God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 885

Chapter 885: Destined To Be A Womanizer
Abigaille’s smile softened as her gaze swept across the grand celebration. Everywhere she looked, there was laughter, glowing lights, and joy.

But as she observed the crowd more closely, something peculiar began to stand out.

Something so absurd that she couldn’t help but giggle to herself.

Because it wasn’t just her and the others.

There were pregnant bellies everywhere.

And not just one or two.

There were dozens.

Some of the expectant mothers were goddesses draped in silken divine robes; others were demi-gods glowing with faint celestial halos.

And, to her utter disbelief, most of them were actually mortals—real, ordinary women—who were walking through the festival, chatting and laughing while gently patting their round bellies.

Abigaille blinked, rubbed her eyes once, and counted again.

“36.” She whispered. “At least 36…”

Then she clasped her hand over her mouth and burst into quiet laughter.

“Ha! And Nina calls me a twin-making machine? Please…” She whispered between giggles. “…the real machine here is clearly Kafi!”

“My baby just can’t stop making babies!”

Several gods nearby gods turned at her sudden laughter, smiling in amusement as Abigaille wiped away a tear away.

“Oh, my…” She sighed, still chuckling. “It’s a miracle the heavens haven’t run out of cradles yet.”

But what she said, joking or not was completely true.

As ridiculous as it sounded, every single one of those swelling bellies—every god, every demi-god, every glowing mortal woman—had one thing in common.

They were all carrying Kafka’s children.

The truth behind it was a story that had spread quietly through the heavens—something equal parts unbelievable and oddly touching.

The mortals walking around were not just random visitors.

They were, in fact, the remnants of Kafka’s divine trial.

They had once been the ‘trial candidates,’ the women he was supposed to meet and, through the requests given, seduce in order to fulfill the requirements of the Trial of Ascension.

But because Kafka’s trial had ended prematurely, their original purpose had vanished. They were never meant to exist beyond their assigned moments.

And yet…fate had other plans.

Kafka, being Kafka, had moved too quickly through his destiny.

Every time he traveled to a new place, visited a new shop, or simply took a walk outside in that small town—he’d somehow end up encountering these women before their designated time.

And, of course, as was his nature, kind, compassionate, impossibly gentle, he’d treated each of them with sincerity. He’d listened to their troubles, helped them, laughed with them, and, in one way or another…each of them fell for him.

He hadn’t meant to seduce them. He never even realized it was happening.

But when the trial abruptly ended, he was left with all these women whose hearts now belonged to him and no idea what to do.

For a long while, Kafka tried to ignore it. He told himself it would be unfair to his wives, that he couldn’t possibly bring more women into his already complicated life.

He avoided the topic altogether, even as the memories of those women, their words, their eyes—haunted him.

Until the day he met Evangeline and she called him out and explained everything.

“But I will say this. I’ve seen the emotions of those women, Kafka. I’ve watched their hearts. They’re not just infatuated. They truly love you. I don’t know what you did, or how you did it, but for better or worse…there are many women in this town waiting for you.”

Her words hit him hard.

For weeks, he wrestled with guilt, torn between loyalty and compassion, unsure what the right thing even was.

Finally, unable to take the weight anymore, he went straight to his wives and confessed everything.

He told them about the women, how they were part of the trial, the emotions tangled in it, and the guilt he felt.

He fully expected to be scolded—or worse. He even prepared himself to be hit, kicked, or banished.

He knew how ridiculous it sounded: “Sorry, I accidentally seduced dozens of women while trying to pass a divine test.”

But to his complete shock…none of them were angry.

Olivia and June were the first to speak. They already knew. They’d sensed it long ago—and were only happy he’d finally opened up about it.

And instead of fury, there was understanding.

Olivia had just sighed softly, shaking her head.

“You really are hopeless.” She’d said with a small smile.

June had clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling.

“Honestly, I was wondering how long it would take for you to realize what was happening.”

Kafka blinked in shock. “Wait—you knew?”

June shrugged. “Of course. We all knew. You wear your guilt like a glowing sign.”

Camila, leaning back with her arms crossed, had grinned widely.

“You’re not in trouble, dummy. The real crime is how long you’ve been making those poor girls wait!”

“Eh?” Kafka couldn’t believe what he was hearinh.

Camila’s grin turned sly.

“You heard me. Do you know how long those women have been pining? How much they’ve been suffering while waiting for you to notice? Honestly, you should be ashamed—not for flirting, but for leaving them hanging this long.”

Abigaille, ever the gentle voice of reason, had smiled and taken his hand.

“We all understand what they’re going through, Kafka. We’ve been there too, remember? Each of us knows what it’s like to fall in love with someone we thought was out of reach.”

“And luckily for us, you brought light into our lives when we needed it most. So, if you can do the same for them, why would we stop you?”

Olivia had nodded in quiet agreement, resting her hands on her pregnant belly.

“They deserve to be happy, too. And you’re already the kind of man who won’t abandon those who love you. So go on—bring them into the family.”

And Camila, still smirking, had added,

“Besides, I’ve said it since the beginning—I want a big family. The bigger the better! Imagine the fun, the stories, the noise! It’ll be a paradise!”

Kafka had been stunned into silence.

He had expected fury, judgment, punishment—but instead, he’d found only acceptance and love.

He’d bowed his head and whispered. “Thank you…thank you all. I don’t deserve any of you.”

Abigaille had leaned in, smiling softly. “That’s where you’re wrong. You deserve every bit of the happiness you’ve given us.”

And so, with their blessing, Kafka had gone to each of the women he’d met.

He’d told them the truth—everything about the trial, his family, his guilt.

He thought they might reject him. He thought some might hate him for it.

But instead, every single one of them had smiled through their tears and accepted him completely.

One by one, they too became part of the ever-growing family.

As for the gods and demigods whose bellies were swelling beneath the divine silks, they were fewer in number—barely ten in all—but their presence was impossible to miss.

Unlike the mortal candidates of Kafka’s trial, these beings were not part of any task or predetermined test.

They were, quite simply, victims of his charm.

Even without meaning to, Kafka had managed to win them over. Some were ancient goddesses who had once scoffed at the idea of love, others were half-divine warriors who had lived chaos cycles without ever opening their hearts.

But somehow, through his warmth, his disarming humility, his charm they had all fallen helplessly for him.

And when they finally confessed their feelings—or when Kafka himself realized it through the quiet signs of affection they tried to hide—he couldn’t bring himself to reject them.

He tried, at first. He truly did. But in the end, he was simply too soft-hearted, too gentle to push them away.

He even he sighed to Vanitas once, half in disbelief and half in surrender saying, “I’m not strong when it comes to women.”

And once again, just as before, when he came to his family with that worried look, confessing that he’d somehow ‘accidentally’ made even goddesses fall in love with him, his wives didn’t scold him.

In fact, Vanitas had only chuckled. “Of course they did. You’re you, my dear son. This was bound to happen eventually.”

He’d gotten permission, reluctantly at first, bashfully even but permission nonetheless. And like that, the family had grown again.

Kafka also often worried that people would get the wrong idea.

That they would see him surrounded by all these women and think he was some shameless seducer, someone obsessed with building a harem, a man who sought pleasure for pleasure’s sake.

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Kafka didn’t try to charm anyone. He didn’t want to seduce.

The reality was far deeper, far stranger—he simply was the Incarnation of Lust.

He was born from that divine aspect itself, his existence tied to desire in all its forms: not just the carnal, but also the longing, the tenderness, the aching pull between hearts.

He was the embodiment of passion, and no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, his very presence made people feel drawn to him.

When Vanitas had finally decided to read his fate, it had taken her nearly a full day of preparation.

Peering into the destiny of a future Sovereign was no simple thing was even hard for her and it was like trying to look directly into the sun.

But when she did, the truth stunned even her.

His path was set in the stars themselves: Kafka was fated to have many wives, many lovers, and countless children.

His single existence alone would one day repopulate the heavens—his lineage spreading life across creation.

“It’s ridiculous.” Vanitas had said afterward in awe. “The gods will never complain about dwindling numbers again.”

But that prophecy was for another time.

At present, the vast Kafka–Vanitas family thrived in harmony. They lived in a grand celestial palace, constructed by Vanitas herself—a marvel that gleamed like a star even among the heavens.

It was vast enough for everyone, with thousands of gardens, shimmering halls, and peaceful chambers that opened into different planes of existence.

Every wife and child had their own private sanctuaries connected to the main palace, and each realm could be accessed at will.

For those who needed quiet moments or space away from the laughter and mischief of the main house, their individual homes were just a thought away.

Despite that, most of them still preferred to stay close together. The palace, alive with the sound of children’s laughter and chatter, had truly become a world of its own.

And as for Kafka—well, managing such a colossal family should have been impossible for any normal man.

But Kafka was far from ordinary.

Even though he had not yet ascended to full demi-godhood, his powers as the Sovereign of Life and Death grew stronger every day.

One of those powers allowed him to exist in multiple places at once.

It didn’t matter if a wife was in the bathroom, or if another was watching the sunset in the mortal realm—whenever one of them thought of him, Kafka would appear.

A gentle smile. A familiar touch. A word of affection whispered in their ear. There was always a Kafka for each of them, everywhere, every moment.

And because of that, not one of his wives ever felt lonely.

He treated them all with the same care, the same warmth and loved each of them fully and sincerely.

Yet, everyone knew that the first ones, the trial candidates who actually got their chance would always hold a slightly more special place in his heart.

They were his first family, the ones who had stood by him before the heavens themselves acknowledged his name.

But there was no jealousy, no resentment. The other women loved him too deeply to ever feel envy.

To them, just being part of this family was enough.

For Kafka gave them something no god or mortal ever had before: true happiness.