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

Kafka's hand remained wrapped tight around Vanitas's neck, the tremor in his arm betraying the storm raging inside him.

He should have felt something—satisfaction, relief, vindication, yet none of it came.

Instead, confusion gnawed at him, hollowing him out.

It was wrong. All of it was wrong.

The first part that was so confusing was that he shouldn't have been able to choke her at all. She was a goddess, the most powerful existence across all realms, while he was just a mortal.

A mortal who, until now, was little more than fragile flesh and bone. And yet, as he held her suspended in his grip, he could feel it, the terrifying truth that if he only twisted his wrist, only pressed down harder, he could end her.

He could kill her. He could snuff out the Goddess of Vanity herself.

The realization sent a shiver of disbelief through him, leaving him more unsettled than empowered.

And then there was her gaze.

She should have been glaring at him with fury, thrashing against his hold, cursing his name.

But instead, those eyes. Tender. Loving. Overflowing with the same warmth he had seen countless times in Abigaille and Olivia's eyes.

It wasn't the face of the mother who had abandoned him.

It wasn't the smile of the goddess who had taunted him, broken him, stripped his world away.

No, this was different.

This was a mother's gaze, soft and unyielding in its affection, as though she would rather be broken herself than see him hurt.

And Kafka knew that gaze now. Before Abigaille and Olivia, he might never have understood it, might have dismissed it as another mask.

But after their love, after their tenderness, he recognized it instantly.

It was motherly love, raw and real. And it was directed at him.

That made it unbearable.

His grip faltered. His strength wavered.

If she had met him with hatred, he could have ended it, snapped her neck and been done with it.

But this? This tender surrender?

It paralyzed him.

There was also the fact that Abigaille and Olivia, who should have screamed, who should have rushed forward to tear him away from her, remained still, their faces blank, eyes glazed, trapped in a daze.

Their silence only deepened his unease. Something was terribly wrong.

And because of those doubts, his grip loosened. Just slightly, but enough for Vanitas to feel it.

Her eyes widened. Shock flickered across her face, he was letting go. He was slipping from the edge she had dragged him to.

Panic surged through her. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She needed him to finish it, to do the unthinkable, to sever this bond with his own hands.

And so, desperation drove her tongue.

"What are you doing, my son?" She sneered, though the strain in her voice betrayed her. "Why are you hesitating? You have all the power right now. Just a twist of your hand, and I'll fall. Dead. Gone."

"...This is the chance you wanted, isn't it? Don't waste it."

Her words were barbed, but Kafka only loosened more. He couldn't do it.

Not while she looked at him like that. Not when her tenderness stripped the hate from his bones.

That hesitation sent Vanitas into deeper panic.

This wasn't how it was meant to end. She needed him to finish it, needed him to do what she couldn't.

So, out of desperation, she forced her eyes cold, twisted her lips into malice, and spat the words that would cut him deepest.

"If you let me go." She spat. "I don't know what I'll do. Maybe...I'll get bored. Maybe I'll send those women you cling to, your precious Abigaille and Olivia, your mothers in this world, straight to the underworld. Let them rot there for a thousand years."

Her lips curved into a vicious smile.

"Do you want that, my dear son?"

Instinct took over. His grip tightened again, rage flaring.

Grip!

But then, confusion pierced through him once more.

Loosen!

His gaze trembled, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. His voice broke, hoarse, desperate:

"…N-No. You wouldn't. Something's wrong. You wouldn't do that. This, this isn't right. I don't understand what's happening...but something's wrong."

Vanitas only smiled bitterly, as though his words cut deeper than his grip.

"The only thing wrong..." She whispered, though her tone was laced with false vengeance. "...is that you're still hesitating. That you're still holding back. After everything I've done...after all the suffering I put you through...you're still enduring me?"

"Do you really love those women as much as you claim, if you can't even do what's necessary for them?"

His head shook violently, tears spilling freely now.

"No...No...You're making me do something I don't want to do! I don't like this! I don't want this!"

But she pressed on, forcing herself to sneer, her own heart breaking with every word,

"Well, you don't really have a choice here do you. So, just don't think about it and finish it. If you don't, I'll end them myself."

"It's her or them, Kafka. Your choice. And you already know the answer, don't you?"

Her words coiled like chains around his heart. He couldn't tell if she meant them. He couldn't tell if it was truth or manipulation.

But the terror of losing Abigaille and Olivia crushed him all the same. His face twisted, his grip quivered, his entire body trembling as he stood at the precipice of a choice he didn't want to make.

His chest heaved, tears streaking down his face. He could feel it now, the end, just one twist, one snap, and everything would be over.

And yet, his voice broke, spilling out like a child's cry.

"Why…?" His words shook, ragged, torn from his throat. "W-Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making me, me of all people, make a choice like this? Why do you force me to carry this sin?!"

His voice cracked louder, almost a scream.

"I just wanted...I just wanted to love! I just wanted to be loved! Why can't you leave me that?! Why are you tearing it all away from me?!"

Vanitas, her throat straining against his hand, lifted her gaze to him. The smile she wore was faint, cracked at the edges, but her eyes...her eyes were unbearably tender. She began softly, her voice hoarse yet filled with warmth.

"My dear son...it's the only way." She reached, not to pry his hand away, but to rest her trembling fingers lightly on his arm, as though comforting him even as he strangled her. "I know your heart is breaking. I know every second of this is tearing you apart."

"...But once it is done, once this ends, you will finally be free. Everything will go back to how it should be. You will live, not haunted, but happy."

Her eyes shimmered with tears. She leaned forward as best she could under his crushing grip, whispering:

"You want that, don't you? A happy life. A peaceful life with your family. With the women who love you. Isn't that what you've always wanted, Kafka?"

Kafka's whole body shook, his lips quivering as he tried to hold back sobs. "But...But you—"

"I know." She interrupted gently, her own tears slipping now, gliding down her cheeks. "I know, my son. And it's alright. It's alright."

"Whatever I've been, whatever sins I've committed...I deserve this. Every bit of it. If your hand is the one that ends me, then it is just. It is right. And it is mercy for the world."

Her voice hardened for just a moment, though her eyes never lost their unbearable love.

"But if you hesitate, if you let me go, I swear to you, I will not hesitate. I will strike down Abigaille and Olivia where they stand."

"I will crush every single bond you cling to, every woman you ever loved, until you are alone in this world. And you know I can. You know I will."

Kafka's hands spasmed, his nails digging harder into her skin. His tears dripped onto her face.

"No...no, you wouldn't. You wouldn't!"

But her gaze never wavered, even as her lips curved faintly, trembling.

"Can you take that risk, Kafka? Can you? Look at them. Look at your mothers. Would you risk their lives on a chance? Or will you do what must be done?"

His teeth clenched so tightly it ached. His breath came in ragged sobs.

"I don't...I don't want this! I don't want any of this!"

"I know." Vanitas whispered, tears spilling freely now. "I know, my boy. That is why...you must end me. This is your decision, the truest decision. The one that will keep them safe."

Her voice broke as her throat convulsed against his grip.

"Tighten your hand. Crush it. And it will all be over. Do it, my son. End it."

Kafka screamed through clenched teeth, his tears falling in rivers. His hands trembled, but they squeezed harder, the sound of strained cartilage beginning to echo.

Vanitas's face contorted from the pain, then softened again, her eyes brimming with gratitude even as her breath faltered.

"Thank you…" She gasped. "Thank you, Kafka. Thank you for giving me the punishment I deserve. And forgive me...for being such a horrible mother."

Her eyes shone with heartbreaking sincerity.

"I-I'm sorry...for abandoning you. I'm sorry for every moment of pain I caused you. This isn't enough to atone, I know. But at least...at least you won't have to carry me anymore. At least...you'll be free."

Her lips curved into one final, radiant smile, tears streaking down her cheeks.

"I'm glad...it's you. If I must die, I'm glad it's...in your hands…"

Kafka sobbed, his teeth bared, his entire body trembling with the unbearable weight of the moment.

And then, just as he was about to end it all, snap her neck and live with whatever the consequences that come with it for the rest of his life—

"STOP!"

A voice, sharp as thunder, yet chilling as ice, ripped through the room.

"Stop this madness...Right now."