NOVEL NEXT Chapter 795: My Dear Son, Kafka
The words struck Kafka like a spear.
His body burned, his head spun, bile rose in his throat.
His worst nightmare, made flesh.
The one outcome that could never be allowed, now standing over his world like a daunting nightmare.
"Your mother, Lady Vanitas..." Seraphina pressed on. "...she shattered the Chains of Karma, broke through the Walls of Dialva Sinastrosa, cut through the fate lines and has somehow ascended to supremacy and has finally entered the mortal world like she desired."
"No…" His voice was barely audible, his lips numb.
But she was still speaking, hurried and desperate.
"She arrived last night, Kafka. She's been roaming freely ever since. She's already visited some of your women...And now, now she's moving directly toward you."
His stomach turned over, his blood running ice. He staggered up from the sofa, breath ragged.
"Kafka, listen to me!" Seraphina's voice cracked, sharper than he had ever heard it. "Don't be hasty. Don't do anything reckless. Stay calm, I'm currently breaking through the cracks of the barrier myself and I will be there in a moment!
"Until then, don't act in a irrational manner and keep your emotions in a check. Your mother is currently someone that no one can touch...She is currently the peak of all existence itself, meaning that even if all the Gods in the Celestial Realm tried to fight her we would be reduced to ashes in seconds."
"So, please don't lash out no matter what occurs and wait for me to arrive and—What?!"
Her voice hitched suddenly, gasping as if she realised something horrifying
"No, no, Kafka, no! She's not coming toward you...she's already there! She's already in your presence! Right in front of you!"
Hearing this, his head snapped toward the door, toward the hall where Olivia and Abigaille had vanished.
His heart seized in his chest.
The mysterious woman they had spoken of. The goddess-like figure that mirrored him.
He didn't want to believe it at first since he thought it was impossible for it to be her...But it had been her all along.
His lips parted, and a single name and title spilled out in disbelief and dread.
"Lady Vanitas…Mother."
Seraphina's voice rushed on, breaking apart. "She's in your home, Kafka! She's crossed through everything, she's, she's right there with you! But even still, stay calm and wait for me to arrive or else—"
And then, abruptly, her voice fractured. Cut off. The connection shattered like glass, while Kafka sat frozen, alone, pale as death.
He was scared beyond relief as for the first time in his life he didn't know what to do and was frozen in place. But then he remembered that both Abigaille and Olivia were with his mother right now, which made his hairs stand on end.
He immidietly lurched forward, intent on dragging the two women back before she could touch them, before his insane mother could sink her claws into them.
But before he could move, their voices filled the hall:
"Come in, please, our home is yours, Miss Vanitas." Olivia was saying calmy.
"Yes, yes, do step inside, you've waited far too long!" Abigaille added with excitement.
And then he heard it, the reply.
Smooth, serene, a voice both commanding and gentle, dripping with the unshakable calm of a woman who believed the world itself bent around her.
"Thank you, darlings...I'm truly glad that I have such kind neighbours."
The sound was deep, rich, regal and it crawled down Kafka's spine like ice.
And then they entered, the two women flanking a tall, pale figure who moved with quiet, imperious grace.
Olivia's cheeks were flushed with awe, Abigaille's eyes alight with admiration...And between them walked the woman who had haunted every corner of his nightmares.
The first sight of her was enough to still the air, as if the world itself paused to honor her presence.
Her hair spilled in rivers of midnight silk, cascading freely past her shoulders, strands gleaming faintly beneath the daylight like dark water touched by the sun. It framed her face with effortless grace, accentuating features that seemed sculpted with divine precision.
Her eyes were a marvel in themselves, deep, violet-tinged orbs touched with shades of rose, steady and unshaken, as if they had gazed upon the passing of ages.
In them dwelled the calmness of a sage, the patience of one who had lived for millenniums. They were neither cold nor detached, but serene, peaceful, as though no chaos of the world could ever reach her.
Her lips, painted in a bold black, curved slightly with an air of mystery, neither a smile nor a frown, but a delicate balance that drew the gaze, inviting questions yet denying answers.
At the center of her forehead rested a gleaming sigil, a violet mark that glimmered softly, like a jewel bestowed by the heavens themselves. It crowned her beauty with an aura of otherworldly divinity, setting her apart as something more than mortal.
The robe she wore was also dark and flowing, but it could not conceal her figure. She was plump and full, her body soft in its allure, the natural curve of her chest and hips giving her a striking, voluptuous presence.
It was not excess, but perfection, a form that embodied abundance and life itself.
And above all, she was utterly beautiful...Not merely in appearance, but in essence.
She carried herself with a grace that spoke of timelessness, of wisdom beyond mortal reach, and of serenity so deep it quieted the heart of any who looked upon her. She was not simply beautiful, she was beauty's perfection incarnate.
The woman who wore his face.
The woman who gave birth to him
Lady Vanitas...Kafka's birth mother.
And though Kafka despised himself for it, though his veins ran cold with dread—he understood why every voice in his home, every heart around him, had been ensnared by her.
For in that first raw glance, he too faltered, fear and anger blotted out, replaced for a heartbeat by wonder.
She was, beyond question, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
So beautiful that his rage forgot its place, his terror knelt down in silence, and his thoughts scattered like leaves in the storm of her being.
But just as he noticed her, she also noticed him staring at her as well. Of course she did. She had known the moment his eyes landed on her.
And slowly, languidly, as if the moment were stretched across a century, she turned her head.
And when their eyes locked, something happened.
Her eyes shimmered, their placid calm unraveling in an instant.
A storm of emotions swirled there, longing, sorrow, wonder, pride, so many at once it was dizzying.
Outwardly, her face was as calm and serene as always, but her eyes betrayed her, baring the truth of her heart.
Her hand trembled faintly at her side. Her whole body gave the smallest shiver, as though she herself could not believe what she was seeing.
But just as quickly as it came, she mastered it. Her lashes lowered, hiding the torrent within. She breathed out softly, steadying herself, and when she opened her eyes again, all trace of that storm was gone. They were calm, impossibly calm—like a still lake at midnight.
And then she smiled.
Her voice, when it came, was a melody of velvet and steel, the cadence of eternity woven into every syllable.
"As a God, I am burdened and blessed alike."
She said, her words stretching into the air with a cadence that carried the weight of countless lifetimes.
"I tend to all life, to all form, to the weaving of reality itself. There is not a secret in this cosmos hidden from me, not a whisper of time, not a thread of fate, not a breath of life."
"I know the sparks of stars before they blaze, I know the silence of worlds before they fall into ash. All things are as an open book before me, written and read, their endings clear."
She sighed softly, and her eyes, which had seemed to look through the fabric of reality itself, softened as they fell upon him.
"But still…" She said, quieter now, a warmth threading into her tone. "...still, I cannot help but be fascinated."
Her hands folded before her as though in prayer, trembling ever so slightly once more, her lips curving faintly as she gazed at him.
"Fascinated..." She whispered. "...that the same child I once held in these very hands...the same fragile, delicate infant, so impossibly small, who was once so dependent on my breath, my warmth, my care...has grown into this. Has become this man who now stands before me."
Her smile lingered, carrying both sorrow and pride, her voice dipped with awe as though she had stumbled across a miracle she herself had not foreseen.
"Life truly is magical, is it not..."
She breathed, her eyes glimmering with a warmth that pierced straight into him. And then, with a tenderness that silenced the room into reverent stillness, she spoke the words that cracked through him like thunder,
"...My dear son, Kafka."
"."
".."
"..."
"...W-What?"
For a heartbeat, Kafka felt himself unravel.
Rage, fear, and loathing had coiled around him like iron chains only moments ago, but as he looked into her eyes, those impossibly calm, impossibly warm eyes, something shifted.
His mother gazed at him not as a goddess, not as a force of terror, but as a mother who had once cradled her son.
The warmth in her voice, the tender softness hidden beneath each syllable, carried a note of longing...a regret so deep it seemed to stretch across the centuries.
And in that instant, every venomous thought he had clung to dissolved like frost in the sun.
The bitterness that had been his constant companion, the hatred that had defined his very soul, it faltered.
For the first time in his life, Kafka allowed himself to wonder if perhaps he had been wrong.
If perhaps his mother had truly wanted him, had truly loved him, and that all the horrors he carried were born from some vast and tragic misunderstanding.
His throat tightened. His lips trembled. Against everything he believed about himself, against the defiance that had been his armor since childhood, he felt the word rise unbidden, desperate, aching.
Mother…
He almost said it. He almost called to her with the longing he had buried so deep he pretended it did not exist.
...But just as the word began to form in his mouth, everything shattered when a request came from the Gods or rather his mother herself, which threw all of his hopes into the abyss
Ding~
[The God of Forbidden Love, Lady Vanitas sends a personal request to her son]
[Watch in silence, my dear child, as I unravel the bond between your mortal mothers by speaking the truth.]
[The truth of the matter that you lusted after them from the very beginning. That you never truly saw them as mothers, and every word from your lips was nothing but a lie, spoken only to conquer their bodies]
[Watch as I pull out the roots of your relationship with them entirely and make sure they never look at you as their son again and rather a distant stranger instead]
[Successfully fulfill the request and gain your mother's satisfaction and approval]
[Fail the given request and watch your mortal mothers perish right before your eyes]
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
The Illustration of Lady Vanitas is available in the character description section and the extended images are available in the discord...Check it out!
And I might take longer with the chapter updates since I don't want to mess the ending up, so bear with me and let's hope I don't screw up the ending of this novel. Lol.