The Spine of Thorad – a mountain range that was just that, and nothing more. It was unlucky to bear the name it did, as it was not a name one would speak lightly of in olden times. One of the fallen. One of the dead. One of the Divine.

To kill a Divine was not a simple task and no mortal or undead could say they were capable of it, be it the Emperor of Mankind commanding armies against the divine hordes or the Corpse Kings, ruling from their eternal thrones with coldness and power few could imagine.

There was more to it than stabbing a heart, cutting a neck, or burning the whole body. The Divine were as much walking and thinking beings as they were madness and belief and reflections in the dark corners of the mirror. For one to die, it would take a special hand holding the knife. At the very least one similar to theirs, or one that opposed all they were.

The Spine was a border, a wall, and a challenge to the insane and suicidal. It had been transformed in time to loom over creation and cut through the land like a jagged sword. It separated the vast wetlands descending to lush valleys littered with villages enjoying the sweet fruit of their lives from the horror that was on the other side. A side few had seen in their lives.

Many believed the mountain a boon and protection from the harsh climate, as it stopped the hails and rains and instead let them trickle down its mighty body into what were the swamps of the shy ranun and the lairs of myriad ghouls. The swamps were a safe place, a shelter, and none of their inhabitants bothered the peace of the Flower Region – one of the calmest and weakest places on the continent. Its wines were a rare treat for the rest of the world and were separated from it to all sides by the fallen lands, interlocking like a giant circle of mystery and horror, and where they weren’t present, was only a turbulent dark sea. The dangers of the lands seldom spilled out to unleash their horror in regions of flowers for some reason, as if it was not worth the effort. However many knew their dangers and horror and remembered the days when the attention of the Divine had graced the lands.

And still, the worst of it lay on the other side of the Spine. A land that was the grave of a dead god. Thorad the Giant, whose breath brought rain and whose words made hail descent upon the world had been killed there, and his blood and tears still stained the land as if it had happened yesterday. Dead and forgotten by all, with his eternal body rotting far beneath the cursed earth that was no more but a trap for anyone foolish to set foot on it.

While the fallen lands were places filled with long-lost treasures and spells the likes of which no one could imagine, this was not one such land. This was the resting place of a God that had not tasted madness before his fall, or at least so it was said.

Even the spells born inside were twisted by the strange death of the god. Not that anyone knew that. All they knew was that the land was fraught with danger, and not worth the risk. However, it was also the shortest and most direct way to the place where a supposed outworlder, slayer, and talented mage had fallen, thrown there by fate itself. Or perhaps, there was something else at play.

The six hooded figures stood at the edge of the god’s grave and tried to peek through the rains and hails that obscured the Spine from vision and left them wondering what awaited on the other side. They were all very powerful in their own right, bearers of talents that could make the strongest weep in envy, and of attitudes that could rival the worst dregs of society.

“I mean, what are prophecies even good for, if they don’t prophesize things correctly? First rotting for weeks below a well with nary a bed in sight and now this?” one of the hooded figures grumbled. “Shouldn’t they be more accurate? What shit prophecy is this that we have to use spells, read the stars, listen to disembodied voices and goat entrails only to find the guy?”

“Or girl,” a lazy voice said from the side. It was the only figure sitting on the ground, and it seemed completely unbothered by that fact. It yawned before continuing, “Don’t ignore the girls.”

“He couldn’t ignore the reflection of his own arse if the world’s fate depended on it,” the shortest of the figures huffed, before taking a swig from a dark round attached with three sets of leather straps to its torso.

“Ah, assault my sexual nature again. Can’t think of anything else to say? You seem to think yourself better, but word goes around the noble whores, wives, husbands, waiters, stable boys, and cooks. And all I’m saying is that apparently, it’s not enough that we have to haul ass all the way here, but now what, we’re gonna stare at the literal land of death until a path magically appears? Prophecies don’t work like that and don’t tell me you think crossing this shithole is an option. Why are you even so sure he,” he paused and kicked some dirt at Lazy, “or she is there?”

“I heard the words. Do you doubt me?” the largest figure said. His chest was bare and his rippling muscles were welcoming the seldom drops of water that reached his skin carried by the winds raging in the distance below. His hood was still on his head and the rest of the robe struggled to hold on for dear life relying on his massive forehead alone.

“I couldn’t doubt you, but…”

“Why are you naked again?” Another hooded figure asked. Its twisted beard hung down as if it was made of steel, not a single hair bothered by a draft or moisture.

“It feels good,” Muscleman replied.

The vampire sighed, “Listen guys, we can’t just walk in there. We have families and things to do! We already spent a week getting to this rock, and for what? Because this is the closest place to the trail you heard about? Let’s get some spell or treasure hunters, pay them well, and send them through the usual channels. With a cart, we can also bring some more booze that way. I heard there’s great stuff in… what’s its name…”

“Bluvine,” Lazy offered.

“Bumwin,” Muscleman retorted.

“Blumwin,” Twist-beard said with a tone that left a lot to be discussed. “A Divine has touched the Flower Region for the first time in a long while. It happened shortly before our long-awaited guests arrived in the world,” his hand moved and pointed to the right of their group. “The dark ocean awaits there, and the other shore is fraught with terror.” He then turned and pointed in the other direction, “A lot of walking through parts of the dark forest, and then again, we meet the belt separating the flowers from us. This is the fastest way.”

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“It could all be a coincidence? Our person might not even be there,” the vampire offered with a shrug. “The gods are insane; they can’t make elaborate plans or know of prophecies even we don’t… Right?”

No one answered him.

“Then again,” he continued, “my cousin, the one we burned for you know, was quite the smart man until the very end. Poor sod. Sometimes I think insanity is a mercy.”

“The Divine are mad and should be put down, aye,” the shortest said with a grave voice, “but some of their servants are not fully consumed. There can be genius in their madness and the believers and prophets roam the land and destroy what we build. You should know that. If they get a scourge on their side…”

“Wasn’t he to be a tool for political power and stuff?” Lazy yawned. He seemed to considering moving but gave up on the idea.

“It could be a she, don’t be an asshole,” the vampire quickly spat with a tone of self-satisfaction that seemed to make even the distant storms shy away. “I reckon—”

A loud snort made the vampire jump up and shut up. He looked at their last member, and so did everyone else. She was no powerful mage. She was just a wight – a being with terrifying talents and even more terrifying strengths.

However, vampires were better than wights. Their strength, speed, senses, and talents, all countered a wight better than anything else. And yet… here she was. There was more vampire blood on the heels of her tall boots than there was human blood in the bellies of three ancient clans of vampires put together.

“Fools. Babbling fools. Why do I bother with you?” the woman spoke, seething with venom. “If Baldy’s talent says the motherfucker is there, then we’re going in a straight line and murdering everything until we find him or her and that’s that.”

No one spoke up, but Muscleman, also known as Baldy now shuffled uncomfortably. “I have a thing…”

“Not you, idiot. We need someone who can fight, not a freak of nature who can’t use their strength for anything else but hauling barrels and throwing whores around. A blood of a warrior, and the balls of a maiden,” she spat.

“My wives and—” the vampire began quietly.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m going, and so is one of you. Fight it out or fuck each other until only one is left standing, I don’t care. You have five minutes. I’m going to scout ahead.”

With that, she jumped and turned into a dark apparition – just like almost every wight could – before appearing down on the ground and disappearing again.

The five remaining figures looked at each other. Muscleman stepped back, battling the smile of relief playing on his face.

“My legs ‘r short, lads. I can’t keep up with her,” the shortest figure said. There was reason in the words. All knew he was slow.

“I don’t do well with rain,” Lazy added and sprawled on the ground, letting the mud swallow his form as if the earth was hugging and accepting him as one of its own. He stretched with pleasure.

“Hmm,” Twist-beard wisely explained as his eyes bore holes into the vampire.

“But… but… you’re a mage! You should go! Aren’t you supposed to teach the one we’re looking for anyways?” the vampire protested weakly.

“I’m not speedy enough. I’ll teach him when you bring him back.”

“I can’t go with her! She’ll kill me!”

The rest nodded as one, offering silent condolences.

“There are many vampires in Blumwin,” Twist-beard said slowly.

“Oh?” the vampire’s brows raised, or at least that was the impression his exclamation gave. His hood still remained in place and obscured the actual expression he made. For all intents and purposes, his brows raised, and not due to any clean thoughts.

An inhuman scream tore through the raging storm in the distance. It made their souls shudder – at least those of the ones with souls – and the five looked around uncertainly. Even Lazy rose with a plop from the mud, his dark eyes turning beastly and intense for a brief moment.

“You think she’s fine?” Muscleman asked. There was no doubt in his voice, but it had seemed the proper thing to ask.

“I’m more worried about the things she’s found down there. I can’t say I know anyone that’s bothered with this place although I might have an idea what’s down there. But did you hear that scream? I can’t go! I’m not even a thousand yet! I don’t want to die! I’ve so many men and women to fuck and so much blood to drink!”

“Shhh, lad. She’s coming,” the short one whispered and took another swig of alcohol.

Everyone took a step back from the ledge and waited in anticipation. Even Lazy dragged himself backward on the ground, like a dog. The vampire scoffed at him.

She appeared, ethereal and more beautiful than the moon at night, with water dripping from her abyssal hair and accentuating her perfect features –

– and she was pissed off to high heaven. Her cloak was the only thing that remained unmarred by dark blood and she unclasped it and let it fall at her feet. The clothes beneath were torn apart by claws or giant fingers and the gaps had left her a lot of her skin exposed for all to see. Not that anyone dared stare or even have stray thoughts about her. Not her. Never her.

The wight’s features twisted to a monstrous degree and a large dark grotesque head that reached up to her waist fell on the ground next to her with a wet plop, as if she had thrown it beforehand.

It had blueish skin, three misshaped eyes, a forked tongue with barbs that were hanging loosely from the mouth with too many rows of teeth to allude to any practicality other than making the bites as painful as possible.

“Gods be thrice damned,” Twist-beard whispered.

“What. The. FUCK. Is this thing?” she asked, enunciating each word.

The storm in the distance seemed to shy away from contending for attention, and the five others shuddered, silently sharing the burden of being held in the gaze of the black eyes.

The vampire was first to move, having found a reason to postpone the excursion.

“It appears to be something long gone. The fallen land below is not one many venture into, as its danger level is set at a five or above. Meaning,” he paused for dramatic effect and threw a glance at Twist-beard as if to challenge him, “that magi below rank five would find it difficult to traverse.”

“Bullshit,” Lazy said.

“It’s what the books say! I wouldn’t expect you to know that, you illiterate mutt.”

“I’ll kill you both,” the wight woman quietly whispered, making even the pale vampire feel the blood drain from his face.

The short figure drank some more to calm his shaking, then hugged his booze and dodged the sneaky hand reaching for his flask.

The vampire cleared his throat and took another tentative step toward the head of the slain creature. “Was it, perhaps, a humanoid creature before you happened to it? Quite large?”

She nodded, her eyes threatening to swallow his nonexistent soul.

“Ahem, then, what we might be dealing with here is the long-lost rain giant. Or a twisted variation of it. There are legends that a god, not an insane one mind you, had died around these parts long before the fall, so…”

After a long pause, a few sighs, and a curse better left undocumented, the woman kicked the head with so much strength that rather than fly back down the skull caved and burst, showering the surroundings with long rotten brain matter and pieces of blueish flesh.

“We’ll need to make a better plan. I’ll be right back,” she said through gritted teeth and disappeared back down, in search of something else to kill. It was the only thing other than sleep that relaxed her.