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

Kafka initially braced himself for an awkward, emotionally charged encounter. He expected a confrontation, perhaps a cold silence, or a torrent of unresolved feelings now that he and his mother, Vanitas, were finally face-to-face without the veil of deception or life-threatening circumstances.

Yet, as he watched her, a strange amusement bubbled within him.

When he tilted his head to look at her, she'd subtly shift her gaze away. He tried again, tilting his head the other way, and her eyes would once more flick to avoid his.

It was an oddly endearing dance, this powerful being, the Eternal Sovereign of Life and Death, now seemingly flustered and avoiding eye contact like a shy child.

The fear that had gripped him just moments ago, the apprehension of confronting this omnipotent figure, had completely dissolved, replaced by a sense of gentle bewilderment.

It was as if he was the intimidating one, and she was the one trying to disappear.

Seraphina, watched the silent, peculiar interaction with a dry, knowing gaze. A faint smile, bordering on a smirk, played on her lips.

"Well..." She finally announced, her voice cutting through the tension with an almost theatrical air. "...since a mother and son are finally going to have a proper conversation, it's about time I made myself scarce."

She gestured vaguely towards the ethereal cloudscape.

"I'll be waiting back in the house. That orange juice was quite nice; I'd like to try some more."

She made a show of turning to leave, but the moment the words left her mouth, Vanitas's head snapped up, her previous nervousness replaced by a fierce glare directed squarely at Seraphina.

"Don't you dare leave, Seraphina! Don't you dare leave me right now!"

Vanitas commanded, her voice edged with a stubborn, almost panicked urgency. Her tone was completely at odds with her earlier bashfulness, instantly regaining a hint of her regal authority, though still underlined by a palpable anxiety.

Seraphina, unperturbed by the sudden outburst, simply cast a dry, amused gaze towards Vanitas.

"Lady Vanitas, aren't you the one who told me not to interfere? Not to intervene between you and your son? You said to let it be your business alone. I'm doing exactly that now by leaving."

Vanitas's chest rose and fell sharply as she stared at her with eyes that almost glowed in intensity.

"I said that when you were interrupting before." She snapped, voice low, tense, yet betraying its edge of vulnerability. "Not now. Now...I need you here. By my side. You will not leave."

The words grew more rigid, her composure visibly cracking.

"No...I order you to stay."

The weight of her stare made even Seraphina falter slightly, her eyes narrowing in resistance but her body betraying a trace of unease. She folded her arms, shaking her head with a low exhale.

She didn't want to be entangled in this any further, yet here she was, pinned by Vanitas's will.

Meanwhile, Kafka, confused by the sudden tension, frowned and looked between them.

"Why?" He asked, genuinely bewildered. "Why ish she so adamant about keeping you here? Why does it matter if you leave? Why does she want you to stay and watch us?"

Seraphina hesitated, but then her eyes softened and she answered plainly, her voice measured but unflinching.

"Because she's scared."

Vanitas's head whipped toward her, a glare like daggers flashing in her eyes.

But Seraphina didn't flinch. "Scared of you." She clarified.

Kafka froze, the words hitting him with quiet shock, while Vanitas's glare intensified, her lips pressing together as though holding back a snarl.

"She may deny it...." Seraphina continued. "...but that is the truth. To anyone else in the universe, she would stand unshaken. Even if she were in the wrong, even if the entire cosmos condemned her, she would lift her chin proudly, sneer at them all, and tower above with arrogance. But you…"

Her gaze slid toward Kafka, firm and unwavering.

"You are her one weakness. In front of you, she loses everything. She ceases to be the almighty sovereign, the eternal ruler. In front of you, she is nothing more than a frightenedother who doesn't want to screw this up. She wants me here as a safety net. Because you scare her."

The air went taut. Vanitas's glare sharpened, her voice hissing with restrained anger.

"What nonsense are you spouting, Seraphina? Don't run your mouth with such drivel. Don't you dare speak lies like that to my son. There is no way I fear him." Her words shook faintly, her posture rigid, as though she herself didn't fully believe them.

Seraphina, however, simply tilted her head, her smirk widening. "Oh, really? We'll see about that."

Then, turning her attention to Kafka, she said.

"Kafka, take a step forward. Let's see what happens."

Curious, and with a glint of amusement in his eyes, Kafka did as Seraphina suggested. He took a single step forward towards Vanitas.

And the moment he did, almost as if his mere presence was an overwhelming force she couldn't handle—Vanitas instinctively recoiled, taking a swift step back.

Seraphina's smirk deepened. "Again."

Kafka stepped closer.

And again, Vanitas faltered, taking another small step back, her hands twitching at her sides.

Now Kafka's curiosity burned. He took another few steps and she mirrored it, backward, away from him, her proud figure unraveling with subtle tremors.

"See? Exactly as I said." Seraphina folded her arms, her tone dripping with quiet triumph. "Your mother is terrified of you. For all her power, all her sovereignty, she retreats from her own son."

"And that, Kafka, means something extraordinary. Because even though she is the ruler of the universe…" She gestured toward Vanitas, whose eyes darted between them with rising unease. "…right now, you hold all the power, since she is the one afraid of you."

Vanitas's lips tightened, her lips trembling, yet she had no rebuttal. She could only stand there, staring at her son, her retreat undeniable, her silence louder than any denial could ever be.

Meanwhile, Kafka chuckled under his breath, a sound low and disbelieving, but not without amusement.

"It seems like it's true." He said at last, his eyes fixed on Vanitas as she continued to edge back a step each time he leaned closer. "My own mother is scared of me. Can you believe that?"

"At first, I was the one terrified of her, terrified of the god towering over me, thinking I had no place in her shadow. And yet here she is, running from me, me of all people. A mortal."

His smile widened, sharp and teasing.

"It's almost fun, isn't it? Like a little game. I step forward…" He slid one foot closer. "…and she steps back." And indeed, Vanitas did, retreating another half-step, her eyes flashing with both pride and nervousness.

"Unbelievable." He laughed lightly. "The almighty sovereign of the universe, playing chase with her son."

His words made her lips part as though to argue, but no rebuttal came. She simply stared, cheeks stiff, unable to find her voice.

Then Kafka stopped, turning his head toward Seraphina, a thoughtful frown tugging at his features.

"How do you know all this about her anyway? You're not even the one speaking, but you say out loud everything she's thinking, as if you can read her mind."

"Not to mention, you knew about her agenda, about her plan. How? How could you possibly know that?"

Seraphina tilted her head slightly, her tone cool and precise.

"Because in the heavens, your mother was always a proud figure. She was the God of Vanity, after all. She never associated herself with the others, saw them as beneath her, kept her distance. She rarely interacted with anyone at all."

Kafka's gaze shifted to Vanitas, who immediately turned her head away, lips pressed thin, embarrassed by the truth.

"But..." Seraphina continued. "...there was one exception. Me. From time to time, I would visit Lady Vanitas. She didn't drive me away. She would sit with her tea, silent and cold-faced, while I spoke of the happenings in the heavens. That was the most interaction she ever allowed with anyone."

"And through those visits, I came to understand her better than anyone else. Perhaps better than she wanted me to." Her lips curved faintly. "You could say I was her only friend."

Vanitas's head snapped up sharply.

"It is not like that!" She burst, her voice edged with indignation. "You are no friend of mine."

She lifted her chin high, her voice swelling with regal pride.

"The only reason you are allowed to speak with me is because you are worthy. Worthier than the rabble I am forced to suffer in the heavens. The rest have no class, no presence, no dignity. To sit at my table is not something they deserve."

"But you...you were tolerable. Nothing more."

Kafka blinked, then laughed again, softly shaking his head.

"Is she always like this? Always so prideful, so haughty? Or is it only because she's become the strongest being alive that she's suddenly looking down on everyone like ants?"

Seraphina opened her mouth as though to nod her head and agree, but then stopped, suppressing her words. Instead, she sighed, conceding.

"It's not what you're thinking, Kafka." She said, shaking her head with quiet certainty. "She doesn't act like that because she wants to. It isn't some performance she puts on to mock or belittle others."

"It's just...her very being is pride itself. That's why she carries herself that way, why her words and her presence feel so heavy. She's not pretending, it's simply what she is."

"...her very existence is pride itself afterall."

"What do you mean?" Kafka asked, his brows furrowing in curiosity.

"You see, every true god is born with a domain, a governing principle." Seraphina started to explain. "The God of Harvest, the God of Health, the God of Rage...each of us acts in accordance with the title we embody. It shapes our personalities from the very beginning."

"The God of Darkness, for example, is moody, withdrawn, and forever searching for shadow. The God of Stars is enigmatic, her thoughts impossible to pierce. And I…"

Seraphina placed a hand over her chest.

"I am the God of Order. My purpose is balance. My temperament is calm, rational. That is why I rarely display emotion, why I wear this expressionless mask, it is the only way to uphold order without faltering."

Her gaze flicked toward Vanitas, who stood stiff and silent, her head turned slightly as though bracing herself.

"And Lady Vanitas was born as the God of Vanity. Pride itself. And because of that her existence is inseparable from it. She will always stand tall. Always hold herself above others. Even in defeat, she would refuse to bow."

"That is why, even before she ascended to sovereignty, she was feared as the strongest true god. Even the God of Victory could not best her—for how can you defeat one who will never, under any circumstance, accept defeat? Her pride sustains her. So, as long as she believes in herself, she cannot be overcome."

Kafka's eyes widened, his chest tightening as he absorbed the revelation.

"So her power comes from pride...from the refusal to be defeated." He gave a short, incredulous laugh. "That really is the sin of pride. To turn arrogance into strength."

His eyes softened, though his tone was wry.

"I thought she was just cold. That she had a flat personality, that she just didn't care to get along with anyone. But no, it's built into her very being. She was born to be this way."

"...That really is interesting to hear."

Vanitas, meanwhile, looked utterly miserable. She wanted to tell her son that she wasn't like that anymore, that she had changed.

But she couldn't. Seraphina's words were true.

So, with a defeated sigh, she bowed her head, her beautiful dark hair falling to hide her face, as if to shield herself from his potential judgment.

Meanwhile, Kafka, instead of scowling, only smiled faintly. He found it ironic, amusing, even, that the god who embodied pride itself, who never once let her head dip before anyone, now stood in front of him looking so small, so meek...