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

Kafka felt as though he had heard enough, more than enough. Seraphina's voice, steady and sharp, had already peeled back layer after layer of secrets, each revelation striking harder than the last.

But now he had reached his limit. He no longer wanted to hear about his mother. He wanted to face her directly, to drag the truth from her lips, not through the filter of someone else's words.

He inhaled deeply, braced himself, and began to step forward.

At once Vanitas reacted, floating up and back, her body instinctively retreating the moment he moved closer. But before she could drift farther, Kafka's voice cut through the air, calm, solemn, and edged with command.

"Stop."

The single word landed like a strike of authority. To his surprise, she froze. Her body went rigid in the air, her retreat halting instantly as though the word itself bound her. She looked tense, nervous, her every motion betraying the urge to escape, yet she obeyed.

Kafka narrowed his eyes and kept walking forward.

But again, she twitched as though to move back, but the moment she shifted, his voice sharpened, firmer, heavier.

"I told you to stop. I won't say it again." His gaze burned into her, unflinching. "Unless you intend to run away from me forever, unless you plan on never facing the truth between us, then go on, keep fleeing."

"...But if you mean to stay, if you mean to finally confront what stands between us, then stop."

His words made her shudder, and she gasped audibly. Slowly, hesitantly, her feet touched the ground, her frame stiffening as she stood rooted in place. Her chest rose and fell quickly, betraying her nerves, but she no longer moved away.

Step by step, Kafka closed the distance, until at last he stood right before her. He tilted his head up, meeting her face, his mother's face, and found her turning away again, her eyes darting anywhere but his.

A sharp snap of his fingers broke the air.

"Look at me."

She flinched.

"Don't look at anyone else...Just look into my eyes."

Vanitas's face paled, and she swallowed hard, as if preparing for a horrifying ordeal. But seeing that she had no choice, she slowly lowered her gaze until their eyes met.

Her eyes immediately widened, a gasp escaping her lips.

This was the closest she had been to her son in so many years, the closest she had been to truly seeing his face, his features, his emotions.

And Kafka, staring back, found himself caught off guard as well.

For all his resentment, all his anger, he couldn't deny it: she was breathtaking. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Not only that, he could see it now, the subtle lines, the faint echoes of himself reflected in her features. The similarities between them could not be ignored.

"Everyone who's seen you today said the same thing." He let out a small, wry smile. "That you're the most beautiful being they've ever laid eyes on. The most gorgeous thing in existence." His eyes softened. "And I guess...that's true."

Her eyes widened, flickering with something startlingly fragile—happiness, perhaps, or relief.

But Kafka's smirk turned teasing. "Though to me, the thing that stands out even more than that is your height."

Vanitas blinked, startled.

"I mean, I'm tall." Kafka went on, straightening his back. "Taller than most. And yet here I am, still having to look up at you. Look at this." He raised his hand over his head as though measuring the gap. "At least a couple of inches between us. My own mother, taller than me. I don't even know how to feel about that."

A nervous flush crept into her face as she murmured in a low voice.

"If it really bothers you...I can lower my height. Or, if you want, I can do the opposite. I can increase yours. I could make you as tall as you like."

"...Taller than mountains, taller than the sky. I could make you so tall you could swallow planets if you wished it."

Kafka blinked, stunned for a heartbeat, before letting out a short, incredulous laugh.

"Right. You're a god. You could actually do that." He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "For a second, I thought you were joking. But no, you really could. That's crazy to think about." His smile softened, genuine this time. "But no. There's no need. I'm fine as I am."

He paused, then added with a sly grin.

"Besides, it feels natural that you'd be taller. Taller than anyone else...You've always looked down on people, so it suits you to look down on me, too."

At that, Vanitas's composure cracked. She shook her head quickly, her words spilling out in panic, her tone frantic in its urgency.

"No. No, Kafka. Never. I would never look down on you. Out of everyone in this world, out of everyone in existence, you are the one I would never, ever look down upon." Her voice quavered, and the pride that once towered in her tone now seemed to crumble away.

Kafka's smile softened as he studied her. The realization dawned on him with startling clarity: he was in control here. More control than he had ever imagined.

His eyes then drifted downward, lingering on her throat, pale and delicate in the light.

"Seraphina talks so big about you. She say you can create universes with a thought, and tear them apart with a whisper. She call you the most powerful existence in creation. But now, standing this close…" His hand rose, fingertips brushing lightly against the curve of her neck. She shuddered at the touch, her body betraying her as warmth bled from his palm into her skin. "…all I can see is how fragile you are."

"You don't look any different than a petite, fragile human girl. And just like any human girl, it feels like if I just pressed a little harder, twisted just a little, your life would end."

His grip tightened, pressure firming against her throat. Her lips parted in a silent gasp, her eyes widening, though she didn't fight back.

Meanwhile, Seraphina's gaze narrowed, her muscles tensing, not yet moving but watching carefully.

"If I did that, not only would your life vanish completely..." Kafka's voice lowered, rougher, his fingers brushing with a subtle squeeze. "But I would gain everything. The universe itself. All the power anyone could ever dream of, placed in my hands."

"...All it would take is a simple twist of your neck. That's all."

Vanitas stared down at him with a gaze both frightened and strangely calm, her body trembling under his touch, while Seraphina's unease deepened; for a moment she feared he truly might go through with it.

"Tell me, Mother...Would you really be willing to let me do that?" Kafka's lips curled into a faint smile. "To let yourself be my sacrifice? I wasn't sure before, but now, knowing how much power I'd gain, I admit, I'm tempted."

His eyes sharpened, his voice a whisper against her skin.

"So tell me...are you willing to give me your life?"

Vanitas swallowed hard, her gaze trembling for only a heartbeat before she closed her eyes. And the slowly, almost imperceptibly, her body stilled, accepting. It was as if she were silently telling him:

If that is what you want, then do it.

And seeing this, Seraphina tensed, about to intervene, her breath caught with dread.

But then Kafka sighed. A long, weary exhale, laced with disappointment.

His hand remained, but the pressure lessened. His brow furrowed as he shook his head.

"At the end of the day...you're still waiting to hand me your life." His voice carried irritation, almost anger. "That's not what I wanted. That's not what I expected."

Vanitas's eyes shot open in surprise. In a timid, almost trembling voice, she asked, "You're...not going to kill me, Kafka? You're not going to take the world?"

"Of course not!" His words were sharp, edged with frustration. "I was testing you. I wanted to see if you'd changed after everything Seraphina told me."

"But here you are, still ready to throw your life at me like before. Still thinking death is some kind of gift. And that pisses me off."

His hand tightened once, then released, sliding to rest against her collarbone.

"You just don't get it. I don't want your life. I don't care about your power. That means nothing to me."

"And sure, I've hated you. I've despised you. I've cursed you more times than I can count. But never, not once, did I ever truly want you dead. Not once did I want your life."

Vanitas's eyes flickered, realisation bleeding into them as he went on.

"The one and only truth is that the only thing that matters to me is my family. As long as they're safe, as long as they're living their lives, I don't care about ruling the universe or holding divine power. That's not what I want."

"...So forget it. Forget this insane idea that I want your life. Forget this nonsense about sacrifice."

His hand softened, gentler now, sliding up her neck as he pulled her down, forcing her to lower herself until their eyes were level. His gaze pierced hers, unyielding.

"Look at me...Do you understand what I'm saying?"

His voice dropped, solemn, every syllable tense.

"I don't want your life. I don't want your power. I want you alive. Do you understand?...Nod your head if you do."

Vanitas's eyes widened, realization dawning. Slowly, painfully, she understood.

He didn't care about the power. He didn't want her life. He wanted her. Not her death, not her sacrifice—only her presence.

A fragile, almost relieved look crossed her face. Her lips trembled, her eyes wide with raw emotion and then, slowly, obediently, she nodded her head.

Seraphina, standing to the side, watched with disbelief etched on her face. The goddess feared by every being in the heavens, the Eternal Sovereign no one dared defy, was now nodding obediently, being commanded and ordered around by her own son...