God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 886

Chapter 886: So Many Bundles Of Joy
And where was that very Kafka, the reason behind all this commotion, all this joy and this creation of life?

Well, right now, he was exactly where one would expect him to be—in the middle of the vast celestial garden, standing on a soft field of glowing grass, the eternal Tree of Origin towering gently behind him.

And right before him spread a sight that could melt even the coldest god’s heart.

Babies…Dozens of them.

Little bundles of light and laughter, wobbling, crawling, and sitting in a massive half-circle around him.

Their giggles rang out like music, pure and full of life and every single one of them was different—unique and radiant in their own right.

Some had tiny horns budding from their heads; others sported small, twitching tails that swayed whenever they laughed.

A few had wings that shimmered faintly in the light, flapping uselessly as they tried to take flight for the very first time.

There were those with pink hair like rose petals, others with deep blue locks like the night sky, and even one little girl with fiery red curls who seemed to glow faintly when she got excited.

And yet, despite all their differences—in hair, wings, tails, and divine marks—they all shared one unmistakable feature: a hint of Kafka.

The same expressive eyes, that gentle warmth in their smiles, that spark of curiosity and mischief.

They were, without a shadow of a doubt, his children.

And right now, their father—the infamous Incarnation of Lust who had somehow managed to bring heaven to its knees through love alone—was performing a ridiculous play in front of them.

He stood in the middle of the field, surrounded by scattered props and pieces of clothing. He wore a fake mustache, an oversized hat, and a pair of comically large glasses that sat crookedly on his face.

One moment he was pretending to be a heroic knight saving the day, puffing his chest out proudly.

“Oh, you dares to wreak havoc when the knight in bronze armour is here!”

The next, he ducked behind a bush, changed his voice to a high-pitched tone, and played the part of a princess dramatically calling for help.

“Save me, oh gallant hero!” He cried in a falsetto, tossing his long wig of golden yarn into the air.

The babies—all of them—erupted into uncontrollable giggles.

A few fell over, kicking their tiny feet in delight, while others clapped their hands, bouncing up and down with glee.

One little one with sapphire-colored hair even started floating upward slightly from laughing too much, her baby wings fluttering uselessly as she spun in circles.

Kafka saw this, gasped dramatically, and pointed.

“Oh no! The princess is flying away! We must catch her!”

He then ran around in circles, pretending to chase her while tripping over his own cape, which made the babies laugh even harder.

From the sidelines, the mothers watched the entire spectacle—a sight that was both heartwarming and hilarious.

Nina was the loudest, clutching her belly as she tried to stifle her laughter.

“That’s our great hero, huh? The so-called ‘Incarnation of Lust,’ the one knocked up half the heavens and even more, reduced to a clown for his children!”

Camila, sitting beside her, smiled as she flipped a skewer of grilled meat over the flame.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. But look at them—they adore him. He could be juggling cows and they’d still think he’s the greatest being in existence.”

Abigaille, who had also come over, resting under a parasol, cradled a sleeping baby of another mother in her arms and chuckled softly.

“Honestly, I think he’s worse than they are. Look at his face—he’s having more fun than all of them combined.”

And she was right. Kafka wasn’t just pretending—he was genuinely enjoying himself.

His laughter mingled with the babies’ as he acted out more scenes, running between props, making silly faces, and imitating animals.

At one point, he even crawled on all fours, roaring playfully like a lion—only to have a group of toddlers ‘defeat’ him by piling onto his back, giggling uncontrollably as they claimed their victory.

“Ah! No! The mighty beast is slain!”

He groaned dramatically, flopping to the ground with exaggerated weakness, eyes rolling back.

“Have mercy, tiny warriors! You’re too powerful!”

The babies squealed in laughter, clapping their hands and bouncing with delight.

But even though the garden was filled with the laughter of countless little ones, today belonged to a very special group—the nine oldest among them.

It was their first birthday, the day of their Festival of Birthright, and their achievements had already left every god, demigod, and other beings in the heaven in awe.

Just a day before, the Test of Potential had been held.

Normally, a score of 40% was considered gifted, and 60% was a sign of prodigy.

Yet Kafka’s children…every single one of them had reached 100%.

Not once…But nine times over.

The heavens had never seen such brilliance before, but then again, these were Kafka’s children—born of his essence, carrying both the light of life and the shadow of death.

It was only natural that their potential would be unlike anything the world had ever seen.

And now, they sat together in a soft circle of woven flowers and silk cloth as they played with one another.

At the front were Coco and Lotte, Abigaille’s beloved twin daughters—two rays of light who, even at one year old, seemed to radiate happiness.

They had inherited their mother’s soft brown hair and slightly tanned skin, glowing like sunset-colored honey under the garden’s light.

Coco was the louder of the two, constantly giggling and trying to make Lotte laugh.

Lotte, gentler and sweeter, would burst into laughter at every silly face her sister made, which would then set Coco laughing even harder—and soon both of them were in fits of adorable laughter.

Their laughter was so infectious that even the other babies began to laugh, their little voices filling the air.

They were just like their mother in that aspect, wherever Abigaille’s spirit shone, happiness followed effortlessly.

Right beside them, however, the peaceful harmony quickly broke into something else entirely—a battlefield.

Two babies, one with vivid green skin and mischievous golden eyes, and the other pale as snow with inky black hair and sharp little eyes, were rolling on the grass in what could only be described as the world’s most adorable wrestling match.

They were Faeya and Cinna, daughters of Nina and Camila.

Faeya, Nina’s child, had inherited her mother’s feisty nature. Even now, she was trying to tug at Cinna’s hair, her tiny fanged grin making everyone laugh.

Meanwhile, Cinna, ever the smart one like her mother, calmly grabbed a nearby toy and used it as a distraction before lightly booping Faeya on the forehead, which made Faeya squeal and pout.

Camilla chose the name Cinna because she adored cinnamon and used it in nearly all her dishes, so the name felt sweet and meaningful to her.

Nina, meanwhile, named her daughter Faeya after a legendary Treewalker warrior from ancient times, hoping her child would grow up just as strong and mighty.

Together, they embodied feistiness and cleverness—rivals by play, but sisters by spirit.

While they continued to fight, a few feet away, two little angels fluttered happily through the air, chasing each other with tiny, glittering rings of light forming halos above their heads.

They were Blue and Lola, the daughters of Bella and Lyra.

Blue, Bella’s daughter, had hair so dark that they absorbed the sunlight. She was named Blue, after his bright her blue eyes were to the extent they even glowed in the dark

Lola, on the other hand, had soft pinkish-blonde curls and was named after the only broken doll Lyra used to have when she was child in the organisation. She promised that when she regained her freedom, she would name her baby after that her doll and she had accomplished that dream of hers.

The two of them were pure joy in motion, tumbling midair, squealing as their little halos bumped together.

Every few seconds, Bella would call out. “Careful, you two!”, while Lyra giggled softly, proud of how her little one flew so fearlessly.

Watching them together was like watching two suns play tag in the sky.

And floating a little closer to the ground were two more babies—Lumina and Momo.

Lumina, Seraphina’s daughter, was calm and composed, even now sitting perfectly still with a serene look on her face, as if observing the others with quiet judgment. She had her mother’s eyes, steady and knowing and was already learning to balance herself upright.

Momo, June’s child, on the other hand, was her complete opposite. The little troublemaker was already trying to climb onto Lumina’s lap, tugging her arm and laughing whenever Lumina pushed her back gently.

Seraphina named her daughter Lumina because she had spent her whole life in darkness and suffering, and she wanted her child to grow up surrounded by light instead.

June on the other hand named her daughter Momo in honor of her old late companion—a loyal doggy named Momo who protected her when she was still disabled and made her feel safe when she couldn’t protect herself.

The two of them, Lumina and Mom were like moon and sun—opposites, but inseparable.

And finally, there was the last one—the ninth child, Poppy, Olivia’s daughter.

Unlike the others, she wasn’t in the circle at all.

Instead, she was perched right on top of her father’s head, small hands gripping his hair for balance, her bright eyes staring down at him with utter fascination.

Her soft hair was tied in tiny tufts, and every time Kafka moved, she swayed with him like a crown.

The sight made everyone laugh—because even now, just like her mother, she couldn’t stand being apart from him.

Olivia had once confessed that she always felt most at peace when beside Kafka, and it seemed that her daughter had inherited that same unbreakable attachment.

They named her Poppy because whenever she touched the soil, her divine power made poppy flowers bloom around her. No matter where she went, poppies followed—so the name was the only natural choice.

And right now, as Kafka performed his silly play for the gathered children, he would occasionally look up and smile at her—and each time, Poppy would beam back and squeal, as if encouraging him to keep going.

And even though all their personalities were wildly different, the nine little ones were completely inseparable—just like their mothers.

They argued, laughed, fought, and clung to each other in equal measure, always moving as one tiny chaotic unit.

If one wandered off, the other eight followed. If one cried, the rest surrounded her instantly. And no matter how different they were, they fit together perfectly—nine little pieces of the same heart.

…But that peace didn’t last long.