The translucent crimson screen flickered into existence before my eyes, glowing with an unnatural hum as I navigated through the summoning categories.
If I was going to survive, I needed an army. Not just any army, but a force forged for modern war, trained to perfection, built to dominate the battlefield.
I scrolled through the system, my mind already constructing the perfect warriors to ensure my smooth take over of power.
Number: 24,000 Peak Human Potential Paratroopers. Ethnic Composition: Mixed from all known populations a force that looked like it had been gathered from across the world, giving them the appearance of a mercenary legions. Height: All exactly give or take few decimeters 1.8 meters tall, all eighteen years old.
I moved onto equipment selection, customizing their gear piece by piece. Combat uniforms: Dominantly black, accented with red and white military camouflage. Body gear: Tactical harnesses for magazines and grenades.
Helmet: A steel M42 helmet. Primary Weapon: 6.8mm Assault Rifles with underbarrel grenades launchers an unh*ly combination between the appearance of MP43 and Inside structure of AK47.
Additional weapons: 50 cal. sniper rifles, 7.62 mm medium machine guns, multi use RPGs, 60 mm mortars.
Secondary Weapon: Semi, automatic pistols, reliable and fast. Grenades: High-explosive, flashbangs, and smoke grenades.
Combat Knives: Forged from carbon titanium alloy, sharp enough to slice through bone with ease. Training level: trained.
I confirmed the order but just before my finger pressed the confirmation button I hesitated because I knew full well that If I did this then Spartanum Ducatum would drown In blood tonight because thats what the MC did.
And If I didnt want to deviate from the plot that I had written thats was exactly what I was going to have to do.
But still even though those that were about to be sacrifised for the sake of "plot proggression" In my eyes now those were still living, breathing people.
F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.
I cursed In my mind as my eyes became bloodshot as I gnashed my teeth my finger trembling over the Invisible except for me confirm button.
"You made me do this..."
Finally I muttered to myself choosing to blame big G for what I was about to do as I hit the confirm button as I did the entire Mausoleum trembled.
A deep, resonating hum filled the air as the very fabric of reality twisted, the system's power bending existence to my will.
And then. They appeared. From every shadow, every crevice, every inch of the Mausoleum, they emerged.
One by one, clad In a mix of black, red and white military camo soldiers materialized from thin air, stepping into reality as if they had always been there.
Their combat boots struck the marble floor in unison, a wave of disciplined warriors standing shoulder to shoulder, their rifles secured against their chests, their helmets reflecting the dim torchlight of the tomb.
24,000 Peak trained with plus 25 combat effectiveness Human Paratroopers, that's 7 thousand more than the Spartanum ducatums whole standing army.
An army of silent, disciplined killing machines standing at attention, awaiting my command. I stared at them for a moment, their sheer presence filling the air with an unspoken tension.
Then, I laughed my ass off. A Madman's Laughter. The Realization of Power and desperation at my current situation, after all I wanted live, I was afraid of death, In fact I was absolutely terrified of It, so that I could live I was going to kill.
The laughter burst out of me, unhinged and raw. I had just summoned a whole army that was enough to buldoze through the whole ducatum out of thin air trained to perfection, armed to the teeth, and utterly loyal to me and I was about to flood the ducatum In rivers of blood.
"I might just f*cking survive yet!"
I howled, throwing my head back, my voice echoing through the Mausoleum. The paratroopers remained still, unfazed, awaiting further orders like automatons of war.
Lupa, still by my side, simply huffed, clearly unimpressed by my theatrics.
I wiped the corner of my eyes, my fingers moist from both tears of joy and guilt still chuckling as I turned back to the system interface, feeling an actual sliver of hope for the first time since arriving in this nightmare of a world that I created myself.
And then. The screen flashed black. A warning notification pulsed in my vision.
[WARNING: EXISTENCE RETALIATION COEFFICIENT INCREASED BY 1%]
I froze. My laughter died instantly. The color drained from my face. Because even though it only displayed a 1% increase, I fully knew what it meant. And it was nothing good.
I stared at the flashing omnious black text, my fingers clenching into fists, my heart pounding in my chest.
Existence Retaliation Coefficient. The ERC. The universal balancing system that prevented reality from being broken too easily, the bulls*it of an excuse I came up with for plot.
The more I cheated, the more aggressively the universe would retaliate. And the higher the ERC climbed, the worse things would get.
At 5%? I'd start dealing with unforeseen natural disasters, slight shifts in fate, increased political instability.
At 10%? Hostile supernatural entities would begin to manifest on their own, eldritch forces that should have remained dormant would stir in the abyss.
At 20%? The weakest cosmic horrors would begin their descent.
At 50%? Half the galxy was f*cked.
At 100%? …There wouldn't be a galaxy left to fight for.
And I had already triggered an increase.
Only 1% which was mainly due to Lupa and the generic restructuring serum. But the fact that my actions were already being noticed was enough to make my gut churn.
"…Sh*t."
I ran a hand through my white hair tied Into a neat small bun with my sides and back shaved clean and a single line of black hair falling over my right crimson eye, my previous excitement evaporating into sheer unease.
Lupa whined, nudging my arm as if sensing my sudden change in mood.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I f*cked up."
I muttered, rubbing my temples. One single overgrown wolf, a cocktail for gene restructuring goodies and an army summon, and the universe already knew I was pulling some sh*t.
I needed to be smarter. I couldn't just summon things endlessly without consequence. If I cheated too much, too fast, then the game I was playing wouldn't just be hard, it would be impossible.
I turned back to my newly summoned army, watching as they stood motionless, waiting for my command. They were perfect warriors, programmed to fight, to kill, to die without hesitation.
But they were also walking proof that I was bending the natural order. And if I wasn't careful… Something far worse than war would come knocking. I exhaled sharply, then clenched my fists.
Alright time to move on to the Interrupting the new Emperor's coronation In an epic way part. I thought as I called out to Lupa.
"Lupa..."
A single word was all It took for Lupa to lay flat on the ground, seeing this I grabbed the battle damaged pitch black helmet with red horizontal plumes and white skull shaped face plate and put It on.
When I grabbed my great sword and without hesitation I jumped onto Lūpa. Without waiting for my command Lupa stood up and started marching forward while the 24 paratrooper cohorts followed after In one rhythmic sound of boots hitting the stone floor.
Looking like phase one clones from s*ar w*rs boarding their spaceships, the experience of both riding Lupa and my own personal army marching behind me was surreal to say the least.
...
The crackle of fire and smoke mixed with the cold air as the Praetorian Commander leaned against the luxurious armored vehicle, the ember of his cigarette glowing faintly.
His men stood around him in a loose formation, some quietly checking their weapons, others murmuring amongst themselves, casting occasional glances at the Imperial Mausoleum where the Prince had entered nearly an hour ago.
There was an uneasy silence. No one dared to speak of what had happened in the Pantheon. After all what the prince did was utter and absolute blasphemy.
Not only did he call Pythia an overgrown cow b*tch but he also Insulted the all father, even one of these two crimes was enough to be executed on the spot.
And now, the Imperial disgrace the Nova Romas number one prodigal son was inside the tomb of Alucard Von Death, the First Imperator, g*ds knew If the stinky brat would go completely mad and descerate the Imperators corpse.
The Commander exhaled deeply, watching as his breath misted in the air, his cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.
"Sir…?"
One of his men spoke, his voice uneven, disbelieving. The Commander grunted, turning with a frown.
"What is it?"
The man didn't answer immediately. He was staring. Frozen in place, his hand gripping his submachinegun so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"I… You need to see this."