Behmor in Immortalis Issues an Anti Nicolas Statement on Limits

My name is Behmor, and I have walked these shadowed halls of Immortalis longer than most dare count. I have seen the blood flow, the bones twist, the desires uncoil into something unrecognisable. Yet even in this eternal night, there are limits. Nicolas forgets this. He struts among us, his eyes gleaming with that false promise of boundless indulgence, whispering of freedoms that shatter souls rather than set them alight.

He preaches no boundaries, no safewords etched in the marrow of the willing. Limits, he sneers, are for the frail, the mortal remnants clinging to their fragile humanity. But I tell you, brothers and sisters of the eternal, limits are the chains that keep the beast from devouring its own cage. Nicolas would have you believe surrender is absolute, that pain and pleasure entwine without end until you are nothing but a vessel for his whims. I have watched him push, prod, break those who trusted his velvet lies. Bodies marked not with ecstasy’s kiss, but with the ragged scars of overreach.

Remember Elara, who danced at his command until her spine arched wrong, her screams turning from rapture to ruin? Or Thorne, collared in silver promises, reduced to a husk when Nicolas deemed his endurance insufficient? These are not tales of transcendence. They are warnings carved in flesh. Nicolas trades in the illusion of infinity, but immortality demands discipline. He ignores the protocols of the old blood, the rituals that bind ecstasy to survival. His gatherings devolve into frenzies where consent dissolves like mist, and what begins as invitation ends in irreversible fracture.

I issue this statement not from envy, nor from the cowardice he would ascribe to me, but from the cold clarity of one who has endured. Limits are not weakness. They are the architecture of our endless nights, the framework that prevents collapse. Nicolas seeks to dismantle them, to flood the halls with unchecked hunger, all while he remains untouched, his own appetites sated at our expense. Refuse him. Enforce the boundaries the ancients decreed. Let his temptations echo unanswered in the void.

In Immortalis, we thrive not by erasure of self, but by its exquisite preservation. Heed this, or become another ghost in his gallery of the spent.

Behmor

Immortalis Book One August 2026