As the First World War raged across Europe, chaos gripped both mortal and Cainite societies. Camille Duschesne, the Ventrue Prince of Brussels since the Victorian Era, vanished mysteriously, leaving the city in disarray. Speculations about her fate lingered—fleeing, buried in rubble, or meeting an unknown demise. Whispers also hinted to Ventrues from Flanders exploiting the Flemish independence movement.

Simultaneously, Ludmilla van der Holst, the Malkavian Primogen, succumbed to torpor after suffering severe wounds during the conflict. German artillery battery was merciless only left desolation in his passage. Her awakening was foretold for 2000-2008, ushering in an uncertain era.

In Ludmilla’s absence, Nikolaus Vermeulen, a Nosferatu, seized the opportunity, declaring himself Prince of Brussels. His long-term plan focused on Nosferatu survival and political prominence. Amidst a shifting landscape, Nikolaus disrupted the Status Quo, The Peace. In his judgment, the Autarkis and Sabbat members posed a problem for the masquerade.

Nikolaus, an elusive and strategic leader, appointed Andrew Jacobs as the new Malkavian primogenitor due to his vehement Sabbat opposition. François Xavier, “FX,” a fearsome killer, became the Nosferatu primogen and his right hand, adding significant weight to the delicate balance of power.

In the heart of Brussels’ filth, where the cobbled streets tell tales of misery, I stood like a giant among the rats. FX isn’t just a name, it’s a bloody legend that echoes through the twisted alleyways. I wasn’t a noble; I was a commoner, a brawler with a vision, and that vision was an empire built on the filth of this forgotten city.

The first days were wild, a chaos that only we could understand. The band I’d assembled, a bunch of cutthroats and scoundrels, admired me. Maybe it was the size, the mass of muscle and fury that reached 2 meters and 30 centimeters, or maybe it was the ruthless ambition that shone in my eyes.

Our territory spread like a disease, infecting every corner of Brussels. I wasn’t content with menial jobs, I was thirsty for the big time, for risky escapades that left our mark on the city’s walls. The heists became the stuff of legend, and the hits were executed with the precision of a butcher.

My team – a bunch of lunatics, each crazier than the last – was my army. But loyalty is a double-edged sword, and I know how to wield it. Respect wasn’t a courtesy, it was a bargaining chip bought by fear. When FX walked, the ground shook, and everyone knew it, from the beggar in the alley to the crooked politician in his mansion.

Brussels became our playground, and we painted it red with the blood of those who dared challenge our domination. Alleys and rooftops whispered tales of our exploits, and the very air carried the stench of the fear we instigated. Our legend wasn’t just a group of hoodlums, it was a shadow lurking in every dark corner, a force to be reckoned with that made the streets tremble.

They say size matters, and I took that literally. Intimidation wasn’t a tactic, it was a way of life. In the underground world, I was a fucking colossus, a leader, and my team, my loyal underlings, were the architects of this villainous kingdom.

Brussels wasn’t just a city, it was my city, and every trick, every deal, every bruised face told the story of FX’s reign. The underworld bowed before me, for I was the colossus who ruled the streets, my kingdom.