog access — current and future — back to the Company for equivalent compensation.”

In an instant, the man’s expression changed from dead as a corpse to foaming at the mouth with rage, “Are you stupid?! You can’t fucking do that, you jumped-up little shit! I will flay the skin from your bones! I will braid your intestines into a rope to hang you with! I will-…”

I still didn’t flinch. I didn’t move an inch. Calmly waiting for the mad Fae to stop ranting and raving. Someone else stopped him before he got the chance.

“Silence,” An icy voice cut through the Rep’s diatribe. It didn’t sound dead — expressive and almost amused in a concealed, masked way. But it was completely cold. It could have chilled the blood in someone’s veins.

The Fae’s raving rambles ceased in an instant. A glacier pressed down upon the room. His expression was still wrong though. Almost aroused instead of rightfully afraid. Or maybe it was accurate. You never knew with the Fae.

Reality seemed to gracefully kneel and part for the woman who had spoken. She strode into view, sparkling of ice and snow. With pale hair, pale skin, and an icy blue dress that flowed and shimmered, the Queen of Winter was instantly recognizable. Especially to someone who just spent four years studying to be a Contractor and at least somewhat hoped to get into Class B

Not the Disney Queen of Winter. But the one who held back Outsiders at the gate into her reality. Queen Mab of the Winter Court was beautiful and impassively impressive as if a statue carved from ice.

“Fools always speak the loudest. To have one representing my department is… unpleasant. You will stay silent or I will have you leave entirely Little One,” Mab said, her voice cold and imposing.

“B-But Queen Mab!” The man stuttered. “Surely, this goes against the contract! Surely, there’s something in the rules to stop this! He’s trying to cheat the Company!”

He said ‘cheat the Company’ but it was clear he meant ‘cheat me’. He was taking that offense personally and for a Fae, trying to cheat them was practically asking for a death wish.

“If you do not know already, you obviously have not done your proper due diligence. You’re a Company Representative. One of Class B, no less. You should know the contracts you are negotiating down to the word. If you don’t, how can you be trusted to do your job?”

The Rep flinched with a sharp whole-body movement that looked like it hurt. Like his soul had just been jerked about within his body.

Still, he tried for an excuse, “H-Haha, s-such obscure details can’t be so important to my duties. I-I’ve never run into a situation like this in all my years of work!”

Mab stared him down, her blue eyes as hard and cutting as broken ice, “You not merely a fool, but a liar as well if you think you can pass that excrement off to me. The Renegotiation Clause is not an ‘obscure detail’. As of this moment, consider your time working for me over and done with. You are excused, Little-… No… Ted.”

The (now former) Rep twitched. Quickly, he began to melt and collapse on the spot. I made sure nothing showed on my face as the Fae surrendered to its True Name, shrinking into multiple motes of light. The motes swirled and twinkled angrily but Mab wasn’t moved. Eventually, they disappeared completely.

Mab came around the desk, unbothered by the dramatic firing process. As she did, the middling office was altered, shifting into a cold but cozy chamber of ice. She didn’t apologize for the inconvenience, barely acknowledging me until she’d made herself comfortable. And even then, it was only with the slightest of nods.

“That royalty would deign to negotiate with me, I am honored, Queen Mab,” I greeted formally.

“Yes,” Mab drawled in a telling deadpan. “Queen of Middle Management.”

“May your realm be forever prosperous,” My mother-enforced manners didn’t waver at the obvious sarcasm. “Considering how we meet, I will have to ask to do away with formality. Hopefully, this way we can negotiate on a more equal footing.”

“Not many actually ask to do away with formality,” Mab commented, the barest hint of amusement peeking through her icy eyes. “They are either insultingly polite — because ‘that is how to properly treat the Fae’ — or insultingly casual — thinking the way my Winter Knight once treated me was my preferred norm. Very well, we may do away with formality. But never manners.”

“Of course,” I nodded. “Now, I’m sure nothing in your domain escapes your ears but I’ll reiterate just to be perfectly clear and candid. I wish to renegotiate the terms of the standard Finishing School Contract. To be more specific, I wish to sell my current access to the Catalog back to the Company in exchange for another form of compensation.”

“And what do you hope to accomplish with this maneuver?” A bit more amusement leaked through Mab’s mask. I took it as a good sign.

“I still want to pursue my employment as a Contractor,” I reassured. “I won’t turn down my first assignment. I just wish to try something different. A gamble, if you will. My hope is to make my… story… unique from the usual Catalog-based beginnings of so many other Contractors.”

“I see,” Mab’s expression was impassive. “And what of Captures? Future payment? Purchased Companions?”

“Perhaps it would be better to address those after you hear what compensation I hope to gain,” I dodged the question slightly.

“And that would be?”

“An Essence.”

I tried not to show it but I couldn’t help but tense internally. This was the start of the ‘make it or break it’ portion of my plan. Silence followed my declaration. Mab stared at me intensely. Examining me, gauging my intentions, and calculating the risks and benefits of going along with my little plan.

Eventually, she said, “You realize you will not get any of the more potent, ‘overpowered’ Essences, correct? Even the Premium Catalog is not worth that much. I will not break the rules of common sense for your little ‘gamble’.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” I assured. “Instead, I ask for something comparatively simple. A single Essence. One in line with the Company’s methods and my own strengths. The Essence of the Silver-Tongued Devil.”

I couldn’t ask for too much. But not too little either. I needed to strike the perfect middle ground. Equal parts potent and challenging, fresh and familiar.

Direct personal power was out immediately. Not only was it easy enough to get via the normal Catalog, but it was cliche. Played out. Boring. How many Dragons were there? How many Ascended Transhumans? How many Template-stacked monsters?

But the Essence of the Silver-Tongued Devil wasn’t the normal flavor of power. As the name suggested, it was seduction. Persuasion. Pure charisma and social manipulation. It wouldn’t allow me to crack worlds or shatter stars, just a method to convince anyone of anything if I tried hard enough.

It was basically a terribly overpowered Lure. It was the interesting parts of empty-handed Captures. The seduction. The chase. It was a challenge, one unique enough to draw an audience. I hoped, at least. That was the gamble I was trying to get Mab — and by extension, the Company — to risk.

The corner of Mab’s lips twitched, “You’re an interesting prospect, Dick Jackson. Makima’s boy, correct?”

I hesitated in surprise, “… Yes?”

The tiniest of smirks crossed her face, “Fitting. Your little ‘gamble’ needs work, however. A way for the Company to collect on your Captures, at the very least. You’re still likely to need Defenses, as well.”

I nodded, expecting as much, “Empty Hand will work for the Captures. It furthers the illusion of ‘the chase’ and even a standard stamp would be too easy with the Essence. As for Defenses… I suppose I could take out a Loan and buy Defenses first. Then exchange the rest of my points and my Catalog access for the Essence.”

“Not necessary,” Mab didn’t wave but her dismissal was clear. “Your mother is a delightfully devious woman. One who is more than willing to call upon Favors Owed for her progeny.”

Dammit, Maki-Mom. I sighed, “Yes… Yes, she is.”

“Is that all? The full extent of your ‘gamble’?” Mab asked.

“It is…” I confirmed slowly.

She took pleasure in keeping me on the edge for a few moments, neither confirming nor denying my offer. Just enjoying my tightly concealed, nervous anticipation.

Eventually, though, she spoke, “… I agree to your terms, Dick Jackson. Your idea is innovative and your gamble is accepted. Your story shall have my support. But in return, I ask a Favor of you.”

I nodded acceptingly. With the Fae, this sort of thing was impossible to escape, “If it’s within my power, you shall have your Favor.”

“It will be. Eventually. I have a feeling you will rise quickly through the Company. When the time comes, you will repay the chance I have given you.”

Mab’s tone wasn’t menacing but there was a hint of cold danger in her voice. Whether that danger was for me or for someone else, I couldn’t know. But now, I was guaranteed to find out. Eventually.

Again, that was the danger of working with the Fae. Favors upon Favors. Courts and Politics. Friends who stab you in the back. Enemies who smile in your face. Even then, the enemies were often the more trustworthy ones. But with a mother like Makima? This might just be where I belong.

“One more thing,” Mab hummed nonchalantly. “Your assigned task in this insertion. It has not changed with your renegotiated abilities. You will keep the Jedi Order from falling. If that fails, you will make inroads, connections, and predatory contracts with the Empire that serve the Company. That is what the Company expects from you. Anything less will be counted as a failure.”

I nodded. That didn’t surprise me. And even without my Catalog Access, that should be possible. Just the meta knowledge I would bring to the situation should be enough to shake up Palpatine’s plans with enough preparation time. To say nothing about what I could do with the Essence of the Silver-Tongued Devil on my side.

“I, however, wish for a little confirmation on my investment. Think of it as… compulsory extra credit,” Mab continued impassively. “You will be properly compensated, of course. I will see about issuing my personal task as a Mission with appropriate rewards. If you fail it, you will merely Owe me another Favor for my support.”

“What do you want me to do…?” I asked hesitantly.

A small, almost cruel smirk pulled at her lips, “Capture the Force itself.”

Oh… Oh, fuck. That’ll certainly make for an interesting story, at the very least…