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

Vanitas watched his trembling hands, his stunned expression, and stepped closer. Her voice softened as she continued her story.

"That's why, during your trial, I stayed silent." She said. "I didn't interfere, even though I was dying inside from worry. I sweated every second, praying you'd succeed."

"...But I also didn't doubt you—not once. You're my son. My pride. I knew you'd finish what was set before you."

Kafka's heart fluttered. Her faith in him was absolute.

"I waited patiently." Vanitas continued, eyes shimmering. "Waited for the day you'd come to the heavens. I knew it would be terrifying, confronting you, facing all the feelings you had for me, but even then, the thought of seeing your face again made me happy enough to endure it. I thought I could simply wait...Wait and watch."

"But then...that night happened." Her voice faltered. "The night you poured your heart out about being abandoned to Bella after she realised how much of a disappointment her father was."

Kafka's breath caught, his eyes widening. He knew exactly what she meant, the night he'd vented his heart out to Bella, about the pain of being abandoned, the grief of growing up without a family, the questions that had haunted him his entire life to make her feel better and it seems like Vanitas, the very topic of conversation had been listening in

"I'd seen you cry before, Kafka...So many nights, when you thought no one was watching, you'd cry into your bed, mourning the family you never had." Vanitas's voice grew heavy, her expression full of sadness and resolve. "And every time I saw it, my heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand swords."

"I'd cry with you, silently, up in the heavens, hating myself for what I'd done. But that night, when you spoke to Bella...it was different. It was the first time I heard you voice it out loud, to someone else."

"You told her how abandoned you felt, how you wondered what you'd done wrong—if your mother hated you so much that she threw you away."

"And it broke me, Kafka...Completely." Her voice stuttered, and she pressed a hand to her chest, as if to steady herself. "Hearing you ask if I hated you, if you were so unworthy that I couldn't bear to keep you...it shattered something inside me."

"I realized just how much pain I'd caused you, how deeply I'd hurt you. And in that moment, those suicidal thoughts came back, stronger than ever. I thought, 'What right do I have to live, when I've done this to my own son?' I wanted to end it, to punish myself for the pain I'd inflicted on you."

Kafka's eyes widened. But then Vanitas shook her head, a faint, wry smile curling at her lips.

"But I couldn't...Killing myself would be cowardly. It wouldn't erase what I'd done to you. It wouldn't heal the wound I'd left in your heart and I rather wanted to do something—anything, to compensate for what I'd put you through, even if it was just a fraction of what you deserved."

She took a deep breath, her eyes blazing with a newfound conviction.

"That's when I decided the only thing I could do, the only thing that might show you how sorry I was, was to give you everything...The entire world, the power of existence itself and thought If I could at least hand you that, perhaps...perhaps you'd understand my apology."

Kafka's breath hitched.

"That's why I ascended." Vanitas said simply. "I knew the chance of surviving was small, but I didn't care. I had to try. And somehow, I succeeded and the moment I broke through the barrier, I entered the mortal world—not as a god, but as a ghost of the past."

"I spent time with the people you loved, Kafka. Your family, the women who cared for you. I wanted to see them, to know them, to ensure that even if I was gone, you'd be surrounded by love, by people who would cherish you the way I should have."

Kafka's heart pounded, his tears threatening to spill again as Vanitas went on to say,

"And after I saw that you were in good hands, that you'd be loved and cared for, I came to terms with my death. I decided to stage it all, to make it look like I was your enemy, someone you'd want to kill."

"I-I thought it was the only way. I believed what I'd done was unforgivable, that you'd only ever look at me with hatred. So I thought...if you killed me, you'd not only get closure, but you'd inherit my power, the power of existence itself."

"I thought that was the best ending I could give you—a chance to destroy the person you hated most and claim everything I had."

She let out a soft, bittersweet chuckle, her eyes shimmering.

"But then...everything changed. Evangeline interrupted, and told me you didn't want me dead...That you didn't want revenge...That you just wanted the truth."

"And that...that's how it led to this moment, Kafka...This moment where I'm standing here, telling you everything, baring my soul to you."

Vanitas paused, her lips curving into a wry, self-deprecating smile as she looked at Kafka, her son, standing before her with a storm of emotions in his eyes.

"Now that I've said all this, what do you think, my son? Do you think what I've done can be forgiven? That we can restart again as mother and son?"

"...Or is it that no matter what excuses I say, it will never be enough to forgive the sins I've committed?"

She let out a soft, bitter chuckle, shaking her head.

"It's most likely the latter, isn't it? It's only natural after what I've done. No matter what I did to make up for it, the fact that I abandoned you is clear and undeniable. That alone strips me of the title of mother."

Her voice grew quieter, her gaze dropping momentarily before she forced herself to meet his eyes again, her expression a blend of sorrow and resolve.

"Y-You don't have to hesitate, Kafka. One word is enough. Just tell me to go away, to never see you again, and I'll do it. I'll leave you be, stay in the heavens forever, far from your life."

Her eyes shimmered with a sad, sorrowful look, her voice trembling.

"But I'll just stay...even if I walk away, even if I stay in the heavens and leave you alone, I can't promise I won't keep watching you."

"I've gotten so used to it, you see, you see. So, even if I can't be with my son, even if I can't stand by your side, I'll be happy just watching from a distance...That's enough for me. It has to be."

Vanitas's words hung in the air, heavy and final, as if she had already accepted the rejection she believed was coming. Her shoulders slumped slightly, her hands trembling as she braced herself for his response.

Evangeline, standing nearby, watched with a nervous expression, her eyes flickering between Vanitas and Kafka, waiting to see what he would do.

Kafka, for his part, stood silently, his gaze fixed on his mother. His brow furrowed, his head tilting slightly as if wrestling with a thousand thoughts at once.

He grunted softly, a low groan escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly struggling to find the right words.

Vanitas, seeing his hesitation, assumed the worst.

Her lips parted, ready to speak, to tell him he didn't need to struggle so much to reject her.

But before she could, Kafka looked up, his eyes locking onto hers with a steady, unwavering intensity.

"Do you want to know what I think, in this moment?" He asked, his voice calm but carrying a weight that made her heart skip.

Vanitas froze, a look of anticipation crossing her face, before nodded slowly, her breath catching as she braced herself for his judgment.

"Well..." Kafka began, his tone steady. "The first thought that comes to my mind right now is that I think...I'm really not your child at all."

"Wha—?!"

Hearing this sudden statement, Vanitas's eyes widened, her entire body going rigid as if she'd been struck. The sorrowful resignation she'd worn moments ago vanished—replaced by a sudden flare of outrage and disbelief.

"W-What do you mean, Kafka?" She demanded, her voice rising with anger and hurt. "What do you mean I'm not your mother?!"

"I know, I may not deserve to be called a mother—but I am most definitely your birth mother! I carried you in my womb, I gave birth to you, I was the first to hold you in my arms! So, no one else is your birth mother but me!"

Her hands clenched into fists, her voice trembling with indignation as she went on saying,

"And, who in the world even told you I'm not your mother? Tell me, Kafka, tell me! I'll drag them here and grind their soul to pieces for daring to suggest such a thing!" Her eyes blazed, her pride flaring as if someone had challenged the very core of her being.

But Kafka shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him as he raised his hands in a calming gesture.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I'm not saying you're not my mother...Come on, with how similar we look? I know I'm your son, no doubt about it. I'm clear on that."

Vanitas blinked, her anger faltering as confusion took its place. "Then...what are you saying?"

Kafka's expression softened, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips as he said, "What I mean is...since you're my mother, you'd think I'd be more like you, right? That our ideologies, our ways of thinking, would be similar."

"You are the God of Vanity, after all, the embodiment of pride. So, it'd make sense if I had that same kind of pride, that same unyielding stubbornness."

"But at the same time, even though I say that—if I was like you—if I was anything like you, then there's no way I'd accept you right now. No matter what you said, no matter how much you tried to explain or make up for it, my pride would push you away."

"I'd never be able to forgive you for what you did."

Hearing this, Vanitas's face fell, a grave and somber look settling over her as she assumed the worst. Her heart clenched, and she felt tears prick at her eyes, the pain of his words cutting deeper than she'd expected.

She opened her mouth to speak, to accept the rejection she'd been bracing for, but Kafka continued before she could.

"But the thing is..." He said, his smile widening, a warmth in his eyes that caught her off guard. "I don't have that pride in me. I'm not like you in that way. I'm the exact opposite."

"I'm...desperate. Desperate for my mother's love, for her true, real love."

"So much so that even as I hated you in the past, as much as I questioned why you abandoned me—there was always this part of me, a deeper part, that just wanted you."

"No matter what you did, no matter how much pain I went through, I couldn't shake that longing. And even now, standing here, hearing everything you've done...I still feel it...I still want you."

Vanitas's breath hitched, her eyes widening as tears spilled down her cheeks realising what he was saying, while Kafka took a step forward, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

"I can't lie, the pain is still there. The suffering I went through because you left me...it's real, and it hurts. But there's this other part of me—this bigger part, that's screaming for you, that's desperate for you. I can't ignore it. I don't want to."

"Maybe it's pathetic. Maybe it's weak. But it's real."

He chuckled softly, a self-deprecating sound that mirrored her own before looking at her and saying.

"Seems like a son really can't resist a mother's love.

His eyes softened, as he took a deep breath and finally said,

"So, thats why I don't want to tell you to go and never see me again. I want...I want us to have a second chance."

"I want us to try, to see if we can be mother and son, to build something new."

Vanitas's lips trembled, her tears falling freely now as she stared at him, her heart swelling with disbelief and overwhelming gratitude.

"Kafka…" She whispered, her voice breaking. "You...You mean that? After everything I've done, you're willing to give me a chance?"

"Yeah. I mean it." Kafka nodded, his own eyes glistening as he stepped closer. "I know it's not going to be easy, and I don't know what it'll look like. But I want to try. I want to know you."

"...I want to see if we can find something real, something good."

He hesitated to say the next word he was thinking off since it was rather embarrassing. But still he knew he had to say it to solidify the moment, so with flushed cheeks and a shy gaze he asked,

"Don't you feel the same way...Mom?