THE STORY THEY TELL

Most vampires today know the simplified fairy-tale version of this story, so I’ll try and keep this simple… so even the dullest minds in the room can follow along.

They are told that long ago a Diabolic named Super Dexing attempted to overthrow the system.

They are told he failed...
They are told he was either destroyed or ejected into the abyss...

It is a convenient story. A clean story. A story that keeps uncomfortable truths buried.

Because the real events of that night are far less flattering for those who remained.

THE FRACTURE

There came a time when the Diabolics began to see the system changing.

Not evolving... Rotting.

Power was no longer decided by strength, cunning, or blood.

Instead the night filled with egos, complaints, interference, and the growing shadow of corruption — a presence that reached into matters that had always belonged to vampires alone.

It was being twisted by one of their own.

The other Diabolics watched...
For a time they tolerated it...
But eventually even patience has limits.

So they did something rare.

They approached Lahiel directly.

Not with threats, with a request, remove the corruption that had begun to twist the natural order of the night.

Let the system return to what it had once been — a brutal, honest hierarchy where monsters ruled by strength rather than intervention. Vampires following Vampires, pure predators of the night, not political slaves to rule, law and corruption.

Lahiel listened... and then refused.

THE CHOICE

That refusal changed everything.

The Diabolics could have orchestrated a war. They could have torn the system apart from within. Creatures like them were more than capable of it. More than capable of playing the puppeteers of fate.

But war would have meant leaning into and legitimizing the very corruption they had grown to despise.

So they chose something far more unsettling.

They walked away.

No rebellion...
No coup...
No dramatic final battle.

One by one the Diabolics abandoned the throne rooms and courts of the night.

Super Dexing among them.

THE NIGHT SUPER LEFT

Witnesses seem to remember only fragments.

The Greater Diabolic - Hell's very own lieutenant - rising slowly from the throne. The shadows around him moving like living things.

A quiet laugh that carried more contempt than rage. And a simple statement spoken into the silence:

"I came to rule a kingdom of monsters… But somewhere along the way it filled with sheep.
Keep your throne... I have no interest in ruling livestock."

He walked over and patted Cerberus one last time knowing the Hell Hound would loyally keep guard.

Then silently he stepped deeper into he darkness where the shadows swirled and swallowed him...
and he was gone.

THE LIE THAT FOLLOWED

What happened afterward was predictable.

It was easier to say he lost. Easier to claim he tried to overthrow the system and failed.
After all, admitting the truth would mean admitting something far worse.

That the Diabolics did not fall.

They simply decided the system was no longer worth ruling... worth their time...
worth their devotion.

And when creatures like that leave…
they usually stay gone forever.

They say history is written by the winners.

No... Not always.

Occasionally it’s written by the Ravens... scavengers left behind to pick at the corpse of the whole pathetic mess that wasnt even worth dusting — nor the inconvenience of having to clean the ashes from Diabolic boots.