Becoming The Strongest Angel With A Saintess System

Grace’s face met mud.

Again.

For like the thousandth fucking time today.

"Too slow!" Valkyrie’s boot pressed between her shoulder blades, grinding her deeper into the muck. "The Flame won’t wait for you to catch your breath."

[I’m going to die. Not from the Flame. From this psycho’s training.]

Three days. Three days of absolute hell and Grace felt like her body was held together by nothing but spite and prayer. Every muscle screamed bloody murder. Every joint felt like someone had replaced the cartilage with broken glass.

Even breathing hurt.

"Get up."

Grace pushed against the ground. Her arms shook like jello in an earthquake. Somehow—through sheer stubbornness and maybe a little divine intervention—she made it to her knees.

Valkyrie’s sword whistled through the air.

Grace threw herself sideways, feeling the blade part the air where her neck used to be.

"Better." Valkyrie reset her stance like she hadn’t just tried to decapitate someone. "But still sloppy."

Grace staggered upright. Her practice sword felt like someone had replaced it with a lead pipe. A really heavy lead pipe. Her vision did that fun thing where the edges went all fuzzy and dark.

[Just a little more. I can do this.]

She couldn’t.

She really, really couldn’t.

Valkyrie’s next attack came fast. Too fast. Grace tried to block but her arms had all the strength of wet noodles. The strike sent her sprawling back into her old friend, the mud.

This time Grace didn’t get up.

Just lay there, face-down, wondering if angels could die from exhaustion. Or embarrassment. Or both.

"That’s enough for now." Seraph’s voice floated down from somewhere above. "She’s done."

"She’s not ready."

"And she won’t be ready." Both Grace and Valkyrie did a double-take upon hearing that. "’Ready’ isn’t what we’re looking for. The Flame literally decapitated me. ’Ready enough’ is. Calm down."

Footsteps squelched through the mud toward her. Grace cracked one eye open to see several concerned faces hovering over her corpse.

"Grace?" That was Alia’s voice. All worried and sweet. "Can you hear me?"

"Mmrph."

"I’ll take that as a yes."

Multiple hands lifted her up. Gentle ones this time, not the kind trying to introduce her organs to the outside world. Grace let herself be carried like the world’s most pathetic sack of potatoes, too exhausted to give a shit about dignity.

What dignity? She’d left that in the mud about two days ago.

---

The inn’s bath was basically a glorified wooden bucket filled with water that might’ve been warm yesterday, but after three days of rolling in mud and blood and sweat, it felt like heaven.

Pure, wet heaven.

Grace soaked while Alia washed her hair, making little sympathetic noises every time she found a new bruise. Zephyr worked on her shoulders, fingers digging into knots that felt like rocks.

"You’re pushing too hard," Zephyr murmured. Her thumbs found a particularly nasty spot and pressed.

Grace hissed through her teeth.

"Have to." Her voice came out like she’d been gargling gravel. "Only three more days."

"You won’t last three more hours at this rate."

As if her body wanted to prove Zephyr’s point, Grace’s stomach let out a growl that sounded like a dying bear.

"When did you last eat?" Alia’s hands paused in her hair.

Grace tried to remember. Her brain felt like mush.

Breakfast? No, that was yesterday. Maybe? Time had lost all meaning.

"That’s what I thought." Alia made a disgusted noise. "Wait here."

She climbed out of the tub, water dripping everywhere, and threw on a robe. Grace watched her leave through half-closed eyes.

"Where’s she going?"

"To get you food, probably." Zephyr took over hair-washing duties. "You know how she gets when people skip meals."

Grace did know. Alia turned into a tiny, terrifying mother hen.

A knock at the door interrupted her dozing.

"Grace?"

A voice she didn’t recognize. One of the townspeople.

"We brought food."

Grace tried to sit up. Her abs informed her that was a terrible idea.

"Just leave it outside," Zephyr called. "Thank you!"

"Wait."

Grace forced herself vertical through sheer determination and bad decisions. Water sloshed everywhere.

"Grace, no—"

But she was already hauling herself out of the tub. Everything hurt. Everything. She wrapped a towel around herself—barely—and stumbled to the door.

A small crowd had gathered in the hallway. Men, women, even kids. All holding dishes that smelled like heaven.

"For you," an elderly woman said. She thrust a covered pot forward with shaking hands. "You’re fighting for us. Least we can do is feed you."

"I can’t—"

"Yes you can." A man stepped forward with bread that was still steaming. "Please. It’s not charity. It’s... hope."

More offerings appeared. Fruit that must’ve cost a fortune in this heat. Dried meat. Preserves. A little girl, maybe six years old, shyly held up a slightly squashed pastry.

"I made it myself," she whispered. "Mama helped."

Grace blinked.

"Thank you. All of you." She clutched her towel tighter. "But I’m just doing my job."

"Your job is keeping us alive," the elderly woman said firmly. "Our children alive. Let us help keep you alive in return."

Grace wanted to refuse. Angels didn’t need mortal food to survive. But looking at their faces, at the desperate hope there...

"Okay. Thank you."

She accepted the gifts, arms quickly overflowing. The crowd dispersed slowly, but not before half of them reached out to touch her arm or shoulder as they passed. Like she was some kind of good luck charm.

Or their last hope.

[I’m not a hero. I’m just a dead turnip farmer trying not to get turned into a talking head.]

But she smiled anyway. Waved with her elbow until they were gone.

---

Night fell like a hammer to the face.

Grace lay in bed, every inch of her body screaming. She’d eaten enough for three people and still felt hollow.

Tired down to her bones. To her soul. To places she didn’t know could be tired.

The door creaked open.

"Grace?" Alia’s whisper floated through the darkness. "You awake?"

"Unfortunately."

The bed dipped as Alia climbed in. Then dipped again as Zephyr joined from the other side.

"Good. We thought you might need some... stress relief," Zephyr said. Her hand found Grace’s thigh under the blanket.

Grace blinked.

[Oh.]

"I... don’t think I can move. Like, at all. Pretty sure my muscles have gone on strike."

"You don’t have to move." Alia’s hands were already working, sliding under the blanket to find bare skin. "Just relax."

"Come on~ Let us take care of you," Zephyr added, her fingers tracing patterns on Grace’s hip.

Four hands roamed her body. Gentle. Soothing. Finding every bruise and kissing it better. Finding every sore muscle and working it loose. Grace melted into the attention like butter on hot bread.

[Wow. This is nice. This is really, really nice.]

Alia’s mouth found her neck, lips soft against a particularly nasty bruise. Zephyr’s fingers traced higher up her thigh, teasing. Despite her exhaustion, Grace felt heat building low in her belly.

"There we go," Alia murmured against her skin. "Our poor, tired hero."

"I’m no hero."

"Shhhh." Zephyr’s tongue did something to her ear that made Grace flinch. "No arguing. Heroes don’t argue when they’re getting their pussies eaten."

"T-That’s not—oh shoot."

Zephyr had disappeared under the blanket. Her tongue found places that made Grace’s back arch despite every muscle protesting.

"There’s our girl," Alia giggled. She caught Grace’s gasp with her mouth.

They worked her over with the kind of careful dedication usually reserved for sacred rituals. Like she was something precious. It was embarrassing.

But Grace also wanted more.

[Screw it. I might not have these hands and legs in a few days. May as well put them to use.]

She grabbed Alia and flipped their positions. The Love Sister squeaked in surprise, then moaned when Grace pinned her wrists above her head.

"Grace! You’re supposed to be resting!"

"Changed my mind."

Grace kissed her. Hard. Hungry. Like she was trying to devour her. Alia melted immediately, making those perfect little noises against Grace’s mouth.

Zephyr laughed from somewhere near Grace’s hips.

"Excited all of a sudden, are we?"

Grace pulled back to look at them.

Her two ridiculous, wonderful, insanely supportive friends. Who’d followed her into literal hell without question. Who made sure she ate and bathed and didn’t completely fall apart.

Who were currently naked in her bed, trying to fuck her back to life.

"Thank you," she said. Meaning it. "For everything."

"Thank us after," Alia gasped. Her legs wrapped around Grace’s waist, pulling her closer. "More kissing now. Less talking."

Grace obliged.

She kissed Alia until they were both breathless. Let Zephyr’s talented tongue work magic between her legs. Gave back as good as she got, using every technique Venus had beaten into her head.

Tomorrow would bring more pain. More training. More reminders that she was nowhere near ready to face a god made of rage and fire.

But tonight?

Tonight she had soft skin and eager mouths and the kind of distraction that made everything else fade away. Tonight she had Alia squealing as Grace found that spot that made her see stars. Tonight she had Zephyr’s fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her mouth exactly where she wanted it.

Tonight she would feel alive.

"Oh fuck, right there!" Alia’s back arched off the bed. "Grace!"

[Three more days. I’ll be ready.]

She had to be.