In 1908, Belgium’s colonial ambitions unfolded as the Congo became a dependency, Rwanda a protectorate, and the Tanjin concession in China fell under Belgian dominion. The zenith of the Colonial Empire spanned from 1919 to 1931, marked by audacious expansion.

While Belgium’s colonial aspirations paled compared to other European powers, the Belgian king, spurred by Ventrue ambitions and whispers of alliances with Lassombra and Beryn, orchestrated bold territorial expansion. A unique compromise emerged, a Belgian compromise we could say, with Ventrues as administrators, influencing notables and private companies. Lassombras oversaw Catholic missions, extending spiritual dominion, and the Beryn family dominated trade across Africa.

Yet Ludmilla van der Holst, with her focus on Brussels, showed little interest in overseas ventures, allowing other Cainites to flourish on the international stage. Belgium’s ambitions extended beyond these agreements, attempting to establish influence through trading posts, albeit with a high failure rate. Ventures in the Republic of Texas, Guatemala, Guinea, and Brazil echoed the complexities of colonial aspirations.

Belgium’s overseas reach stretched to the American states of Wisconsin, Illinois, Pennsylvania, and Louisiana. These frontiers, shaped by Cainite ambitions, witnessed a convergence of dark history, leaving indelible imprints across time and space.

It’s at this period that the future Nosferatu Primogen and student of Nikolaus Vermeulen, Bijou, entered Belgium.

Straight out of the upscale atmosphere of Congo, where my family owned acres of plantations. I traded the prestige of ancestral lands for the grim streets of Belgium. Born into a promising family, we aspired to a new life, a chance to realize the European dream. But dreams tend to fade when forced to learn their lessons in the brutal school of reality.

They had promised me education, refinement, a chance to shine; I got something else entirely – a frontline position in the underworld business. Colonial injustice severed family ties and left me to navigate a murky path that textbooks dared not tread. The heritage of our landowning lineage seemed meaningless in the face of the harsh reality of immigration.

Legitimacy? A twisted joke. Why should one people rule over another? My quest for answers led me down alleys I’d once avoided. The underworld became my teaching after school, where, though shunned because of my skin color and size, I exercised my far superior brains to those lacquered ones. I didn’t grow up on the streets, but I adapted faster than most.

I climbed the ladder, one daring break at a time. I caught the eye of the boss: François Xavier. My first meeting with the Colossus shook me to the core. I was filled with regret, wondering how, coming from a prestigious family, I could have got mixed up in this story. The underworld, once my outlet, seemed like a trap I’d set for myself.

Then came the embrace – a one-way ticket to the undead club. FX, our boss, offered me neither comfort nor answers. He left me questioning my entire existence as my body decomposed. The scars of this affair will forever be etched deep into my carcass. The legacy of my family, is now buried like a cursed inheritance.

But I’m not the kind of guy to mope around for too long. I won’t bow, the underworld has bowed to me. I wrote my story in the shadows of the alleyways. I made connections, forged alliances, maneuvered in the complex spheres of power. From busy streets to quiet alleyways, I left my mark.

Straddling high society and the underworld, I played my cards – always one step ahead, always with an eye on the prize. My rise wasn’t just about survival; it was about proving that a man’s worth isn’t defined by his origins, but by his achievements.

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