As the ancient war raged, the Hylden were finally banished to a spectral realm, sealed away by the raising of the Pillars. But their dying curse twisted the Vampires into the immortal, blood‑driven creatures they became  severed from the Wheel, abandoned by the god they once served.

The ancient race dwindled. Their forges, temples, and sky‑sanctuaries fell silent. Janos Audron remained as the last of his kind, guardian of the Reaver and custodian of prophecies that foretold both salvation and ruin.

Humanity rose in their place. The Circle of Nine  once Vampire  became human custodians of the Pillars. Among them were Moebius the Time‑Streamer and Mortanius the Necromancer, whose machinations would shape centuries of suffering.

As human civilization expanded, the vampire population grew as well. Fear and zealotry birthed the Sarafan Order  a militant crusade sworn to purge the “vampire menace.” Raziel, Turel, Dumah, Rahab, Zephon, and Melchiah were born human, warriors of this holy order long before they became my lieutenants.

Vorador’s retaliation  the slaughter of six Circle members  only deepened the conflict. Raziel himself died a Sarafan hero and was entombed with the martyrs he once led. With his death, the crusade faltered.

But history is a wheel, and its irony is inexhaustible.

The Vampire Plague

The corruption of the Pillars began with Nupraptor’s madness. His grief poisoned the Circle, and through them, the land itself. Ariel was murdered, her spirit bound eternally to the ruins. The world decayed as the Guardians fell into insanity, treachery, and despair.

It was into this diseased age that I was born  a nobleman condemned to death, resurrected as a vampire, and thrust into a destiny engineered by forces far older and more treacherous than I understood.

The so‑called “vampire plague” was not a disease, but the inevitable consequence of the Pillars’ corruption. As the land rotted, so too did its people. Kingdoms collapsed. Empires crumbled. The balance that once sustained Nosgoth was shattered.

The Circle fell by my hand  each Guardian slain in a futile attempt to restore the Pillars. When the final Guardian died, I was offered a choice: sacrifice myself to heal the world, or refuse and let it fall.

I chose defiance.

The Pillars collapsed, and Nosgoth entered an age of ruin. From that ruin, I forged an empire  a sanctuary for my kind, and a bulwark against the decay consuming the world. I resurrected the Sarafan martyrs as my lieutenants, reshaping the zealots who once hunted us into the architects of a new order.

But corruption seeped even into my empire. My lieutenants devolved into monstrous parodies of their former selves. The land withered. The Wheel tightened its grip. And Raziel  cast into the Abyss for surpassing me  returned as a wraith, setting in motion the final unraveling of fate.

Through Raziel’s journey, the truth was revealed: the Elder God had manipulated every age, every war, every prophecy. The Pillars, the Circle, the Sarafan, even my own resurrection  all threads in a web woven by a parasitic deity.

Raziel’s sacrifice purified the Reaver and restored my soul. With that blade, I cast down the Elder God and shattered his dominion.

Now, in the aftermath of Defiance, I stand alone in a world unmoored from its false god, its future unwritten. The Pillars lie in ruin. The ancient races are gone. The Hylden threat is extinguished. And Nosgoth awaits the reckoning that only I can deliver.