Fable

Once upon a time, there was a young vampire. His name was Altair. His father was a simple, impoverished vampire. They humbled themselves before everyone, big and small, just to get a little money for food. But Altair got tired of this and decided not to obey, but to rule. At first, he got involved in every fight, even starting them himself, in order to gain valuable combat experience. Five years passed, and he became a professional killer. At the age of fifteen, he became the best mercenary assassin among the children in Ashan. Now he no longer humbled himself for the sake of some coin. Some considered him a hero, while for others, he was a terror. At twenty, he was noticed by the Community of necromancers (which controlled everything) and made him a commander of their great army (only noble necromancers were chosen for such a position). At thirty-five, Altair got tired of serving some old, decrepit, and incapable bunch of newcomers (the Community of necromancers) and decided to overthrow the Community of necromancers with their own army. This war lasted five years, and Altair eventually won. He became the king of all of Ashan, and now no one could say anything rude to him or spit on him as they did in his childhood.

In reality, I just made up my nickname.