Chapter 140: Morning Existential Crisis

Grace lay on the couch like a dead starfish, staring at the ceiling and questioning all her life choices.

From a few feet away came the unmistakable sounds of Diana going to town on someone. Multiple someones, actually. Alia’s high-pitched moans mixed with Zephyr’s deeper ones, punctuated by the rhythmic slap of skin on skin and what sounded like furniture being rearranged. Aggressively.

Grace didn’t even blink.

[Just another morning in paradise.]

Her body still ached from the Tempest fight. Every muscle felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. And from Diana’s enthusiastic “debriefing” afterward. Mostly from Diana, if she was being completely honest. The woman had stamina that bordered on supernatural.

But underneath the physical exhaustion was something way worse. The crushing weight of knowing three more Pillars were out there somewhere. Three more fragments of Eternia’s emotional baggage that she’d have to deal with.

“Grace?”

Petriel stood in the doorway, green hair messy from sleep and looking like she’d just rolled out of bed. She wore one of those tiny silk nightgowns that left very little to the imagination. The morning light made the fabric almost transparent.

Grace’s brain short-circuited for a second.

“Hey.”

“Are you alright? You’ve been staring at that ceiling for a while now.”

Had she? Time got weird when your brain was stuck in an existential crisis loop. Plus the ceiling was kind of boring. Just white marble with some fancy gold trim that probably cost more than her entire village back home.

Petriel walked over and sat on the couch. Without thinking, Grace shifted and dropped her head in Petriel’s lap.

“Oh!” Petriel’s face went bright red. “I— um— this is—”

“This okay?”

“Y-yes! Very okay! I mean, normal okay.” Petriel’s voice got higher with each word.

Grace closed her eyes. Petriel’s thighs were soft and warm. Way more comfortable than staring at architectural details.

“Everything feels like too much,” Grace said.

“What do you mean?”

From the other room came a particularly loud crash, followed by Diana’s voice yelling “FUCK YEAH!”

Grace winced.

“The Pillars. The demons. The fact that I’m apparently the only person in existence who can fix Eternia’s… cosmic-level mommy issues.” She opened one eye to look at Petriel. “Did you know? Apparently, a bunch of angels keep defecting to the Veil.”

Petriel’s hand found Grace’s hair, stroking gently. Her fingers were cool against Grace’s scalp.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Celestia mentioned it. Or maybe I overheard it. Everything’s blurring together.”

A particularly loud moan echoed from the other room. Definitely Alia hitting some kind of high note.

“Goodness.” Petriel’s hand paused in Grace’s hair. “She’s quite… enthusiastic this morning.”

“She’s always enthusiastic.”

Another crash. This time it sounded like someone had kicked over a chair.

“Should we be concerned?” Petriel asked.

“Only if the moaning stops.”

They sat in comfortable silence. Well, as silent as it could be with Diana apparently trying to fuck Alia and Zephyr through the floor and possibly into the room below them.

“Y-You know,” Petriel said softly, “it’s okay to just relax sometimes. To not think about saving the world for five minutes.”

“Is it though? Every day I spend lying around, more people die. More villages get overrun. More angels defect because they’re losing hope.”

“And if you burn yourself out completely, everyone dies. Even the top angels need mental rest as much as physical rest.”

“I’m not a top angel, come on.”

“You’ve killed multiple Primal Demons and purified four ancient Pillars, hehe,” she chuckled lightly. “If that doesn’t make you a top angel what does?”

“I did all that by accident. Or luck. Or because I was too stupid to run away when any sane person would have ’noped’ right out of there.” Petriel flicked her forehead. “Ow! What the hell?”

“Stop that. You’re amazing and you know it.”

Grace rubbed her forehead, staring up at Petriel in shock.

“Did you just flick me?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re spending too much time with Diana.”

“Oh!” The moaning from the other room hit a crescendo that probably woke up half the Dominion. “Oh my. Is she using both of those light-constructed… things… at once?”

Grace groaned and buried her face in Petriel’s stomach.

“I don’t want to know.”

“Sorry. I’m just… curious about the logistics.”

Twenty minutes later, after the sex marathon finally ended and Diana emerged looking way too pleased with herself, Grace dragged her sore body to the training grounds. Every step was a reminder of exactly how thorough Diana had been the night before.

Her routine was routine though. And if she didn’t show up, Seraph would probably come looking for her. Possibly with a bucket of cold water.

Seraph stood in the middle of the arena, arms crossed, red braid swinging as she turned to watch Grace’s approach. Her expression was about as sympathetic as a brick wall.

“You’re late.”

“Diana was busy.”

“I heard.” Seraph’s grin was absolutely wicked. “The whole fucking Dominion heard. Scared some birds out of the trees.”

Grace’s face heated up like a furnace.

“Can we just train? Please?”

“Sure. But first, you look like shit.”

“Thanks. Really feeling the support here.”

Seraph tossed her a practice sword. Grace caught it, barely. Her reflexes were still shot.

“Tough love, kid. Now, let’s see if you remember anything from yesterday or if Diana fucked all the training out of your brain.”

They sparred for an hour. Grace’s form was definitely better than before—she actually lasted five whole minutes before Seraph disarmed her with a casual flick of her wrist. Progress, sort of.

“Not terrible,” Seraph admitted, helping Grace pick up her sword from where it had flown.

“High praise coming from you.”

“Don’t get cocky.” Seraph offered her a hand up. “You still telegraph your strikes like you’re sending a formal invitation to your opponent.”

“I do not—”

Seraph demonstrated by mimicking Grace’s wind-up before a thrust, complete with exaggerated shoulder movement and facial expression. It was embarrassingly accurate.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ’oh.’” Seraph ruffled her hair like she was a particularly slow child. “Come on. Let’s take a break before you pass out.”

They sat on the edge of the arena, legs dangling over the side. The morning sun made everything look golden and perfect. Like a painting of what heaven should be instead of the slow-motion disaster it actually was.

Grace watched a pair of angels spar nearby. Their movements were fluid, practiced, beautiful. They’d probably been doing this for centuries. Meanwhile, Grace had been an angel for what, a few months? And she was supposed to save everyone.

[No pressure or anything.]

“Do you ever wonder if we’re fighting a losing war?”

Seraph glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“Just thinking. We can’t kill demons permanently. Only I can do that, and there’s only one of me. Meanwhile, they keep spawning faster than I can kill them.” Grace kicked her feet against the arena wall. “It’s like trying to empty the ocean with a bucket.”

“So?”

“So maybe we’re just delaying the inevitable. Maybe in a hundred years, Linaria will be nothing but demons and corruption, and all this fighting will have been pointless.”

Seraph flicked her forehead. Harder than Petriel had.

“Ow! What is it with people flicking me today!?”

“Stop thinking so much. You’re gonna give yourself brain damage.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Seraph stood and stretched, joints popping. “You know what your problem is? You’re trying to solve everything at once. The whole war. The whole world. The entire cosmic balance. That’s not your job.”

“Then what is my job?”

“Your job is to kill the demon in front of you. Save the person who needs saving. Take it one fight at a time and stop trying to plan out the next century.”

Grace looked up at her.

“That’s it? That’s your big wisdom?”

“That’s it.” Seraph offered her hand. “The rest is just noise that’ll drive you crazy if you let it. Now get up. We’ve got more work to do.”

Grace took her hand and let Seraph pull her up. Maybe she had a point. Maybe trying to fix everything at once was what made it feel impossible.

“Besides,” Seraph added, grabbing her practice sword, “if you keep moping around like this, Diana’s going to think she broke you.”

“She did not break me!”

“Really? Because you were walking pretty funny this morning. Like you’d been rode hard and put away wet.”

Grace’s face burned.

“I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t.” Seraph got into position, sword raised. “Now come on. Let’s see if you can last ten minutes this time without falling on your ass.”

They squared off again. Grace pushed aside thoughts of Pillars and demons and the slow death of Linaria. Right now, there was just her and Seraph and the sword in her hand.

One fight at a time. She could do that.

Maybe.

Seraph came at her fast, and Grace met her halfway. Their swords clashed, the sound ringing across the arena like a bell.

“Better!” Seraph called out, pressing the attack. “But you’re still telegraphing like you’re announcing your moves in advance!”

“I am not!”

She totally was. But admitting that would mean Seraph was right, and Grace wasn’t ready for that level of personal growth yet.

They kept sparring as the sun climbed higher. Other angels stopped to watch. Some cheered when Grace managed to block a particularly tricky combination. Most just stared at her with that uncomfortable mix of awe and expectation that made her skin crawl.

[The pressure is real.]

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