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

The sound of Seraphina's slap still echoed in the room, sharp and unreal, as if it had split the air itself.

And Vanitas herself froze, her head slightly turned from the blow, her lips parted but no words escaping. The goddess who could silence cosmic storms and bend galaxies to her will stood motionless, her throat tight with unspoken rage.

Her hands trembled at her sides, curling into fists, her whole body thrumming with the need to retaliate.

Her son's eyes were still on her, and the weight of that gaze burned her pride raw. The humiliation, the disbelief, the fury, all of it boiled inside her, threatening to spill out.

She opened her mouth, ready to unleash the full force of her wrath,

But Seraphina's voice cut through before she could say anything.

"Have you had enough, Lady Vanitas?"

The words were calm. Cold. But beneath them was an undeniable authority, the kind that could silence gods and men alike.

And Vanitas too faltered, her retort dying before it reached her lips.

Seraphina then took a single step closer, her hair catching the dim light, her blue eyes hard as frozen skies.

"I say this with the deepest respect for who you are, for what you've endured...but what you are doing right now is unforgivable." Her tone sharpened, like steel scraping against stone. "It is not only unforgivable, it is utterly foolish."

Vanitas's breath caught. Rage flickered in her chest, but so too did something else, sorrow. The faintest shimmer of tears welled at the corners of her eyes, though she bit them back with every ounce of strength.

"To be honest, I never expected I would ever say this, but I am...disappointed in you." Seraphina continued, her voice steady and unrelenting. "Disappointed in your choices. Disappointed in the way you twist your grief into cruelty."

"...And most of all, disappointed in the way you think this will ever bring peace to your son."

Vanitas lowered her gaze, her lips pressed tight. Silence pressed heavily between them, as though even the walls of the house were holding their breath.

But Seraphina pressed on.

"Yes. I understand your pain. I understand your grief. You lost him once, and in your desperation, you abandoned him. That wound has never healed. But this..." She gestured sharply at Kafka, whose chest still heaved with ragged breaths. "...this is not the way. This is not the solution."

Her voice softened then, though her words only cut deeper.

"Even if you succeed in this madness, do you not see what comes after? Do you not see the weight he will carry? You think you are punishing yourself, but what you are truly doing is condemning him."

Vanitas's eyes flicked upward, meeting Seraphina's piercing gaze, but no words came, while Seraphina stepped even closer, her voice dropping to something more intimate, more devastating.

"Just think about it for a second, Lady Vanitas, just think about how will he feel? Have you even thought about that?"

"When the rage passes, when the fire cools...he will wake every morning knowing his hands ended his own mother's life."

"Every night, that memory will claw at him, whispering into his dreams. The guilt will devour him, the pain will rot him from the inside out."

"...Is that what you want for your son? To carry your death as his burden?"

The hall fell silent again.

Vanitas's lips parted, but no sound came. Her chest heaved, her throat tight, as if her own voice had abandoned her. Rage had vanished, leaving only sorrow, confusion, and something far heavier, shame.

Her eyes darted to Kafka, still standing there, trembling, torn apart by everything. The sight of his tears, the silent anguish in his gaze, struck her harder than the slap.

"Answer me, Last Vanitas." Seraphina continued to demand softly, almost pleading now. "Was this what you wanted for your son? To carry the weight of your death forever? To see your face in every nightmare? To hate himself every time he remembers you?"

"...Is that the love of a mother? Or is that only selfishness dressed as sacrifice?"

Vanitas stood in silence, the weight of Seraphina's words striking her harder than Kafka's grip ever had. Her lips trembled, her breath shallow, her eyes lowered.

Every syllable had cut clean through the mask she wore, stripping her bare until only the truth remained:

She wasn't a martyr. She wasn't selfless.

She was just a broken woman trying to ease her own guilt by forcing her son to damn himself.

Her hands curled into trembling fists.

'Selfish. I'm selfish.' The admission rang like a bell inside her skull.

She had sworn, the day she left him, that if fate ever allowed her to stand before her son again, she would do better, be better.

And yet, here she was, still failing him. She had wrapped her grief, her regret, her longing into this twisted game, blind to how it crushed the boy she claimed to love.

When she dared to lift her gaze toward Kafka again, her heart cracked.

She then imagined another face, the face he would wear if he had truly killed her. She saw him haunted, broken, carrying her death as an eternal wound carved into his soul. And the thought alone nearly buckled her knees.

'What have I done…?'

Her body swayed, her composure fraying. The sorrow was suffocating, a pit that dragged her down. For a heartbeat, she wished for oblivion, wished to vanish into nothing rather than face the truth of her own failures.

And then, Seraphina's voice again.

But softer now. Gentler. Like silk brushing against raw skin.

"But...it's all right, Lady Vanitas...It's alright now." Seraphina murmured, and when Vanitas looked up, she saw no scorn there.

No condemnation. Only warmth. A smile, small and tender, and eyes that held something she had not felt in centuries, compassion.

"Yes...what you did was horrible. Unforgivable, even." Seraphina continued. "And what you were about to do would have left wounds that no power in this world or the next could ever mend."

"But listen to me, everyone makes mistakes. Mortal or divine, peasant or goddess. We all falter. We all stumble. The difference lies in what comes after."

Vanitas's throat tightened. She turned away, ashamed, her voice a whisper. "…I have made too many mistakes."

Seraphina shook her head, stepping closer.

"Perhaps. But it is not the count of mistakes that defines you. It is the choice to keep making them...or to change. And this mistake, the one you were about to force upon him, has been prevented. That means there is still hope."

"...Hope for you, and for him."

She looked toward Kafka, whose eyes darted between them, uncertain, conflicted and the her voice softened further.

"Hope that the two of you can talk. That you can understand one another. That you can heal. Isn't that right, Kafka?"

Both women turned to him and the moment they did, his pulse thundered in his ears. His mouth opened, dry, the words sticking in his throat.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know if there was a way forward. And yet, staring into their expectant gazes, one thought rose above the storm:

He wanted it. He wanted things to be better. He wanted to believe.

"Y-Yeah..." He finally muttered, voice rough, awkward. "I...I guess so. If there's a way for this to get better, then...I want that. More than anything."

Vanitas's eyes widened, shimmering with a fragile light, while Seraphina smiled faintly and touched her shoulder.

"You see, Lady Vanitas? Not all hope is lost. There is still a path forward. But not like this. Not with force. Not with despair. But in a much more gentler way."

"...A human way."

Then her expression grew firm again, though never unkind.

"But that path doesn't begin tonight. This wound is too fresh, the air too thick with hurt. He needs time, and he needs answers. Answers that you cannot give him here and now."

"...Which is why, for tonight, I must ask you to leave him in my care."

Vanitas froze. Her lips parted as if to protest, but Seraphina's eyes held her still. Calm. Steady. Unyielding.

"You will have your chance to speak again." Seraphina promised. "But not now. Tonight, you must go. Leave him to rest. Leave him to me. Later, when the storm has passed, there will be time to clear the air, to speak of past and future alike."

The goddess staggered under the weight of those words. Leave? After everything, after finally holding him within reach again?

But as she looked at Kafka, really looked, she saw the confusion still clouding his eyes, the exhaustion trembling through him. She saw that Seraphina was right.

She swallowed hard, sorrow carving lines into her face and slowly, she turned to her son one last time. Her gaze lingered, heavy with all the things she could not yet say, all the apologies still locked inside her chest.

And with trembling steps, she turned away, her dark hair swaying as she walked toward the door.

No word of farewell. Only silence.

And just like that, Vanitas was gone.

Kafka stood rooted to the spot, the weight of everything pressing down upon him, stunned at how it had ended.

Not with a snap of her neck, not with screams—but with her leaving him behind, once again.

Only this time...perhaps, not forever.