Becoming The Strongest Angel With A Saintess System

The valley spread out in front of Grace like a giant red gash in the earth, once again.

Stone walls towered on both sides, herding her toward what was definitely going to be the worst beatdown of her very short angelic life.

Each step felt heavier.

[I should’ve written a will. Do angels even write wills? What would I even leave behind? My collection of bruises from Diana’s "training"?] fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

The heat slammed into her in waves. Not normal volcano heat either—this was personal. Like the air itself had a grudge against her specifically.

Grace kept walking anyway.

What else could she do? Turn around and tell everyone "Sorry, changed my mind, the murder volcano is too scary"? Yeah, right. She’d faced the Root’s creepy plant zombies. She’d gotten tentacle-fucked by the Tide until she managed to flip the script. She could handle one angry fire spirit.

Probably.

Maybe.

[Fuck my life.]

The ground under her feet went from packed dirt to black stone. Then the stone turned into something that looked like glass. Her hand found her rapier’s handle. The Blade of Dawn felt cool against her palm—the only thing in this whole place that wasn’t trying to cook her alive.

"Okay, Grace. You got this. Just... don’t get your head chopped off like Seraph. Easy."

Her voice bounced off the canyon walls, making her sound way more confident than she felt.

The path opened up ahead. Grace saw it—the chamber where Seraph had gotten decapitated like a dandelion.

Her steps slowed.

Then stopped completely.

She thought about the Root. How angry he’d been, how abandoned he’d felt. How all it took was someone listening, someone acknowledging its pain.

The Tide had been the same way. Lonely, forgotten, lashing out because no one cared about her suffering.

[Maybe the Flame just needs someone to hear her too. Someone to take her seriously instead of trying to fix everything.]

Grace touched the medallion around her neck. Eternia’s medallion. The thing that had been giving her visions of the past.

[Come on, Eternia. If you’re gonna be helpful, now would be a great time.]

Nothing. No vision, no guidance, no convenient flashback to show her exactly what to do.

Just Grace, alone, walking toward her own butt-kicking.

"Well, screw it. Here goes nothing."

She walked into the chamber.

The space was massive. Way bigger than she remembered from her frantic escape while carrying Seraph’s talking head. The walls were black glass, showing her a million distorted reflections. A thousand worried Graces stared back at her, all looking equally screwed.

[Great. An audience for my impending humiliation.]

But as Grace looked around, she noticed other things too. Scorch marks on the walls. Deep gouges in the floor. This wasn’t just a chamber—it was a prison. A place where someone had been trapped, alone, for centuries.

The air shimmered.

Then caught fire.

The Flame materialized in the center of the chamber like the world’s angriest bonfire. This time, she wasn’t screaming or ranting.

She just stood there. Watching. Simmering.

"You came back." The Flame’s voice was controlled. Quiet. Like lava right before it explodes and kills everyone. "I’m surprised."

Grace swallowed. Her throat was already bone dry from the heat.

"Yeah, well. I’m full of surprises."

[Like how I keep volunteering for suicide missions, apparently.]

The Flame tilted her head. Studied Grace like she was trying to figure out a puzzle.

"Are you prepared to accept your punishment, Eternia?"

[Still thinks I’m her. Fantastic.]

Grace could correct her. Explain that she wasn’t Eternia, that this was all a big misunderstanding. But something told her that wouldn’t help. The Flame needed to get this out, needed to say what she’d been holding in for centuries.

And Grace was the only one here to listen.

Grace drew her rapier. The divine light looked dimmer here, like even her holy weapon was having second thoughts about this plan.

"I’m prepared for whatever you need to do."

Not exactly a lie. She was prepared in the sense that she’d accepted this was going to hurt. A lot. Like, probably worse than anything Diana had ever done to her in training.

And that was saying something, considering Diana’s idea of "gentle sparring" usually left Grace looking like she’d been run over by a cart.

The Flame’s lips curved into something that might’ve been a smile on anyone else. On her, it looked like a death threat.

"Good."

She moved.

Grace barely saw it coming. One second the Flame was standing across the chamber looking angry. The next, her fist was buried in Grace’s stomach like a cannonball.

The impact launched Grace off her feet. She flew backward, crashed into the wall hard enough to spider-web the glass, and slid down in a heap.

[OW. HOLY SHIT. OW OW OW.]

Everything hurt. Her ribs felt like they’d been rearranged. Her lungs forgot how breathing worked. The world spun in fun new directions.

[Okay, note to self: the Flame hits way harder than Diana.]

"Get up."

Grace wheezed. Tried to push herself upright. Her arms shook like leaves.

A boot caught her in the ribs. She rolled across the floor like a tumbleweed, finally stopping when she slammed into another wall.

"I said get up."

[Okay, I definitely changed my mind. This was the worst plan in the history of plans.]

Grace spat blood. Definitely blood. That probably wasn’t good, even if angels couldn’t actually die. Being immortal didn’t mean getting the shit kicked out of you was fun.

Through pure stubbornness and muscle memory from Valkyrie’s brutal training sessions, she managed to get to one knee.

The Flame grabbed her by the throat. Lifted her like she weighed nothing.

"Centuries, Eternia. Centuries of carrying your rage. Your hatred. Everything you were too weak to feel yourself."

Grace clawed at the hand around her neck. The Flame’s skin burned, but not enough to actually hurt her—just enough to be really fucking annoying.

"And you never came back. Never checked on me. Never cared what happened to the thing you created to be your emotional dumpster."

She hurled Grace across the chamber.

Grace hit the ground hard, bounced twice, and skidded to a stop. Her sword clattered away somewhere. She couldn’t see it through the fireworks exploding across her vision.

"Do you know what it’s like? Being stuffed full of someone else’s fury? Feeling it eat away at everything you used to be?"

A kick to her ribs flipped Grace onto her back. She curled up, trying to protect her organs.

"Of course you don’t. You shoved it all into me so you wouldn’t have to deal with it."

Another kick. This one sent her rolling across the glass floor like a bowling ball.

The Flame loomed over her. Even through the pain and the stars dancing in her vision, Grace could see it—the centuries of hurt hiding behind all that anger. The abandonment. The loneliness of being used as an emotional trash can and then forgotten about.

It reminded her of Diana, actually. That look Diana got sometimes when she thought no one was watching. Like she was carrying something heavy that she couldn’t put down.

"Get up."

Grace coughed. More blood splattered on the glass. Everything hurt in exciting new ways.

"I... need a second."

"You don’t get a second. You didn’t give me a second of peace in all this time. GET. UP."

Fire erupted around the Flame like she was having the world’s angriest temper tantrum. The temperature spiked from "uncomfortably hot" to "surface of the fucking sun."

Grace’s clothes started smoking.

[Okay! Okay! Getting up now! Jesus, she’s scarier than Venus when someone interrupts her mid-lesson.]

She rolled onto her stomach. Pushed against the floor with shaking arms. Her whole body felt like one giant bruise, but somehow she made it to her hands and knees.

"There we go." The Flame’s voice dripped with satisfaction. "On your knees. Where you belong."

Grace looked up at her through bloody hair. At this manifestation of Eternia’s discarded rage.

And something clicked.

This wasn’t about winning a fight. This wasn’t even about surviving. This was about someone who’d been hurt and needed to be heard.

Grace had seen it with the Root. With the Tide. Hell, she’d seen it with Diana and her traumatic memories. Sometimes people just needed someone to listen, to acknowledge their pain, before they could start healing.

So, she started with:

"I’m sorry."

The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Not as Eternia. As Grace. Because someone needed to say it, and Eternia clearly wasn’t going to show up and do it herself.

The Flame’s fire flickered.

"What?"

"I said I’m sorry. For what ha- I mean, what I did to you."

"You’re—" The Flame’s fist clenched. "No. No, you don’t get to apologize now. Not after all this time. Not when it’s too late to matter."

She grabbed Grace by the hair, hauling her upright with one hand.

"You want forgiveness? You’ll have to earn it."

The headbutt came fast. Grace’s nose exploded in a burst of pain and blood. She stumbled backward, somehow still on her feet.

"There. Better." The Flame rolled her shoulders like she was warming up. "Now we can really get started."

Grace wiped blood from her face with the back of her hand. Everything hurt. Her nose was definitely broken. She could barely see straight through the tears.

But she was standing.

Somehow.

And she understood now. This wasn’t about the Flame wanting to hurt Eternia. This was about her needing to be seen. To have her pain acknowledged. To matter to someone, anyone, after centuries of being ignored.

"Bring it on."

[Did I just say that? Did I really just taunt the angry fire goddess? What is wrong with me?]

The Flame laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. More like the sound a forest fire might make if it could express amusement.

"Oh, I will. We’re just getting started, Eternia." Her sword materialized in her hand, edges dancing with white-hot flames. "I’ve got centuries of steam to blow off."

[This is going to be a very, very long day.]

Grace raised her fists. No sword—it was still somewhere across the chamber. No plan beyond "don’t get my head cut off." No hope of actually winning this thing.

Just her and an angry goddess who needed someone to beat the absolute shit out of.

And Grace had volunteered.

Time to earn that hero title.