God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem

The late afternoon light filtered weakly into the alley they were walking through, painting the bricks in a dull, amber haze.

Olivia's arm was still linked with her son's, her voice carrying with a rare liveliness as she explained exactly how she had shifted her stance to throw the man earlier, how she'd used his momentum against him, how the lock on his wrist had flowed seamlessly into the shoulder break.

Kafka also listened with wide eyes, nodding eagerly at every detail, like a boy at storytime.

They were just a few turns away from their scooter when the atmosphere suddenly snapped.

A jagged voice ripped through the alley.

"You bitch! I finally found you, finally! You think you can run away from me?!"

The sound stopped both of them cold.

Olivia's head jerked forward, and her stomach sank.

At the far end of the alley, limping heavily but still grinning with twisted triumph, stood the man she had thrown earlier, the one she had broken.

His arm was awkwardly bandaged and his posture crooked from the pain in his back, but his eyes burned with ugly determination.

And this time, he wasn't alone. Four other men stood behind him, all smirking like jackals, their eyes fixed squarely on her.

"I looked all over town for you." The guy spat on the ground, glaring as he staggered a few steps closer. "Thought you'd slipped away, dammit, I was furious. But now…" His lips peeled into a cruel smile. "…now I've got you. And this time, I brought backup."

The others laughed lowly, and their lewd grins widened to which Olivia instinctively grabbed Kafka's arm and turned, pulling him with her.

Escape, that was her only option.

But when she looked behind them, her heart nearly stopped.

Four more men had appeared from the other side of the alley, blocking the way out.

Their shoulders hunched, their faces brimming with vile amusement, as though a perfect trap had finally sprung shut around them.

The broken man let out a jagged laugh.

"You thought you were tough before, huh? With your freaky moves, throwing me like that. Well, guess what?..I came prepared. Enough men to pin you down and tear you apart. No escape. None."

He pointed a trembling, crooked finger at her, his expression boiling with hatred.

"And it's your own fault, you know. You butted into my business. You embarrassed me...Now, you're gonna pay for it."

"I was only teasing before, just a touch here and there...But now? Now I'm gonna make sure you regret it. We're gonna ravage you until you can't walk straight."

His words sent a chill down Olivia's spine, while the others piled on with their laughter, jeering openly.

"Normally we wouldn't even look twice at some older woman like her." One sneered. "Not our taste at all...But this one, ha! Look at that body. Damn fine, isn't it?"

Another shoved forward, barking. "Yeah, I agree. But let me just say that I'm first. Don't even try to stop me. I want her before any of you touch her."

"Like hell you are. I'm first! That's the reason I even came here!"

Another argued, eyes roaming Olivia's figure with a hunger that made bile rise in her throat, while the rest cackled, their faces twisting with hideous glee, circling like wolves who had finally cornered a deer.

Then the leader's eyes slid to Kafka. He sneered as though only now noticing him.

"And you...Don't know who the hell you are, or why you're hanging around her, but I don't care. This is between me and her."

"...So here's your chance. Run off. Go. No one will stop you. Best thing you can do for yourself."

He tilted his head, lips curling.

"Or...you can stay. Watch what happens. If that's what you're into, knock yourself out. Either way, she's ours."

Olivia's blood froze. Her face paled, yet anger boiled beneath it. She wanted nothing more than to snap his other arm, to crush his smug look beneath her heel.

But this time was different.

The alley was too narrow, too many bodies pressing in from both sides. Even with every ounce of skill she had, she couldn't fight nine men at once.

And worse than that, Kafka was here and she bit her lip, torn between fight and flight, and for a moment panic threatened to overtake her.

But then, he had given her an option...He told Kafka he could run.

And just like that relief surged through her chest like a flood.

If nothing else, if she couldn't protect herself, she could at least protect him.

So, she turned sharply to Kafka, clutching his hand with trembling fingers.

"Kafi, listen to me. Run. Please. Get out of here. I'll hold them off, I can handle this...Just go, go get the police."

Her voice was firm, but her eyes glistened with desperate sincerity. She didn't care what happened to her, her only thought was to keep him safe.

She then forced a brave smile, lifting her chin. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Just run."

But even as she begged him, the scumbag let out a laugh that scraped like glass.

"Sure, let him go. Call the police, call whoever you want! By the time you come back, boy, you'll see a sight you'll never forget."

"...And trust me, it won't be one you'll want to."

His words landed like poison, and Olivia's heart sank. Her face grew paler still, a blend of fear and fury tightening her muscles.

But even as fear clawed at her insides, she stood tall. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to panic, to fight, to run, but she forced her spine straight, her shoulders back.

...Why?

...Well, it was because if she broke down now, he would never leave.

He would stay to protect her, and then, then he'd be trapped too. She couldn't allow that. So she stood firm and lifted her chin, projecting a courage she did not feel, silently begging him with her stance alone: Run. Get away. Be safe.

She even opened her mouth to urge him once more to flee when Kafka's voice came, smooth, casual, almost amused, as though the threats surrounding them were nothing more than background noise.

"Run?" His lips curved in a half-smile, his tone so light it felt surreal. "You want me to run, Mom? And miss out on all this fun? Let you have it all to yourself?"

"...No way, I'm not about to let you be so greedy and let you have all the enjoyment."

The words stopped everyone cold. The gang, Olivia included, froze at the sheer absurdity of his tone.

And then, slowly, disbelievingly, she turned to him and was shocked to see his face.

He wasn't panicked. He wasn't grim like she thought he would be

Instead, he was smiling, calm, almost playful, like this was a game.

And before she could speak, he looked her straight in the eyes and, in a tone gentler than a whisper, said,

"Mom..."

He only called out to her, but for some reason the sound of it reached straight into her chest, cutting through the storm inside her. He then won't on saying,

"I know you're scared...Your hands are trembling, even now."

She blinked, looking down without thinking, and realized with a jolt that he was right. Her fingers were quivering, betraying the fear she was so desperately hiding. She snapped her fists tighter, but Kafka's smile only widened, easy and reassuring.

"It's all right." He said. "It's really all right. With me here, nothing's going to happen to you. Nothing's going to happen to us."

"..I can promise you that, so rest easy and don't worry about anything and relax."

The words weren't elaborate. They weren't even loud.

But they landed inside her like a foundation stone, grounding her completely.

Her fear didn't vanish, but it loosened, like ice cracking under sudden warmth. Her breath hitched, and for the first time since the men appeared, her heart didn't feel like it was going to claw its way out of her chest.

He then chuckled lightly then, his grin widening.

"And sure, I don't know the cool martial arts you do, I can't flip a man over my shoulder like that...But I've got my own kind of strength, as sometimes raw strength's all you need to handle a pack of imbeciles like this."

Hearing this, the leader, his broken arm still hanging limply, burst out laughing, the sound ugly and mocking.

"This guy? This scrawny idiot thinks he's gonna fight us? You hear that?...He's acting like he's some kind of hero!"

The others laughed with him, cruel and certain, closing in as the leader barked,

"Come on, boys...Show this bastard what real pain feels like."

And just like that they all moved like they were about to attack, but Kafka didn't flinch. He just glanced once at the group, then back at Olivia, still frozen in disbelief, and handed the bags he was holding to her.

His smile then softened as he said, "You know, Mom, I've already seen how you deal with these kinds of guys. I know how damn cool you can be."

"...But now it's my turn..."

"...So, watch me, Mom. Watch how cool your can be."

And then he stepped forward, just as one of the men lunged, fist cocked to slam into his jaw.

Seeing this, Olivia's stomach lurched, she almost screamed his name.

But before she could, something happened so fast her eyes barely followed.

Kafka's arm shot forward and it wasn't just fast. It was inhumanly fast, so sharp that Olivia's eyes couldn't follow the motion.

One instant, the man's knuckles were inches from Kafka's face.

But the next, his whole body had been halted mid-stride, as currently he was dangling helplessly in Kafka's grip, as he had actually grabbed his neck and lifted him from the ground to everyone's horror.

The man's eyes especially bulged in terror. His shoes scraped uselessly against the pavement as his feet kicked for purchase, trying to fight the choke that cut his air away. He gurgled, choked, gasped, but nothing helped.

And Kafka...Kafka didn't even flinch. He stood there with effortless poise, holding the struggling man aloft as though he were no heavier than a sack of grain.

Then, slowly, he turned his head, while holding onto him.

His eyes met Olivia's and his lips curled into the same casual smile he always wore, as though he'd just caught a child misbehaving.

"Like I said, Mom." His voice carried low, calm, unshaken. "Techniques are cool and all. But sometimes...raw strength—"

His grip tightened. The man let out a strangled, animal noise.

"…can have quite the impact as well."

And then, without warning, Kafka moved.

His entire arm dropped in a single fluid arc and just like that he slammed the man into the ground.

SMACK!

CRACK!

BREAK!

SNAP!

CRACK!

The impact was brutal. A thunderclap of flesh and bone cracking against unforgiving concrete echoed through the alley, bouncing off the narrow brick walls.

It was sharp, sickening, like the breaking of a tree branch magnified tenfold to the extent even Olivia flinched at the sound, her heart hammering.

And just like that, the whole alley went dead quiet.

The other men froze where they stood, their earlier sneers erased, their eyes wide in raw disbelief.

And Olivia, her own breath caught in her throat, her hands trembling, stared down at the crumpled figure.

The scariest part wasn't even the sounds of his bones breaking, but it was the fact that—

...he wasn't making a sound himself.

...He wasn't even twitching.

He looked...completely dead.