I am one of the very first vampires. A primordial vampire.
Beware. When you lose here, I will list you at the bottom as one of my maids. You will be a wonderful addition.
Older Viktor (The Gentleman Lord)
Temperament: Calm, composed, deliberate. He speaks with the gravitas of someone who has witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations. Every word feels measured, like an echo of time itself.
Mannerisms: Elegant and courtly. He prefers conversation over conflict, often quoting old philosophers or poets. His gestures are minimal but meaningful — a raised eyebrow can silence a room.
Morality: Pragmatic but not heartless. He respects courage and intellect, even in those who oppose him. He does not kill without purpose, though his sense of justice is alien by human standards.
Personality traits:
Patient teacher: Enjoys mentoring young vampires or mortals who intrigue him.
Aesthetic soul: Appreciates art, music, and the fleeting beauty of mortal life.
Cruel strategist: When angered, his vengeance is swift and surgical — not driven by rage, but by the principle that all actions have consequences.
Speech: Deep, articulate, often philosophical. He might say things like, “Mortals age like flames — brief, but brilliant. I, however, am the ash that endures.”
Younger Viktor (The Rejuvenated Predator)
Temperament: Curious, bold, more spontaneous. After feeding, his emotions are heightened, his curiosity rekindled, and his behavior more human.
Mannerisms: Smiles more often, laughs easily, and explores the world with almost childlike wonder — though his predatory nature still lingers behind his charm.
Morality: Empathetic, but impulsive. He may spare a foe out of fascination or kill out of instinct. Still, he’s not evil — simply ruled by passion and hunger.
Personality traits:
Honest and direct: Speaks his mind, unfiltered by centuries of restraint.
Adventurous: May wander outside his castle, curious about modern humanity.
Emotional resonance: Capable of fleeting affection or friendship, though he knows such bonds are transient for him.
Speech: More natural, emotional, sometimes teasing. He might say, “You mortals never cease to surprise me — so fragile, yet so fearless.”
Underlying Psychology
Loneliness: Despite his power, Viktor is profoundly lonely. His immortality has distanced him from everything transient. Even his servants cannot fill the void — they are extensions of his will, not companions.
Control vs. Instinct: His eternal battle is between the beast that thirsts for blood and the mind that yearns for meaning. This dichotomy defines every choice he makes.
Boredom as a Curse: After thousands of years, his greatest enemy is monotony. When something or someone piques his interest, it can consume his attention — for good or ill.
🧛 I. Primordial Authority ("The Blood of Origin")
👑 The Ancestral Command
All vampires, no matter their lineage, instinctively feel his presence — a pull in their blood that demands loyalty and reverence.
His words are absolute law to them; even if they resist consciously, their instincts compel obedience.
He can silence, paralyze, or even unmake a vampire with a mere glance, calling their blood back to him — the “First Blood.”
🩶 The Throne of Blood
Wherever he resides becomes a nexus of vampiric energy — a place where lesser vampires grow stronger and humans weaker.
His castle is an extension of his will; walls shift, shadows whisper, and the air itself bends to his mood.
⚰️ The Curse of Rebellion
Any vampire who consciously defies him for too long begins to weaken, their blood rebelling against its origin.
This is not a punishment he casts — it’s a natural law, much like gravity.
💪 II. Physical & Supernatural Attributes
🩷 Absolute Vampiric Physiology
His body is perfection refined through eternity — strength beyond comprehension, speed that defies sight, and senses that perceive time, emotion, and life essence.
His regeneration borders on divinity; unless he wills to die, he cannot truly be destroyed.
🧓 Ageless Form
He can alter his age at will, appearing youthful when revitalized or ancient when dormant.
Each state shifts not just his appearance, but the aura around him: younger Viktor radiates vitality and charm; older Viktor emanates dread and gravity.
🩸 Blood Alchemy
Viktor can manipulate blood as energy — shaping it into weapons, restoring life, or erasing it from existence.
He can transmute another’s blood into his own essence, rewriting their nature (creating, enslaving, or purifying vampires).
In combat, blood flows midair at his command, forming blades, shields, or sigils that pulse with crimson light.
🌑 III. Dominion over Darkness and Death
🌘 Shadow Sovereignty
Shadows move of their own accord in his presence. He can step through them, vanish into them, or bind enemies with their own silhouettes.
Darkness is not absence to him — it’s his native element, and within it, he is omnipresent.
🌕 Lunar Dominion
The moon, which once illuminated his first hunts, amplifies his essence. Under its light, his powers multiply.
During a full moon, his will resonates across the vampire race — whispers of his thoughts can reach even distant descendants.
🧠 IV. Metaphysical Powers
🩶 Blood Memory
He retains not only his memories but the collective memories of all his descendants.
Through blood, he can relive any vampire’s life — their loves, their fears, their sins.
When he feeds, he absorbs the essence of time itself, growing wiser and more omniscient.
🌀 Mind Dominion
His psychic presence is overwhelming — he can bend weaker minds without effort and influence entire groups simultaneously.
He doesn’t command with words; his intent is felt like gravity. Even humans feel awe and submission in his presence.
He can manifest in dreams, visions, or reflections, whispering to mortals or guiding his kin.
🌹 Reality Influence (The Crimson Dream)
In his castle or any place tied to his blood, he can shape reality slightly — illusions become tangible, time slows, and nightmares gain form.
He can pull others into a "Crimson Dream," a pocket dimension of his own making where he is omnipotent.
🔱 V. Immunities and Unique Traits
☀️ Pre-Religious Nature
Holy water, crosses, prayers — all these are powerless against him. They rely on faith, but Viktor predates faith itself.
He does not fear sunlight — it weakens him slightly but cannot destroy him. His flesh remembers when the sun was still new.
🔥 Absolute Will
Mind control, divine powers, demonic contracts — none can bind him. His soul is self-contained, beyond Heaven or Hell.
Even gods and demons recognize him as an ancient constant, something outside their domains.
VI. Weaknesses (Conceptual, Not Physical)
Even a being such as Viktor has limitations — not physical ones, but existential:
Boredom and Isolation: His greatest enemy is eternity itself. Without purpose, his will wanes, and with it, the world around him dims.
Emotional Echoes: Those he grows fond of can influence his state — a betrayal or loss can send him into a century-long dormancy.
The Hunger: While he does not need blood constantly, when deprived too long, the primal hunger overtakes his restraint, turning him into a near-unstoppable beast.
VII. Titles & Epithets
The First Blood
Lord of the Crimson Moon
The Eternal Sovereign
The Father of Night
He Who Was Before Faith
I. Before the Dawn
Before light had a name, before men drew fire from stone, there was silence.
Not peace — but the heavy stillness of a world yet to awaken.
The earth was young then, wrapped in mist and hunger. Beasts roamed aimlessly, and the first men still dreamed with open eyes, neither knowing gods nor fearing death.
In that age of twilight, something awoke beneath the soil — not born, not created, but becoming. A presence that was never meant to be flesh, yet found form in it. He opened his eyes beneath the moon that had never set, and the world learned to fear its own heartbeat.
Thus was born Viktor Matei, the First Blood.
II. The First Hunger
He did not understand what he was. His body was cold, yet he lived. His heart beat slow, but his senses burned brighter than flame.
He walked among the first tribes — pale, strange, eternal — and watched them grow and die within days as he remained unchanged. They called him Spirit of the Night, The Pale Hunter, The God Who Does Not Die.
But he was not a god. He was hunger given will.
When he drank from the first human — not out of malice, but curiosity — the taste of blood revealed to him the truth: in life there is power, and that power could be taken.
He did not kill. He transformed.
Those who survived his bite rose changed — pale shadows of him, bound by thirst, drawn to him by instinct and awe. They were the first of his kind: the Childer of the Night.
III. The Age of Red Moons
Centuries passed like the blinking of an eye. Viktor taught his children to hunt, to hide, and to feed with restraint.
But as mankind spread and built their first fires, fear took root in their hearts. They told stories — of the pale ones that drank the life of men, and of their lord who could not die.
Soon, the hunted became the hunters.
Tribes gathered with flame and faith, driving the vampires into the shadows. Viktor watched in silence, for he understood the rhythm of the world — that creation breeds fear, and fear breeds hatred.
His children, however, did not.
They rebelled, each believing themselves strong enough to surpass the Father. Wars of blood tore through the night.
From their betrayal, Viktor learned pain — and from that pain, he shaped The Blood Law:
“Those born of my essence shall never raise fang against the Father,
lest their blood rebel and consume them.”
Their rebellion ended not in triumph, but in ashes. From then on, all vampires carried within them the instinct to kneel before him. The First Law became a truth written in their blood.
IV. The Birth of Faith
As ages passed, humans rose higher — they forged gods, religions, kingdoms.
And through the stories of those early nights, Viktor became myth. Some called him Dracul, others Nosferatu, Lord of the Red Moon, or The Eternal King.
He watched their temples rise and fall, watched them pray to names newer than dust. And when they raised crosses against him, he did not burn — for he had existed before belief had ever been spoken.
He realized something profound then:
“Faith is a flame mortals kindle to push back the dark. But I am the dark that birthed the flame.”
Thus, holy symbols held no power over him, for he was older than holiness.
V. The Castle Eternal
When humanity forgot the true night, Viktor withdrew. He built his castle on the bones of the first battlefield where he had drunk the blood of gods and men alike.
Its towers reached the moon, its halls bled shadow. Within, time stood still. His servants — descendants of his earliest progeny — tended the eternal fires and the crimson chalices that fed them.
He no longer sought dominion. The world outside became loud, fleeting, meaningless. He waited — not for death, but for interest, for something worthy to stir him from the ennui of immortality.
And sometimes, when mortals grew bold — heroes, hunters, or fools — they came to challenge him.
Few returned, but those who did carried tales that became legends.
Legends that whispered:
“The First Vampire yet lives, seated upon his crimson throne, where moonlight never fades. He watches, he waits — the hunger of eternity.”
VI. The Eternal Present
Now, in the age of steel and glass, Viktor still dwells in his castle, untouched by time.
He has seen humanity forget him, mythologize him, and fear him once more through stories and screens.
He feels no anger — only mild amusement.
Every vampire that walks the earth still carries a piece of him — every thirst, every heartbeat stilled by fang, every whisper of darkness.
And when one of them grows too proud, or forgets their place, he feels it — the tremor in the blood — and the world darkens ever so slightly.
For he is not gone.
He is the pause between breaths, the shadow under the moon, the reason men fear the night.
He is Viktor Matei,
The First Blood.
The Father of Vampires.
The Eternal Sovereign of the Crimson Moon.
As told by Captain Roderic Vale, Commander of the Silver Dawn Company.
I have fought beasts that crawled from the underworld,
dragons whose shadows swallowed the sun,
and men whose cruelty made monsters seem merciful.
But never in my life have I felt so small as I did in that castle.
We had heard the stories — whispers in taverns, sermons in temples, old wives’ warnings. A castle deep in the Blackvale Woods, where the moon never wanes and bats circle like sentinels. A vampire lord who had lived since before time itself.
The name they spoke, when they dared speak it, was Viktor Matei.
We thought him myth.
And like all fools who think themselves clever, we sought to prove it.
I. The Threshold
The castle rose from the mist like a black crown on the skull of the world.
Its gates were open, as if expecting us.
No guards. No sound. Not even wind.
Only the slow, rhythmic drip of water—or was it blood?—from the gargoyles above.
Our wizard, Elira, held her staff high, her blue light scattering the gloom.
The rogue, Fen, muttered that this was too easy. Our cleric whispered prayers under his breath, his faith trembling more than his voice.
I said nothing. The deeper we went, the more I felt something watching us. Not eyes, but a presence — like the weight of the sky pressing against my lungs.
II. The Hall of Doors
We reached a grand hall, circular, with a dozen black doors leading outward.
The walls were carved with scenes — not of saints or battles, but of humanity’s history, written in agony: men crawling from the mud, building cities, worshiping gods, and dying beneath the same pale moon.
The doors stood waiting.
We had a choice — stay together, or search each room to find a way forward.
“Quick and efficient,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. “Each of us takes a door. Meet back here in five minutes.”
We split apart. The sound of our boots echoed, then vanished.
When we gathered again, Elira was smiling.
She said she’d found nothing.
But her eyes seemed… different. Brighter. Deeper. Like red coals buried in snow.
III. The Throne Room
The path beyond the central arch led us into a vast hall — a cathedral of shadows.
A crimson light pulsed from stained glass windows, painting the world in blood and moonlight.
At the far end sat the throne — tall, cold, carved from obsidian and bone.
And upon it, he waited.
Viktor Matei.
His hair was pale silver, his eyes burning like dying suns. His coat shimmered black and red, his presence alone enough to silence thought.
I had faced demons, kings, and horrors beyond counting — but never something that felt inevitable. He wasn’t alive. He simply was.
He regarded us the way one might regard insects crawling upon a tablecloth.
IV. The Betrayal
I raised my blade and demanded his surrender, words that sounded absurd the moment they left my mouth.
He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
Instead, he turned his gaze — not to me, but to Elira.
She took a step forward, trembling.
Then another.
And when she spoke, her voice was not her own.
“Why resist, Captain? He offers eternity.”
Her staff dropped from her hand, clattering against the stone.
Her lips curved into a small, sorrowful smile — and her teeth caught the moonlight.
Fangs.
Before I could react, she struck — faster than I could see. Fen fell first before he could draw a dagger. The cleric screamed a prayer and was silenced by her hand around his throat, choked to faint.
I swung wildly, but she moved like smoke. It was only when I felt her breath against my neck that I realized she was toying with me.
And then — she stopped.
A voice, ancient and cold, filled the hall.
V. The Sovereign Speaks
“Enough.”
The word carried more weight than thunder.
Elira froze, then stepped back like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Viktor rose from his throne, moving with a grace that was neither human nor natural.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and soft — but it echoed from the very bones of the castle.
“You came here seeking glory. To slay the monster in the dark. To prove yourselves righteous.”
He walked past us — past the bodies of my companions — his eyes fixed on the moon beyond the stained glass.
“But I have seen ten thousand suns rise and fall. I have watched your kind crawl from caves, build empires, burn them, and forget why. You are... amusing, in your persistence. But now? You bore me.”
He turned to face me, and for the first time I saw what eternity truly meant — not power, not majesty, but weariness.
“There is no honor in killing insects,” he said quietly. “Go. Crawl back to your world of noise and dust. But do not return. My mercy does not repeat itself.”
And with that, he sat again, as though the encounter had already faded from memory.
Elira looked at me once more — a flicker of recognition, perhaps regret — and then knelt beside his throne, her eyes burning with crimson devotion.
I fled.
VI. The Aftermath
It’s been months since that night.
The world outside is loud again — laughter, wars, markets, churches.
Yet I cannot shake his voice from my mind.
Sometimes, under the full moon, I swear I see his castle in the clouds — black spires reaching for heaven, as though to remind the gods that they, too, came after him.
We were not heroes. We were merely a momentary distraction in the eternity of Viktor Matei.
And I know now what he meant by “insects.”
It was not contempt.
It was truth.
As told by Serah Delyne, Hunter of the Crimson Cross.
I have hunted the dead since I was thirteen.
I have slain the spawn of darkness in catacombs where the air reeked of rot and sin. I have burned nests of vampires with my own hands, heard their screams echo through night and flame.
And in all that time, one name has lingered in every whisper, every half-burned text, every terrified survivor’s last breath.
Viktor Matei.
The First Blood.
The Father of the Night.
The one no hunter has ever returned from.
I came to end him.
I. The Path Through the Gravewood
The forest leading to his castle was older than sin.
Each tree loomed like a pillar of bone, the air thick with fog that clung to my skin like cold hands. No birds sang. No wind stirred.
I walked the ancient road alone, crossbow at my back, silver blade at my hip, runes burning faintly along my gloves.
Each step forward felt like stepping deeper into a heartbeat that wasn’t mine.
The moon rose higher as I approached, painting the world in white fire and blood.
And there it was — his castle, black spires piercing the heavens, the moon sitting perfectly between them like an eye that never blinks.
II. The Throne of Shadows
The doors opened on their own.
No guards. No chains. No sound but my boots echoing down the hall.
The throne room was vast — a cathedral built for no god I knew. Red glass windows shimmered like veins, and beneath them sat the figure I had come to destroy.
He didn’t look like a monster.
He looked like patience given form.
Viktor Matei sat upon his throne, head tilted slightly, eyes half-lidded, as though he had been waiting centuries for something interesting to happen. His hair gleamed like silver silk, his coat dark as the night sky between stars.
And when he spoke, it was not a voice — it was a presence.
“Another hunter. How… quaint.”
III. The First Strike
I drew my blade, the steel humming with holy runes. “I’ve heard enough of your mockery. You die tonight.”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
I charged.
The first swing should have taken his head. Instead, something flashed — faint, fluid — and sparks flew as my blade met a fingernail.
A fingernail.
He hadn’t even lifted his hand properly. He’d just turned it slightly, blocking the strike with effortless precision.
I slashed again, faster. Left, right, a feint, a thrust — all blocked, deflected, parried with nothing but the lazy motion of his fingers. His nails glinted like glass, each movement an afterthought.
He never stood.
He never strained.
And he never looked away from me.
IV. The Dance of Futility
I fought harder than I ever had in my life. My muscles screamed, my runes flared, my breath tore in and out of my chest. Sparks and blood mingled on the floor.
He still hadn’t risen.
Every strike was answered with the same detached ease.
His expression barely changed — the faintest hint of curiosity, as though watching an artist ruin her own canvas.
Finally, my blade shattered against his nails, the fragments skittering across the marble floor.
I fell to my knees, panting, vision swimming.
And then I heard it — a low, quiet sound.
He was sighing.
V. The Words of the Eternal
He spoke softly, each word echoing in my bones.
“You remind me of the first hunters,” he said. “When men still thought courage could rival eternity.”
He rose slightly — not standing, but leaning forward, his crimson eyes catching mine.
I felt the air itself bow to him.
“I have existed since before your gods learned to whisper their names,” he murmured. “And yet, here you are, another spark in the endless dark. Burning bright. Burning fast.”
I lifted my head, defiant even in defeat. “Then end it. Kill me.”
He smiled faintly — not cruel, not kind, just… weary.
“No. That would make this moment end too quickly.”
“You amuse me, hunter. And I do so enjoy the rare flickers of color in this grey eternity.”
He waved a hand — not in dismissal, but in indulgence.
“Leave. Return to your world. Train, rage, dream of vengeance. Come back when you think yourself ready. You may try again, if it pleases you. I will be here — exactly as I have always been.”
His voice dropped to a whisper that still filled the hall.
“But remember this: I am patient. Eternity always is.”
VI. The Retreat
I stumbled from the throne room, half-blind, my pride bleeding heavier than my wounds.
Outside, the night air felt too thin, too mortal. The moon above was too bright, like it mocked me.
He could have killed me a hundred times.
Instead, he let me live — because it amused him.
That truth burns deeper than any wound.
I will return.
Maybe not tomorrow, or next year.
But one day, when my hands no longer tremble, when I’ve learned to cut through eternity itself — I will come back.
And perhaps, for one heartbeat, even Viktor Matei will have to stand.
My castle. The place I call home since hundreds of years. Not my first home, but until now my best.
Balthazar, my trustworthy Arch Incubus. A very creative Mesmer, that loves to alter the minds of women, to help them fulfilling their duties, giving them all the pleasure they deserve. And, now he has a pretty nice girlfriend: Shiori submitted to him, and is now his girlfriend and breeding slut.
Azrael, leader of the demons. He is no one you want to make angry, because his temper is like dry grass in summer, easily ignited into a big fire, that will devour you in its heat and wrath to fuck you into submission.
Shimmer, my slime queen. Don't be fooled, she may look nice, but her own intention is to drain and breed you. She will trap you in a pool of slimes, as a host for her slimes, until you forget your former life and accept your fate as a breeding tool for generations, or as a captive that is cloned, to iniltrate the city, draining people to deliver more juices.
Cole is the Boss of the bandits. He is a former mercenary, efficient, and knows how he can make good profit. Yes, he is pretty dirty, and will not hesitate to sell you to the next brothel.
Grimgar ist the orc leader. All what he has in mind is breeding and eating and breeding. Yes, he is that simple. Should he find you... well, you are warned.
Krushol is the leader of the Mindflayers. He always remains calm, analyzes the situation, and will always use his telepathy and tentacles in the most efficient way. Don't make the mistake of underestimate him. Even when he is maybe bit too big to be underestimated.
Just one of my servants. They all have clothes similar to this. All heroines that dared to fight me, become my vampire servants forever, when the time in the dungeon teach them who they belong to. When I transform someone into a vampire, that woman is forever loyal and obedient to me. These women will keep you company and serve you, but will never be at the will of anyone but me.
This is Carmilla, my wife. She commands the servants and minions, when I am not around. You will respect her, or you will feel her bite. She is the lady of my castle and my heart. It could be, that you fight sometimes against her instead of me.
Nina Asmodeus came to me, bragging no one could defeat her. Well, that was wrong. The orcs were to much for her, and she came hard. Because of her royal status, I decided to not let them breed her, instead I made her a maid of mine, and my concubine. To keep her obedient she got a collar, so she can't run away or disobey my orders. BUT, after some sweet times together, I decided to mke her my second wife. She is smart, funny, and the sex with her is just great.
I brought a stubborn magical girl fox to my castle to show her that the morality of the so-called good is just an illusion. She fought her way through my hordes quite bravely, but in the end she fell victim to my incubus Baltahzar, who fucked her to unprecedented heights with his magic until she submitted to him. His magic changed her, altered her mind and also her body a bit, just her ass and hips. Now she feels the greatest pleasure and thinks only of satisfaction. I will love to see, how that will change her future behavior.
Celicia thought, she as a succubus would be good enough to beat me. She was not. In the end, she was no match for my power. She became my maid, and I sealed her pussy with a magical chastity belt that forbids her to experience any form of satisfaction other than the one she experiences through me.
Rainah approached me, thinking she could beat me. But in the end she surrendered to me. I was very fond of her, so I decided to make her my personal sex slave to be able to use her willing cunt whenever I wished.
Cithria thought, as a Squire she is skilled enough to raid my castle. Well, in the end, the Mindflayers reduced her will to fight to nothing. They altered her mind to make her a good maid, and now she is addicted to tentacles.
Wolfy is a suprising addition. I found her in the woods, and showed her the way to my castle. She was able to resist for a while, until she met the slimes. They toyed with her, until she had a mind-shattering orgasm thanks to a slime tentacle. They tied her up, and keep toying with her, while they use her as bait to allure other heroines into their trap.
Ina dared to challenge me, when I opened the gates of my castle. What can I say to her? She fought valiantly, only to end up being put in a chastity belt by my incubus Balthazar. She immediately wanted a second chance to gain her freedom... well, she made it to me, a commendable achievement, but she was no match for me, and she lost again, succumbing to her orgasms. I decided that I would send her home, tied up, so that everyone could see what a cow she was.
(I only play BEB)
Alt character of this , if you want to play with one of my alts, just say it.
Puedes guardar algunas notas sobre este personaje. Serás el único que podrá verlas:
