[Chapter 202. The Reaper’s Meadow]

The swirling green glow of the portal cast long dancing shadows across the two gargantuan decorative wings of the black gate. One wing depicted a supposedly serene angel. Though its stone eyes seemed to endlessly bleed thick dark shadows; the other wing was a menacing grim reaper. Draped in what looked like the flayed skins of the damned. Their ancient stone forms seemed to peer down and watch her with fiercely judgmental eyes, promising nothing but agony and endless torment for any soul foolish enough to step between them.

Iris stood alone in the vast echoing cathedral-like room where the entrance to the Gates of Tartarus was securely housed. Her lithe presence was a solitary figure against the overwhelming architecture around her. She had mentally and physically prepared herself for this fateful trip, knowing with absolute certainty that it would come eventually, a necessary step in her eternal journey of accumulating power to serve her Progenitor. But what she didn't expected was that this deployment would come this soon, while the traumatic wound on her own soul from watching Searanox’s severed arm was still so raw and fresh.

She still remembered the weight of her Zweihänder as she had brought it down on his command. She could still feel the sickening crunch of his bone shattering beneath the razor edge of her dark blade, and the spray of his blood painting the floor. The sheer dominance he possessed, to sit completely unmoving, unfazed while his own creation cleaved his flesh from his body.

She took a deep steadying breath, letting the air fill her lungs. She stepped forward without hesitation, into the churning emerald vortex.

The roaring green portal swallowed her form without any resistance. The sickening feeling of being physically pulled apart at a subatomic level and then reassembled washed over her in a blinding instant. It was an agonizing sensation, yet deeply euphoric. For it meant she was moving, hunting, acting entirely on his sovereign will.

She reappeared instantly on a vast desolated plateau. The air here was utterly still and unnaturally heavy, smelling of ancient dust and something sharply metallic. The dead ground beneath her feet was a uneven mix of cracked earth and loose gravel that crunched loudly with her every movement. The silence of the place was broken only by the faint mournful whistling wail of a dry wind, blowing across the jagged rocks and a faint, almost vibrating hum that seemed to steadily emanate from the very portal behind her.

She looked around slowly, her silver eyes easily piercing the thick reddish-brown haze that clung to the earth. A few hundred meters away, a small grazing herd of grotesque beasts were slowly moving across the barren plains. Their massive six-legged frame carried them with a slow almost terrifyingly majestic grace that belied their weight. They were hulking creatures, their thick stone-like hides glinting faintly like unpolished granite under the unforgiving white light of the fixed sun. That burned in the washed-out sky. They were the perfect prey for a violent warm-up, a highly necessary distraction to sharpen her senses and temporarily banish the bloody images of her Lord's mutilation from her mind.

Iris reached over her shoulder and smoothly drew her Eldritch Zweihänder. The black metal of the monstrous blade instantly rippled and hummed with an inner unsettling turquoise light that seemed to hungrily drink the surrounding illumination. She could feel the power of the heavy weapon vibrating in her armored hands. A dark bloodthirsty energy that was a seamless extension of her own will and simmering rage.

She took a few silent steps forward, her paw like feet barely disturbing the loose gravel. Her silver eyes narrowed to deadly slits as she focused her intent on the nearest Strider. A bull slightly separated from the safety of the main herd, mindlessly chewing on a patch of silver scrub.

"Arcane Strike," she whispered, the deadly words forming a lethal caress in the still air.

The blade of her greatsword erupted in a brilliant flash of turquoise energy. The light was so intense that it physically hurt the eyes to look at. Leaving searing afterimages burned onto the retina. She swung the massive weapon in a wide devastatingly horizontal arc. The glowing blade carved through the heavy air with a high-pitched whistle that signaled absolute doom.

The massive Strider caught utterly by surprise, had no time to react. Its slow lumbering movements were a pathetic contrast to her sudden explosive and overwhelming violence. The magically enhanced blade tore through its dense, stone-like hide with meeting virtually zero resistance. The sword sheared through its body in a single perfectly executed motion, severing thick muscle and shattering bone.

The grotesque beast instantly exploded. Showering Iris in a hot spray of oily, foul-smelling blood and pulverized rock. The thick gore splattered hotly against her dark armor. Sliding down her curves in slick crimson rivulets.

The bisected beast let out a short guttural cry of agonizing pain that was cut off abruptly as the top half of its massive body slid off its severed lower torso. Hitting the rocky ground with a sickening meaty thud.

The other Striders in the small herd immediately panicked, the scent of hot blood and ruptured bowels triggering their primal fear. Their massive bodies turned clumsily fleeing with a desperate speed, their heavy feet shaking the very ground beneath them.

Iris paid their desperate retreat no mind. She was already moving. Her blood actively singing with the intoxicating thrill of the slaughter. They didn't came far, Iris had caught up whit them in a matter of a second. A few strikes later they also fell dead to the ground. Her silver eyes rapidly scanned the hazy horizon for her next target, her mind seamlessly shifting into a tactical machine focused entirely on the absolute butchery to come.

She spent the next few hours methodically hunting and slaughtering the local fauna, bathing the plateau in blood. Her movements were fluid and terrifyingly efficient. The Stonehide Striders with their supposedly impervious armor, were a completely trivial challenge for her vastly supernatural strength and the arcane power surging through her blade.

She soon encountered packs of Ridgeback Ravagers vicious canine-like abominations with razor-sharp bone spines protruding from their backs and saliva dripping from their multi-hinged jaws. They were slightly more difficult to dispatch. Utilizing coordinated pack tactics and blinding speed, attempting to flank and hamstring her. But their feral desperation forced her only to slightly elevate her exertion, utilizing her agility and flawless spatial awareness to avoid being surrounded. They were still absolutely no match for her perfect combination of elegant martial prowess and destructive arcane might.

She moved among the snarling beasts with a predatory almost orgasmic grace. Her lithe body was a deadly blur of black armor, flowing dark hair and bright turquoise light. She flawlessly dodged their snapping jaws, parried their bone-crushing lunges and struck back with heartless precision, systematically decapitating heads.

Eventually, breathing only slightly heavier than normal. Iris sat down gracefully on a jagged outcropping of sharp rock to take a short break. She wiped a smear of hot monster blood from her dark fur, entirely unbothered by the macabre mess. She sat in silence, coldly watching the distant herds of Striders in the reddish haze. The air was utterly still again, the silence profound and heavy with the scent of fresh death.

As she watched their statue-like hides moving in the distance, a memory of Searanox suddenly surfaced in her mind. His voice echoed in her consciousness as clearly and as vibrantly as if he were standing right beside her, his chest pressed firmly against her back.

"A Statue..." she whispered softly, her silver gaze drifting aimlessly over the flat expanse. The haze of the perpetual horizon actively blurred the distant shapes of the beasts into wavering silhouettes against the washed-out sky.

"I prefer you in my bed, not as a statue in my room."

Her own voice was a breathy, trembling whisper as she repeated his words. The sheer dominance of his statement, the implicit promise of his touch, the ownership he claimed over her physical form. Sent a heavy flush radiating through her body. A deep ache pulsed rhythmically between her thighs, a physical manifestation of her unconditional devotion to her creator. She was his living weapon, designed to slaughter his enemies. But she desperately longed to be the perfectly compliant vessel for his most primal releases.

She absentmindedly twiddled a small freshly plucked stalk of a silver-leafed bush she had found growing stubbornly between the rocks, rolling it gently between her armored fingers. The perfectly smooth, waxy surface of the strange leaves was a tactile distraction.

`Petrification.` That is exactly what he had meant by statue. The realization clicked perfectly into place in her mind with crystalline clarity. It was a small victory of intelligence in a world of lethal unknowns. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her pale lips. She carefully, almost lovingly slid the sprig of silver leaves securely beneath the tight leather cord securing her pants at her waist. The cool, waxy texture a sensual contrast to the intense heat of her physical exertions and her lingering arousal.

She glanced briefly at a pulsing green light in the lower left corner of her vision, a constant reminder of the omnipresent System that governed her entire existence. Her own life, her very soul was an artificial construct. A complex fabrication of flesh, created solely to serve a singular purpose. His purpose. She was fundamentally different from the weak, human cattle he ruled over.

She thought briefly of the four human women Searanox had commanded to enter this hellscape. Her perfect lips curled into a sneer of disdain. They were pathetic, fragile and soft things. Meatbags driven by petty, human ambitions. Crippled by their transparent desperation and pathetic attempts to seduce their way into safety. Vanessa, with her faux-corporate authority and transparently desperate hunger for power, was particularly loathsome. They wanted what Iris naturally possessed but they lacked the forged perfection to endure his true nature. They would be violently torn apart here. Their soft skin would be shredded by the Ravagers, their bones crushed to powder by the Striders, and their blood would stain this dead earth.

With a soft satisfied sigh, Iris pushed the thought of their impending deaths aside, focusing her mind completely on the task at hand. She stood up smoothly, her lithe body aching with a dull physical fatigue and seamlessly continued her ruthless hunt.

The next hour was an absolute blur of flying gore and blinding magic. She moved with a relentless tireless grace. Her body was a terrifying fusion of cold steel and physical might; her mind a sharp analytical tool of death. The local fauna fell before her advancing steps like dry wheat before a scythe. Their supposedly impenetrable stone hides and cunning pack tactics proved utterly useless against her vastly enhanced strength and her sharp arcane blade.

She was a beautiful, terrifying whirlwind of destruction. A living, breathing embodiment of the lethal proficiency Searanox had meticulously instilled within her. Every single kill, every severed head, every fountain of arterial spray was a bloody, reverent testament to her absolute dedication to him.

Not long after clearing the eastern quadrant of the plateau, leaving a massive trail of dismembered carcasses in her wake. Iris confidently made her way toward the gargantuan black tree that dominated the horizon. Its massive gnarled roots dug deeply into the earth like blackened veins of a diseased heart.

A faint shimmering barrier pulsing with a green light, blocked her path from venturing further into the sprawling, subterranean roots below the earth. The System, in its detached way, was silently informing her that she wasn't yet permitted to challenge the floor's guardian.

With a soft sigh of mild annoyance, she turned gracefully on her heel and began to make her long way back into the sprawling wastelands surrounding the colossal tree. Her mind was already compiling and formatting the tactical report she would have to deliver to her Progenitor upon her return.

The report had to be absolutely flawless. It had to be highly accurate and unapologetically honest. She had to give him exactly the specific information he required, the exact intelligence that would allow him to send those weak human women to their deaths with a clear and unburdened mind.

The thought sent a strange unfamiliar pang of something she couldn't quite identify through her chest. `Was it... pity? No. Absolutely not.` She immediately dismissed the absurd thought. It was merely a logistical calculation. Four human women, barely Level 12, even armed with her comprehensive report, would have an abysmally small chance of survival.

It was a statistically negligible chance... but technically, it was still vastly better than the absolute slaughter they would face without her gathered intelligence.

The next two grueling hours went by in a haze of systematic butchery. She had slain hundreds of beasts that roamed this floor. She had waded waist-deep through their spilled viscera and shattered bones, and yet her Eldritch blade remained entirely clean, completely void of even a single speck of blood.

As Iris finally returned to the gargantuan black tree. The dim pulsing green barrier was entirely gone. The path plunging deep into the subterranean roots was now wide open and completely unobstructed.