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

Kafka locked eyes with his mother, and for the first time since their reunion, he saw something new in her gaze.

The pitifulness, the despair, the heavy sorrow that had clouded her face before were gone.

In their place shone a brightness, fragile, trembling, but unmistakable.

It was as if she had been handed a reason to live again.

Just because her son wanted her alive, just because he rejected her death, she now clung to that as her anchor.

And that sight relieved Kafka more than he could ever say; he did not want to be the son of a woman constantly seeking her own end. He wanted his mother living, breathing, facing him as she was now.

His eyes then drifted down to her neck. Pale, flawless, unmarked, smooth as porcelain.

"Your neck." He murmured, his tone soft yet heavy. "It's completely unblemished. Not a scratch, not a scar even though I choked you so hard earlier. But still...I should apologize." His hand hovered, then brushed gently over her throat. "It must have hurt."

But hearing this, Vanitas shook her head frantically, her voice rushed, almost panicked. "No, no, not at all. You don't need to apologize. I deserved it, after all I've done...Every bit of pain, I deserve it."

And in response, Kafka's expression hardened, irritation flickering over his face.

"You—! Did I not just say I don't want this anymore?" His voice grew sharper. "I don't want this self-pitying act. I don't want you groveling, telling me you deserve every punishment, carrying yourself like you're some cursed thing who should be broken...I don't want any of that."

He leaned closer, his words pointed.

"I'd much prefer you act like yourself. Like how you act with anyone else. So, stop this submissive charade, stop thinking you need to be weighed down by every sin you've ever committed, especially with me."

Her lips parted, her voice trembling yet gentle as she said,

"Kafka...I can't. I can't treat you the way I treat the others. Even if I forced myself, it wouldn't be possible. With you, I…" She looked down, her words faltering.

And seeing that she really couldn't treat him like everyone else, he exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing.

"Fine. But at least stop tearing yourself apart. Stop beating yourself down with every word." He leaned closer, his voice low but firm. "Just treat me normally...Like you would treat your son."

The word "son" struck right through her heart. Her eyes widened, shimmering, her face flushing with color and she nodded quickly, frantically, as though the very acknowledgment was more than she had dared hope for.

"Good. Because now it's time for the truth." Kafka's face grew solemn again, his tone grave. "No more delays. No more half-answers. We need to talk, properly, about everything. About the past, about what you did, about all the questions I've carried all these years."

His eyes bore into hers with unflinching resolve.

"And I won't accept anything but honesty."

Her breath hitched, fear flickering in her eyes.

"The truth..." Kafka pressed on. "...is what will break the boundaries between us. That's why I want you to promise—on me, on my life, that you'll tell me everything. That you'll speak nothing but the truth from this moment on."

"If you cherish me so much, if you were willing to give your life for me, then value my life as much as you claim...Swear on my life that you'll be honest from here on forth."

Vanitas's face went pale. Her eyes trembled, darting away from his gaze.

The idea of complete honesty seemed to terrify her more than death itself. Her body quivered, her breath shallow.

She feared it, because there was one truth she could never voice, one truth so damning she was certain her son would cast her aside forever if he knew it.

Kafka also noticed her fear, the way her eyes darted away at the mention of the truth. He wondered what she could be so scared to admit.

But anyhow, he had to get all the answers today, and he knew Vanitas wouldn't give them up easily. So, in the end, he decided he would use a much more brutal method to make sure she agreed.

That's why, while Vanitas was paralyzed with fear and Seraphina watched silently from the side, Kafka lifted his hand toward his mother.

And then right before her eyes, he grabbed one of his fingers with his other hand, and to her disbelief, horror, and shock—he snapped it completely, twisting it in a different direction.

Snap!

Seraphina's eyes went wide, while Vanitas's face became deathly pale, and she looked as if the world was ending. She moved to jump on him, to ask if he was alright, but before she could do anything, Kafka's voice cut through.

"Stop. Don't do anything...Stay right there."

On his command, she froze. He then snapped out another finger, a sickening crack echoing in the silent, star-filled void.

Crack!

Vanitas shivered uncontrollably.

"I know convincing you won't be easy." Kafka said, his voice unnervingly calm. "It's obvious the truth I want is difficult for you to tell. It's obvious you're trying to avoid it."

"...That's why, instead of convincing you with words, I'm going to convince you with actions."

Snap!

He broke another finger, and Vanitas's body shook uncontrollably, a silent sob escaping her lips.

"I'm going to use a much more straightforward method." He continued, breaking his pinky finger as well. "That is, every five seconds that you don't agree to my request and promise on my life that you will tell the truth, I will break another finger."

Before she could answer...Crack! Another finger snapped, her body convulsing at the sight. She shook uncontrollably, her eyes wide with terror.

Crack!

His pinky went next, his entire hand now mangled and the whole time he didn't flinch, didn't hesitate, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, panic clawing at her chest.

"One hand's done." Kafka then raised his other hand. "Next comes this one. So, unless you want me to keep breaking myself in front of you, start speaking."

"...Swear on my life that you'll tell me the truth. Swear it, or watch me destroy myself, piece by piece."

He shifted, his hand already tightening on his other fingers, prepared to snap them one by one. But before he could, Vanitas's voice broke out, trembling yet desperate.

"Please, please! Enough!"

In an instant she moved, her hands flying out to grasp his own. She clutched his broken hand tightly, almost cradling it, her touch trembling with anguish.

Her voice cracked as she spoke, almost pleading through tears.

"No more...I can't bear this! I can't bear to see you suffer like this, Kafka. Not you. Never you." Her grip tightened as though she could heal him just by holding on. "I'll say it. I'll say the truth. I'll say it all. I promise you, I'll be completely honest. No more lies...Just stop this madness, stop hurting yourself!"

Her eyes shimmered with tears, her face pained as though she was feeling every ounce of his suffering within herself.

And the sight gave Kafka pause as strangely his chest warmed at the sight of her pain for him.

Until now he had treated her with a detached, almost casual tone, not truly regarding her as a mother.

But seeing her anguish, seeing her cry over his pain, her voice breaking as she begged him to stop, it was the first time he felt it. She was his mother, in her own way, and she was hurting more than he was.

Slowly, he exhaled. "Then promise me." He said, his voice steady, his eyes locked onto hers. "Promise me, on my life, that you'll be honest from now on. No lies, not a single one. Swear it."

Vanitas nodded quickly, almost frantically. "I will, I will! I swear it, Kafka. I'll promise that I'll never lie to you again. I'll be honest. Completely honest. I swear it on your life!"

Her words tumbled out like a desperate confession. But then she then lifted his broken hand higher, tears dripping onto it as she whispered.

"But first...let me heal you. Please, let me heal your hand, so you won't suffer anymore."

Without waiting for his permission, she clasped his hand with both of hers, closing her eyes. Immediately, warmth spread through his skin, and before his very eyes the twisted, mangled fingers began to straighten.

Bones snapped back into place, flesh smoothed over, pain vanished as though it had never existed. Within moments, his hand was whole again, flawless, untouched by injury.

Kafka stared in wonder at the restoration, flexing his fingers experimentally.

From the side, Seraphina who was watching it all, let out a low smirk, her voice tinged with amusement.

"Lady Vanitas...you really are quite sneaky. Adding something like that under the guise of healing him. Very clever, very sneaky, especially when it comes to your son."

At once Vanitas snapped her head toward Seraphina, her face darkening.

"Silence." Her tone was sharp, almost regal again, though trembling faintly. "Close your mouth, or I will send you to another dimension where your voice will never reach another soul."

Kafka blinked, his curiosity immediately piqued. He turned to Seraphina. "What do you mean by that? What exactly did she do? Did she...add something to my body just now?"

Vanitas's glare hardened, but Seraphina ignored her completely, her voice calm and deliberate.

"While you were focused on breaking yourself, Lady Vanitas took precautions. She has given you an indestructible, immortal body. So indestructible, in fact, that even if two planets collided on top of you, you would not have a scratch."

"It isn't even possible for you to harm yourself anymore. Even if you try to break your fingers, you'll fail."

Kafka froze, his brows furrowing, then looked back down at his hand. He clenched it into a fist, then tried to snap one of his fingers.

But nothing happened.

He tried again, harder this time, but no matter what he did, his body resisted. His bones refused to break.

He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "So it's true. She really did it."

He lifted his gaze back toward his mother, who was watching him with nervous, almost terrified eyes, as if bracing for his anger.

But instead of anger, he only smiled faintly.

"But you know what, I don't care." He said simply. "I already got what I wanted, you promised me. You swore you'd be honest with me from now on...That's more than enough."

He leaned in slightly, his eyes piercing hers.

"But you won't go back on it, right? Mother, you won't betray the promise you just made to me, will you?"

Vanitas gulped, her throat tight, then shook her head. "O-Of course not. Never. I am Lady Vanitas, Sovereign of the Heavens. I would never go back on my word...especially not to my son."

Kafka smiled softly, then extended his hand toward her.

"Then promise me again. Place your hand on mine and swear on my life. Swear that from this day forward, every word you speak to me will be the truth...Nothing but the truth."

Her face paled, hesitation flickering in her eyes. She didn't want to. Every instinct in her screamed against it.

But she also couldn't bear to disappoint him again, couldn't bear to see the trust in his eyes vanish. Reluctantly, almost trembling, she placed her hand over his.

Her voice was quiet but steady.

"I, Lady Vanitas, vow that I will never lie to my son again. From this day forth, every word I speak to him will be truth, and only truth. I swear it on my life. Should I ever break this vow...may the heavens strike us both."

The moment she finished, the sky above darkened briefly, then burst with a sudden glow of gold. An aurora shimmered across the heavens for a fleeting moment, then vanished.

"What was that?" Kafka's eyes widened as he looked up. "What just happened in the sky?"

"A god's promise is not a simple matter. It binds itself to the heavens." Seraphina's tone was calm as she explained. "So, if Lady Vanitas ever lies to you now, both of you will be smitten by divine law. That golden aurora was the heavens themselves sealing her vow."

Kafka frowned thoughtfully, then glanced back at Vanitas. "But if she's the ruler of all existence now...couldn't she just erase those rules? Rewrite them so they don't apply to her?"

Seraphina considered, then gave a faint nod.

"She could. Most certainly, she could. But she won't. She used to be the God of Vanity after all. Pride defines her. So, after swearing such a vow, especially to you, she would never break it."

"...Especially not when it would cost her your trust. Even she would not dare to stoop that low."

Kafka studied his mother's face, saw the way she avoided his gaze nervously, the way her lips tightened in unease.

Slowly, a smile curved across his face. He had her now. Every word she spoke to him would be truth. Every secret he wanted, every answer he needed, would be his.

Vanitas, meanwhile, felt her chest constrict with dread. For as much as she wanted to keep her son close, there was still one truth she feared above all else.

One truth she could never let escape her lips, because if it did, she was certain he would never look at her as his mother again...