Why Nicolas in Immortalis Frames Himself as the Victim Every Time
In the shadowed corridors of Immortalis, Nicolas moves like a predator cloaked in silk, his every word a blade wrapped in velvet. Yet, for all his dominion, he possesses an uncanny habit: he frames himself as the victim. Time and again, whether cornered by a lover’s accusation or the cold glare of consequence, Nicolas twists the narrative until he emerges wounded, misunderstood, the eternal sufferer at the mercy of crueller fates. This is no mere quirk. It is the fulcrum of his existence.
Consider the moments when his cruelties spill over. A woman lies broken, her body a canvas of his artistry, and Nicolas does not revel in supremacy. No, he weeps. He confesses agonies inflicted upon him long before, centuries of betrayals that scarred his immortal flesh. “You do not know what they took from me,” he murmurs, eyes glistening with rehearsed sorrow, drawing her pity even as blood pools at her feet. It is deliberate, this inversion. Nicolas wields victimhood as a weapon, disarming those who might resist him.
His immortality demands it. Eternal life is no gift in Nicolas’s world; it is a curse of endless loss. Lovers wither, empires crumble, and he alone endures, collecting grievances like trophies. Each new entanglement revives old wounds, or so he claims. When he strikes, it is never unprovoked malice but retaliation against phantom persecutors. The girl who dares question his appetites? She becomes the tormentor, echoing voices from his past. This self-framing absolves him. Accountability is for mortals; Nicolas is forever the aggrieved.
Observe how he employs it in seduction. Vulnerability is his lure. He shares fragments of torment, tales of cages and flames from eras long dust, positioning himself as the fragile one needing protection. The woman, drawn in, offers solace, only to find herself ensnared. By the time his true nature surfaces, she is complicit in her own downfall, having nursed the “victim” who now devours her. It is masterful gaslighting, rooted in his refusal to confront the monster within. Nicolas cannot admit predation, for that would shatter the illusion of control.
Deeper still lies compulsion. Nicolas’s narcissism thrives on this ploy. To admit fault is to diminish; victimhood elevates him above judgment. He is not the butcher but the blade, forged in suffering. This extends to his rivalries, where slights become mortal insults justifying rivers of blood. Even in solitude, his monologues circle back to martyrdom, a litany of woes that justifies every atrocity committed and yet to come.
In Immortalis, this pattern reveals Nicolas not as penitent but as predator perfected. He frames himself as victim because it sustains his empire of one: untouchable, unending, unyielding. To see through it is to glimpse the void he conceals, but few survive the gaze.
Immortalis Book One August 2026