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

"My dear son..." She began, her tone sickeningly soft. "There's no need to glare at me so violently. I simply did what needed to be done."

Her smile twitched. She dug her nails deeper into her palms, hiding the blood that dripped freely now.

"A good boy shouldn't live in lies. A good boy shouldn't bury himself in secrets. And you, my child...you have told so many lies, haven't you? And so I was only correcting your mistakes. Revealing the truth for you. So you would carry no sin."

Kafka's expression didn't shift, but the rage was building and Vanitas could feel it, seeping out of him in waves of heat, pressing against her skin like a growing storm about to break.

And seeing that it was going according to plan, he let out a trembling laugh and continued, forcing the blade in deeper.

"That's why I did it, you see? Now, you can be free. No more lies, no more deceit. You can keep your...precious relationship, without the weight of deception—"

She then paused deliberately, then tilted her head back and laughed, her voice ringing false in the air.

"Oh, no...forgive me. That's right, you can't, can you? You've already lost it. They'll never look at you the same way again. All that you've built? All that you've clawed together with such desperation?"

"...Gone. Utterly gone. How pitiful."

His lips twitched. Still, he didn't move. His hands trembled once, then stilled again at his sides.

Olivia and Abigaille remained in their daze, suspended halfway between memory and revelation, their faces blank and unreadable.

But Vanitas wasn't finished. She had to end it. She had to drag him to the edge, so she sighed, her voice deceptively thoughtful.

"But this...this isn't enough, is it? No, not nearly enough. You've lied to so many others. Deceived so many hearts. I should tell them all the truth too, shouldn't I?"

Her smile widened as she began listing names, each one pressed into him like a nail through his ribs.

"Camila..." She said softly. "How would she react, hmm? To know that the innocent young man who came into her life was only plotting from the beginning?"

"...That every smile was a manipulation? Every word of his was to simply to run his lips along her plump body."

She tilted her head the other way, her voice lilting like a lover's, but her words cutting like acid.

"Or perhaps, Bella. Yes, sweet Bella. What would she think if I told her that it was you who killed her father? Oh, she might claim to hate him, but blood is blood, isn't it? To know her past idol, her sweet, perfect father, was slain by your hands...how cruel, Kafka. Too cruel."

His hand twitched. The void in his eyes deepened.

She leaned forward, speaking almost conspiratorially, "Or Nina. Such a lovely girl, isn't she? So righteous, so full of her sense of justice."

"Imagine her face when she learns what you did to her ex-husband. How you forced him to drink acud while he was alive and watched his innards melt out of his body in a gloopy mess?"

"...Do you think she'd scream for your execution if she heard that? Do you think she'd put you in chains, throw you in a cell, and demand the world punish you as you deserve?"

Kafka's head lowered slightly. His breath was slow, dangerously slow, like a beast trying to contain itself.

But Vanitas pressed harder, her voice rising.

"Oh, but why stop there? You have so many sins, don't you? So many lives, so much blood. I could go back even further....To the world you originally came from."

Should I tell the women you met there? The ones who tried—tried so desperately, to protect you, to guide you, to nurture you when you were lost?"

Her gaze sharpened, piercing.

"Like the nun who fed you when your hunger was more than just for food, the officer who shielded you, putting herself in danger without a second thought, the doctor who patched you up when death was already at the doorstep—should I tell them what you truly became?"

"The demon who killed…again and again…who left nothing but chaos in his wake?"

She leaned forward, her smile widening, but her eyes flickered with unshed tears, her voice trembling even as she forced the venom out.

"How would you feel, my son, if every single one of them knew what you were? If every woman who ever cared for you looked at you with horror instead of love?"

Kafka tilted his head. His breath rattled softly. It was the sound of a cage breaking, a storm unchained.

And Vanitas knew. One more push. Just one.

"Oh..."

She said suddenly, as if she'd only just remembered. She then turned slightly, gesturing toward Olivia and Abigaille, their bodies still suspended in that strange daze.

"I nearly forgot. I haven't even told them yet, have I? I revealed some truths, yes, but not the worst of them...Not the blood. Not the cruelty. Not the monstrous trail of corpses their 'son' has left behind."

"...Well, no worries, I'll just tell them now."

And she took a step toward them with a smile like she was finding joy in ruining her son's life.

But that was when it happened—

From Kafka came a sound, one word, low and cold, dredged up from the pits of hell itself.

"...Die."

And then in one single motion, he was upon her.

Faster than sight, faster than thought, he surged forward, his hand snapping up to seize her throat.

Choke! Lift!

The force lifted her from the ground, her body jerking upward as his fingers locked around her neck like iron shackles.

He held her high, choking her, staring into her face with eyes stripped of all humanity.

No sorrow, no hesitation. Only abyss. Only hate.

And yet, as Vanitas clawed weakly at his arm, her lips curved upward.

Her face twisted with pain and her legs thrashed all over the place from the pain of having her neck crushed, but her eyes softened, satisfied, almost relieved.

Because this, this was exactly what she wanted.

'So this is it.' Vanitas thought, her mind a storm of sorrow and resignation. 'The end of me...and the beginning of him.'

'With this, everything will come to its conclusion. He will have the punishment he craves, and I...I will at last bear the weight of my sins.'

'My son will inherit the world, all that I shattered, all that I could not carry. And I will place it in his hands, a final gift, a final atonement.'

Her throat burned with the pressure of his grip, but she fought the urge to weaken her body too soon, to let him see how easily she could endure.

No—she had to struggle.

She had to make it seem real, so he would not notice the truth: that every ounce of pain she felt was nothing compared to the agony inside her heart.

But as she dangled in his grasp, forcing her body to twitch and struggle so he would not suspect the calm blooming inside her, her mask faltered.

A soft smile slipped across her lips, unbidden. Her eyes, which had tried to remain hard and mocking, softened into something far more dangerous, tenderness.

Because in this moment, staring down at him, she realized something that shattered her heart.

This was the first time she had truly seen him up close since she had abandoned him as a helpless infant.

She had watched him for years—yes, from the distant heavens, as he stumbled, suffered, and grew. She had watched him smile, watched him bleed, watched him fight.

But from afar, she had never been able to feel his presence like this, never been able to study the curve of his face, the darkness in his eyes, the way his face was carved by both sorrow and strength.

And gods above, he was beautiful.

Her son. Her blood. Her child.

She thought of the newborn she once cradled, fragile and red-faced, with those same dark eyes blinking up at her.

Back then they had been wide with innocence, now they were fathomless voids brimming with hate.

And still, still, they were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

'He has my eyes.' She thought with a pang. 'Even now, even through the abyss, he has my eyes.'

Her smile wavered as another realization struck her.

This was also the first time he had ever looked at her, truly looked into her eyes without flinching, without averting his gaze. Earlier, he had avoided her, as if she were a shadow he feared to face.

But now, here he was, staring directly into her, his abyss locked with hers.

It made her heart melt...and break all at once.

Because the gaze he gave her was not the gaze of a son looking upon his mother with love. It was not fondness. It was not longing.

It was hatred so pure it left no trace of sorrow behind, only the void.

He looked at her as though she were already a corpse, as though strangling her was nothing more than wringing the life out of a husk.

That stung worse than his grip.

Worse than the lack of air.

Worse than the blood now dripping from her palms as her nails dug deeper.

The boy who should have lit up at the sight of her.

The boy who should have whispered "Mother" with warmth.

The boy who should have loved her simply for being his.

But, now, his gaze met hers with icy detachment.

Now, his eyes bore the weight of disdain, of indifference…of a silent wish for her death.

Her heart cracked. And yet, she smiled wider.

'This is what I deserve.'

If death was the only way she could atone, then so be it. If hatred was the only thing he could offer her, then she would accept it gladly. Because at least, at least, she could die while looking at him.

Vanitas, goddess supreme, destroyer and weaver of worlds, who had never bowed to anyone, thought to herself with quiet, devastating certainty,

'To die in my son's hands...is the happiest death I could ever know. And though I will never hear you call me 'mother' with love, though I will never be forgiven...at least I will die knowing I was held by you, my darling son.'

Her smile trembled, but it held firm, even as her vision blurred, even as the pressure crushed her throat.

She was glad. Glad it was him.

Glad that even if his eyes were filled with hate, they were his eyes, and they were the last thing she would see in this cold world that suddenly felt much more warmer with her beloved son around...