"Kneel."
The last thing I remember was Truck-kun blasting me in the face.
Now? I wake up in my own goddamn novel, not as the hero, not even as a villain, but as Dracula Von Death, the infamous disgrace of the Imperial Family.
The prodigal son. The debauched failure. The worthless prince marked for execution.
The Imperium? On the brink of collapse. My so-called "family"? Planning to stab me in the back. And oh, let’s not forget the existence itself wants me dead because I just got a system that lets me summon modern armies and rewrite reality.
But the more I cheat, the more the universe retaliates.
At 5% Existence Retaliation, fate shifts against me.
At 10%, the g*ds start noticing.
At 20%, eldritch horrors awaken.
At 50%, half the galaxy is f*cked.
At 100%… nothing will remain.
So what do I do?
Simple.
I take the throne.
I drown the Senate in blood.
I purge every last traitor.
I build an empire so powerful that even the gods themselves kneel before me.
No harem. No moral compass. No second chances.
This is not a hero’s story.
This is the rise of the Imperator.
