The Devil's Favourability System(Dark Bl)

The dim light of the city lights filtered through the curtains, casting a shadow on the prone body of Silas Grimshaw and his penthouse bedroom. A thick blanket was draped casually over his muscled torso, barely hiding the firm line of his chest as he slowly exhaled smoke. A cigarette dangled between his lips, its embers pulsating like a heartbeat in the darkness.

His amber eyes skimmed over the open laptop and scattered documents beside him. He didn't need to read them—he ruled his empire with instinct alone, making and breaking fortunes with a flick of his pen. Thick glasses perched low on his nose, framing a gaze that could strip a man down to his weakest thought.

His fingers drummed idly on the laptop, the air thick with smoke. Everything bent to his will. The world, his company, the people beneath him.

He sprawled across the massive bed, the dark silk sheets pooling around him like spilled ink. The space was indulgent, built mostly for pleasure, but right now, he was exhausted. With a careless flick, he tossed his laptop to the foot of the bed, exhaling a slow stream of smoke as he sank deeper into the plush surface.

Then, warmth. Two bodies pressed against him—smaller than him, needy. A woman with golden skin, her lips tracing his collarbone. A man, lean and eager, nuzzling into his neck. Their fingers ghosted over his skin, their breaths shallow, hungry.

Silas smirked, stretching like a king in his domain as the two bodies pressed against him, warm and eager. The dark silk sheets tangled around them, the lingering scent of sweat, smoke, and sex clinging to the air.

"Silas..." the woman murmured, her lips grazing his collarbone.

"You're amazing," the man whispered, voice thick with adoration.

Silas exhaled a slow breath, lazily amused. He tilted his head, his eyes flickering with mischief as he ran a hand through his tousled auburn hair.

"Yeah, yeah. That's what they all say," he mused, his smirk widening. "Not that I blame you—last night was spectacular. You guys really kept up. Almost impressive."

Silas's smirk deepened as he felt the two bodies press closer, their need palpable against his skin. It was almost laughable how predictable this was—how quickly they melted, how easily they clung to him like he was the best thing they'd ever touched. And, well, he was. He rolled his shoulders back lazily, stretching like a cat, the muscles in his arms flexing just enough to make them stare. His eyes glinted with teasing amusement as he glanced between them.

"God, I love this part," he mused, exhaling smoke from his cigarette before flicking the ash onto the tray beside him. "That moment when you both realize you've made the best decision of your lives by ending up in my bed."

The woman let out a soft, breathless laugh, but her fingers tightened against his chest, nails digging in slightly. The man, lying on Silas's other side, huffed but didn't move away—if anything, he seemed torn between glaring at her and clinging to Silas even harder.

"You're so—" the man started, but Silas cut him off, shifting just enough to pin them both with a cocky grin.

"I know, I know," he drawled, voice dripping with self-satisfaction. "Unfairly gorgeous. A walking sin. A literal menace to your sanity. I hear it all the time." He ran a hand through his hair, flashing them a look of pure arrogance. "But please, do go on. I love compliments."

The woman let out a groan, half exasperated, half turned on. "You're so infuriating."

"And yet, here you are," Silas said smoothly, tilting her chin up with two fingers before pressing a slow, teasing kiss to her lips. She shivered—actually shivered—and he smirked against her mouth before pulling back just enough to look at her. "Can't be that bad, huh?"

Before she could respond, the man made an impatient noise and shifted closer, his fingers gripping at Silas's side. "You really think you're the center of the universe, don't you?"

Silas turned his attention to him, exhaling a soft chuckle. "Oh, baby," he murmured, brushing his thumb along the man's lower lip. "I don't think—I know."

With that, he tugged the man forward, kissing him with a roughness that left no room for argument. The guy let out a soft gasp against his lips but immediately melted into it, hands gripping at Silas's shoulders like he was trying to ground himself.

By the time Silas pulled away, the man looked dazed, lips parted, breath shallow. The woman looked no better, eyes heavy-lidded with jealousy, as though she needed to remind Silas she was still there.

Silas sighed dramatically, running a lazy hand down his chest. "You two are ridiculous," he mused, shaking his head. "You do realize there's plenty of me to go around, right?"

The woman huffed, burying her face against his shoulder, while the man shot her a look like he was about to argue. Silas grinned, stretching his arms behind his head, basking in the attention.

"Last night was amazing, though," he admitted, smirking.

Their bodies answered before their words did—pressing closer, melting into him, eager for more.

Silas chuckled, his lips curling in amusement.

Yeah. He really did love this part.

The door creaked open, slicing through the hazy tension like a knife. Silas Grimshaw didn't need to look up—he already knew who it was.

"Dammit, what part of knock don't you understand?" he groaned, voice laced with dramatic irritation. His cigarette smoldered between his fingers as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke, lazily flicking his gaze toward the doorway.

The two bodies tangled beside him froze. The woman yanked the blanket up over her chest, her face flushing with embarrassment, while the man stiffened, lips pressing into a thin line as he turned his head away.

Silas, utterly unbothered, smirked as his gaze settled on the intruder. His assistant stood there, impassive as ever—shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable. Not a flicker of discomfort, not a stray glance at the sheets tangled around Silas's hips. But there was something. A barely-there shift in his jaw. A fleeting hesitation in the way his gaze swept over Silas's bare torso, muscles flexing Intentionally.

Silas almost admired his restraint.

With an exaggerated sigh, he tossed the cigarette into a tray and shrugged off the blanket.The low light carved sharp lines into his body, the smooth ripple of muscle shifting beneath his skin. He stood, unhurried, the silk sheets slipping away as he moved.

The lovers on the bed reacted instantly. The woman reached out, fingertips grazing his wrist as if trying to pull him back. The man, breath hitching, shifted closer as if he could reclaim Silas's warmth.

Silas chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "Oh, now you don't want to let me go?" His smirk widened as they hesitated, clearly caught between their frustration and the undeniable pull of him.

The assistant, however, remained still. Watching. Unflinching.

Silas took his time retrieving his robe from the chair, slipping it on with practiced ease. He let it hang open for a moment longer than necessary, teasing a glimpse of golden skin and sharp lines before finally tying it, the silk clinging just enough to hint at what lay beneath.

"How many times have I told you to knock?" he drawled, rolling his shoulders as if utterly unaffected by the moment. "One of these days, I'm hanging a damn bell on this door just to see if you actually acknowledge it."

His assistant inclined his head, composed as ever. "You wouldn't."

Silas grinned. "No, but it's a fun thought."

The lovers still hadn't moved, their hunger now replaced with something like regret. Silas let them squirm a moment longer before turning to them with an amused sigh.

"All right, you two can go now," he said with a dismissive wave. "Fun as this has been, I have more important things to do."

The woman huffed, muttering something under her breath as she yanked on her clothes. The man, however, lingered for half a second too long, gaze flicking between Silas and his assistant before scoffing. He shot Silas a glare, then flipped him off as he stood.

Silas only chuckled, smirk deepening. "Charming."

They stormed out, their frustration leaving a palpable weight in the air. Silas turned back to his assistant, who still hadn't moved. His lips curled.

"See? You ruin all my fun."

The assistant ignored him. "The board meeting is this afternoon. You need to be at the company within the hour."

Silas groaned, dragging the sound out like a death sentence, but beneath the theatrics, his sharp gaze caught something. The slight tension in his assistant's stance. The way his hands clenched just a fraction tighter behind his back.

Oh. Interesting.

Silas buttoned his shirt, his eyes never leaving his assistant's face. "You've got that look," he murmured, voice lower now, intrigued. "Go on, then. Say whatever very important thing you've been holding back."

His assistant hesitated only for a fraction of a second—then, like clockwork, composed himself.

"Silas," he said, voice crisp, "last quarter's numbers are troubling. We need to make cuts."

Silas's smirk remained, but his eyes darkened with something sharper. "Cuts, huh?" He sounded bored. "I love a good trimming. Who's on the chopping block?"

"Low-tier management," the assistant replied, glancing at the tablet in his hand. "There's too much overhead, and we need to reduce staff to increase profit margins. It'll save money in the long run, but the backlash—"

"Yeah, yeah." Silas waved a hand dismissively. "The backlash. You think I care about that?"

The assistant's gaze narrowed slightly. "It'll affect the company's reputation. These people have been here for years—even when your father ran things."

Silas turned, amusement flickering in his cold gaze. He leaned against the desk, the playful facade vanishing, replaced by something sharper.

"Innocent?" He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Innocent people don't get paid. Innocent people don't climb to the top. If they're not pulling their weight, they're dead weight. And dead weight costs money."

He ran a hand through his hair, tone shifting from careless to icy. "You think they'd hesitate to fire me if it came down to it? They'd pull the trigger in a heartbeat to save their own asses."

The assistant watched him closely. "So you're firing them without hesitation?"

Silas grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. It's just business. The strong take what's theirs. The weak get left behind."

He straightened, his presence commanding,as he moved around the room.

"This company exists to make money," he said, voice edged with conviction. "If firing a few people makes us stronger, then that's exactly what I'll do. I don't care how long they served my father. They're just pawns in a game, and you don't cry over a lost pawn."

The assistant remained unreadable, though something flickered behind his eyes. "And if they retaliate? If the press picks it up?"

Silas chuckled darkly. "The press? Let them talk. I'll control the narrative. They'll spin it like I'm doing a public service—cutting dead weight for the greater good of the economy." He smirked. "What's more important? Their feelings or the future of the company?"

The assistant nodded, taking it in with the same practiced professionalism. "Understood."

Silas adjusted his collar, his expression hardening as he strode toward the door. "Good. Handle the details. Make it quick, make it clean. We don't need a circus."

His assistant followed as Silas stepped into the hall, the sharp echo of his footsteps ringing through the corridor.

Silas stepped into the private elevator, the sleek interior bathed in soft golden lighting that highlighted the embossed leather walls. The penthouse was his kingdom—an architectural marvel perched above the city, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the skyline. The place was sprawling, filled with extravagant displays of wealth: rare sculptures from private collectors, walls lined with limited-edition art pieces, and furniture imported from designers whose names only the elite could recognize. His marble floors gleamed under the chandelier's glow, and the sheer size of his living space dwarfed most luxury homes. But to Silas, all of it was simply a reflection of his power.

When the elevator doors slid open, his private garage awaited him—a pristine, temperature-controlled space housing an enviable collection of high-performance cars, from vintage classics to modern hypercars. But today, as always, his black custom Rolls-Royce Phantom awaited him, gleaming under the soft lighting. The car was an extension of his presence: powerful, sleek, and unmistakably expensive.

His driver, an older man in a crisp suit, was already waiting by the door, his stance professional, his expression neutral. Silas barely acknowledged him as he slid into the backseat, the soft leather molding around him.

"To the office," he said flatly, loosening his cufflinks as the doors shut with a smooth click.

The company—Ravencorp—was his true masterpiece. What had once been a middling firm left behind by his idealistic father was now the most powerful conglomerate in the country, dominating industries from finance to technology. Silas had stripped it of its sentimental roots, cutting away every inefficient venture his father had foolishly clung to. Under his leadership, Ravencorp became an empire, feared and respected in equal measure.

His father had been a kind man, too kind for the brutal corporate world. A man who spent more time funding charities and speaking at philanthropic events than building a real legacy. Silas never mourned his passing—not in the way others expected him to. Respect was all he could offer the man, but affection? No. His father had dedicated his life to everyone but his own son.

Still, Silas had taken what was left behind and turned it into something untouchable. He had built his empire with his own hands, carving out his place at the top. He didn't need love or sentiment—only results. And Ravencorp was his proof that he had succeeded where his father had failed.

The car glided effortlessly through the streets, its tinted windows sealing him off from the world outside. Another day at the top of the food chain. Another day ensuring Ravencorp remained the unchallenged titan of the corporate world. They didn't call him the Devil in the Details for nothing.

____

After a while of calm silence ,Silas had been lazily scrolling through his phone when something felt... off. His gaze flickered up, snapping to the passing streets outside the tinted windows. The route was wrong. This wasn't the usual path to Ravencorp.

His jaw tensed. "Where the hell are you going?" His voice was sharp, dripping with irritation.

The older man in the driver's seat didn't answer.

Silas sat up straighter, his irritation flaring into anger. "Are you getting senile, old man?" he sneered. "Or did dementia finally claim that last rotting brain cell of yours? Use your damn head and turn the car around before I—"

His words trailed off as the car suddenly picked up speed. The smooth, controlled pace had shifted into something—aggressive. Silas's fingers curled slightly against the leather seat as his piercing gaze locked onto the rearview mirror.

That wasn't his driver.

The realization sent a jolt of cold adrenaline through his body. The man in front of him was old, yes—but he wasn't the one who had driven him every morning for the past five years. The suit was similar, the posture stiff and composed, but the details were wrong. The slight hunch of his shoulders. The way his hands gripped the wheel—too firm, too calculated.

Silas felt it now. Something was very wrong.

His pulse remained steady, but his mind was already shifting gears, calculating, analyzing. He wasn't the type to panic—but he wasn't foolish either.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

The car only went faster.

Then, as if the driver had been waiting for the right moment, he finally spoke. His voice was calm—too calm for the situation.

"Silas Grimshaw, CEO of the number one company in the world, the man who has it all," the man said, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. "You ruined my life."

Silas, who had been idly checking his phone, barely even looked up. Instead, he let out a short, amused chuckle. "Yeah? Get in line."

The driver's grip on the wheel tightened. "You think this is funny?"

Silas smirked, finally glancing at him through the rearview mirror. "I mean, yeah. I'm supposed to care that some random guy blames me for his miserable existence? Please. You're going to have to be more specific."

The driver's jaw clenched. "I was the head of your IT department."

Silas raised an eyebrow, pretending to think. "Nope. Still not ringing a bell."

The man's voice grew colder. "You made me fetch your coffee every damn morning. You humiliated me. And when I finally refused—because I was late one day, taking my sick daughter to the doctor—you had me fired. Not just fired. Blacklisted. You made sure no company would touch me. My career? Destroyed. My family? Gone."

At this, Silas actually laughed—an easy, genuine sound, as if the man had just told him an inside joke. "Holy shit, that really does sound like something I'd do."

The man's face darkened with rage. "You don't even deny it?"

Silas spread his hands in mock innocence. "Why would I? If I fired you, I had a reason. Maybe I was having a bad day. Maybe you looked at me wrong. Or maybe—and this is the crazy part—you just weren't worth keeping around."

The driver slammed his fist on the steering wheel, the sharp sound cutting through the car. "You ruined my entire life!"

Silas sighed dramatically. "And? You could always get another job."

The man let out a bitter, incredulous laugh. "Get another job? Are you even listening? No one will hire the man who pissed off Silas Grimshaw."

Silas leaned back, smirking. "Not my problem."

The driver's breathing was ragged now, his hands trembling with barely contained fury. The car picked up speed, weaving dangerously through the streets. "No. But it will be."

Silas merely tilted his head, watching with the same mild curiosity one might have for a street performer. "Oh? Are you about to give me some big, dramatic speech about revenge? How I'll finally understand what it feels like to lose everything? Yawn."

The car screeched through the streets, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and red. Silas finally sat up, his smirk fading ever so slightly as he recognized where they were heading—the bridge.

Not just any bridge. The tallest in the city. The one with jagged cliffs at the edges and the deep, merciless waters below.

Silas had been there before, not because he was sentimental or scared, but because he found a certain... fascination with places like this. The bridge was notorious, not just for its scale, but for the stories that surrounded it—stories of weak people, too fragile to face the world, who'd chosen the final, cowardly plunge into the abyss. The accidents, the disappearances, and the occasional, dreaded plunge into the waters below were all the same in his eyes. Silas didn't see tragedy here. He saw failure.

As the man's foot pressed harder on the gas, Silas's mind raced. This isn't happening. This can't happen. I can't die,not like that. Not now. Not like this. His heart pounded, and for the first time in years, a wave of genuine panic swept through him.

He tried the door—locked. He threw himself against the seatbelt, fingers fumbling as he attempted to unlock it, but his movements were futile. What the hell?

In a flash, the man in the front seat turned to him, his gaze dark and cold. "You're not getting out, Silas.

The sound of the tires on the pavement faded, replaced by the roaring wind as the car veered to the right, heading straight toward the bridge. Silas's breath hitched. No. No way.

"You're going to pay for what you did," the man said, his voice colder than ice, before his eyes flicked back to the road ahead.

Silas's mind raced. This couldn't be happening. Not like this. Panic surged, but he quickly buried it, replacing it with a twisted sense of urgency. He needed to survive. He wasn't going down like this.

"Wait—wait, listen to me!" Silas shouted, his voice trembling with desperation. "You don't have to do this! I'll make it right, I'll make it worth your while. Just stop the damn car!"

The man didn't answer, his grip on the wheel tightening, eyes fixed ahead.

"One million," Silas bargained quickly, throwing the number out like a lifeline. "I'll give you one million dollars. You can have whatever you want, just stop the car. Please, you don't have to—"

The man didn't even glance at him. The car accelerated, its engine roaring.

Silas's pulse spiked. He wasn't listening.

"Two million! I'll give you two million! Just pull over! You don't have to do this!" Silas pleaded, his voice rising in pitch, each word more frantic than the last. "I can make things right, I swear."

Nothing. The car kept barreling forward, and Silas could feel the bridge looming closer. Panic rose in his chest. "Okay, okay, five million! I'll make it five million, you hear me? Just stop!"

The man's lips barely twitched, but he didn't respond.

Goddammit, he's too stubborn.

"Why are you so damn stingy?" Silas hissed, his anger flaring even as the terror clawed at his insides. "Ten million! I'll make it ten million, all of it yours. Don't you want that? What the hell is your problem? Think about your family—"

The car neared the bridge. The wind outside whipped against the windows like a warning, and Silas's throat tightened as he could see the edge of the bridge coming into view.

"Twenty million! Twenty million, I swear! I'll give you everything—money, power—" Silas's voice broke, desperation flooding him. "Please, please, just stop the car!"

But the man didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the road, a deathly calm to his demeanor.

Silas's heart pounded, and then, the terror clawed its way up his throat as the car reached the bridge's edge.

"No—NO!" Silas screamed, his voice cracking, his hands slamming against the armrest. "Don't you—don't you—"

But it was too late. The car veered off the bridge, the tires screeching in a final, deafening sound as they plummeted toward the unforgiving waters below.

And then, nothing but the chaos of the crash.

"Your punishment was inevitable," the man said, his voice soft before Silas couldn't hear anything again.

Silas felt his heart race before everything went black and he could no longer feel his body.What the hell was happening? His mind scrambled, the air thick with a tension that gnawed at his chest. Everything seemed off, distorted.

And then, a faint, unfamiliar voice echoed through the haze of his thoughts. It wasn't like a whisper, but more like a presence—something just at the edge of his awareness.

"System: Horror Trials Protocol initialized. Host: Silas Grimshaw," the voice said, its tone clinical, impassive.

Silas blinked, disoriented. What?

"System error detected... Protocol initialization failed," the voice continued, now with a slightly unnatural pause, as if recalculating. "Switching to: Devil's Favourability System."

"W-What...?" Silas's voice was groggy, his words slurred as he tried to piece together what was happening. His hands grasped the seat, trying to steady himself, but everything felt too strange, too unreal. It felt like the ground beneath him had disappeared, and he was floating in a vast, endless void.

"You have been selected," the voice said again, now clearer, more insistent. "A second chance will be granted. Reincarnation to your original world is possible if you can gain enough favour from the protagonist of each world."

Silas's head spun. Reincarnation? The words bounced around in his skull, unable to make sense of anything. He tried to focus, but his thoughts felt slow, like they were sinking into thick mud.

"I don't... understand," he muttered, blinking rapidly, struggling to keep his eyes open. "What the hell is... happening... to me?"

His voice, too, seemed distant, fading to a weak whisper.

"You are now part of the Devil's system," the voice continued, growing more distant as Silas's surroundings began to fade into a suffocating blackness.... he knew right then that he was dying ."Endure the horrors. Gain favour. Survive. Or die and be sent to a more gruesome world."

Silas tried to lift his head, but everything felt heavy, like he was submerged in water. His body was losing the strength to hold itself up. What horrors? What favour? The Devil?

The blackness crept in faster, overwhelming him, pulling him down. The voice, now almost a whisper, was the last thing he heard before everything went completely silent.

"Chance... another... world..." the voice faded into nothing.