God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 618

Chapter 618: The Madness Of Love
The flames roared in the clearing, a towering inferno that consumed the father and his sons, their bodies reduced to writhing silhouettes in the merciless blaze.

The father’s muffled screams, pierced the night before fading into silence, leaving only the crackle of burning flesh and the acrid stench of petrol and charred skin.

Kafka stood a few paces away, his face bathed in the flickering orange glow, his expression utterly blank. He watched the fire with the detached calm of someone observing a bonfire, his eyes devoid of remorse or satisfaction, as if the horror unfolding before him was no more significant than a routine chore.

The assassins, scattered around the clearing, were a stark contrast—pale, trembling, their faces etched with the trauma of what they’d witnessed.

Seraphina, her hands still shaking from lighting the match, stepped closer to Kafka, forcing herself to meet his gaze despite the fear coiling in her chest. Her voice was steady, though it took every ounce of her willpower to keep it that way.

“Master…” She said, her words cutting through the crackle of the flames. “What exactly are we transporting now? You said there was a job to finish…What is it?”

The other assassins, stirred by her voice, realized how weak and broken they must appear, hunched and scattered like frightened children.

Pride, or perhaps fear of further displeasing their master, drove them to their feet. They assembled behind Seraphina in a ragged line, their movements sluggish, their eyes averted from Kafka’s blood-soakdc figure.

Even Lyla, who had missed the worst of the carnage, joined them, her gaze catching the burning pyre for the first time.

The sight of the three figures engulfed in flames made her stomach lurch, but she didn’t know the full extent of what had happened only that it had broken even the strongest among them. She stood close to Seraphina, her curiosity warring with the dread that kept her silent.

Kafka turned to Seraphina, his expression softening into something almost considerate, though his eyes retained that unreadable glint.

“You know…” He said, his voice gentle. “Today might not be the best day to finish this job. You’re all…Well, you’re shaken. I can see it. And any more of this, and you might not hold up. I don’t want to push you past your limits.”

Seraphina’s jaw tightened, her mind flashing to the horrors of the night the barrels, the skinning, the fire. The thought of returning to this cursed place, of prolonging this nightmare, was unbearable.

She shook her head, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. “No, Master. We’ll do it today… Let’s finish it and be done with it.”

The other assassins nodded silently, their faces grim but resolute. The idea of escaping this forest, of putting this night behind them, was a lifeline they clung to, even if it meant more work. Their agreement was unanimous, a quiet chorus of determination born of desperation.

Kafka sighed, a sound that was almost resigned, and ran a hand through his hair, smearing a streak of blood across his forehead.

“Alright…” He said, relenting. “If you’re sure. But it’s a heavy job, I’ll warn you.”

“…To start off grab the shovels I told you to bring. Start digging right here.”

He gestured to the patch of ground beneath his feet, the spot where he’d been standing earlier, perched atop the barrels.

The assassins froze, their eyes darting to the ground, confusion mingling with a fresh wave of unease.

Dig? Here?…They exchanged wary glances, but the urgency to finish and flee this place overrode their hesitation.

Several women hurried to their vehicles, retrieving the shovels they’d brought at Kafka’s instruction. They returned, their movements fueled by a desperate need to end this night, and began digging, the metal blades biting into the soft earth.

Seraphina joined them, her shovel plunging into the soil with a force born of both fear and determination. The others followed her lead, their breaths heavy, their muscles straining as they dug faster and faster, the pit growing deeper with each scoop.

The fire burned on, casting long shadows across the clearing, the flames reflecting in Kafka’s eyes as he watched them work. The assassins’ shovels struck dirt and roots, the sound rhythmic but tense, until one blade hit something softer, less resistant than soil.

A muffled thud echoed, and the women paused, their faces paling as they looked to Kafka.

He waved a hand dismissively, his tone calm. “Don’t worry. I put it there. Pull it out…That’s exactly what we need to transport.”

Seraphina hesitated, then stepped into the pit, her boots sinking into the loose dirt. With the help of two other assassins, she gripped the object and hauled it up, straining under its weight.

It was a large, heavy shape, wrapped tightly in a thick black garbage bag, its contours irregular and unsettling.

To an outsider, it might have looked like a bulky sack of refuse, nothing remarkable.

But the assassins were no strangers to death, and the tell tale protrusions—the faint outlines of limbs, the unnatural weight told them exactly what it was.

Their faces drained of color, their breaths catching as the realization hit.

Lyla, standing at the edge of the pit, stared at the bag, her earlier ignorance giving way to a sickening clarity. She knew, without being told, what lay inside. Her hands trembled, her eyes wide with horror as she looked to Seraphina for confirmation.

Seraphina met Kafka’s gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. “Master…Is this…?”

Kafka cut her off, his tone matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather.

“Exactly what you’re thinking, Seraphina. No point hiding it from you. That’s a body in there. Chopped up, bagged, and buried…Been here a while.”

The assassins recoiled, some clutching their shovels tighter, others stepping back as if the bag might spring to life.

Compared to the horrors of the barrels and the skinning, a dismembered body was almost mundane, but the casual way Kafka spoke of it reignited their fear.

He then stepped closer, his voice taking on a storytelling lilt.

“If memory serves, this guy was following my mother around at night. Had some nasty ideas in his head. Couldn’t let that slide, so I took care of him. Quietly. And this…” He nudged the bag with his foot. “…is the result. Buried him here after I was done, but I realized recently I shouldn’t leave loose ends lying around, just like the others. Not so…exposed.”

Seraphina nodded mechanically, ready to load the bag onto the truck and be done with it, but then his words sank in.

Loose ends…Plural.

Her face paled, her eyes widening as she turned to him, her voice stammering.

“Master…You said ‘loose ends’ and ‘Others’. D-Does that mena that this…this not the only one?”

Kafka chuckled, a low, amused sound that sent a shiver through the group.

“If it was just one body, Seraphina, I’d have handled it myself. No need to drag all of you out here for something that simple.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Here. I marked down all the places I buried bodies in this forest…Dig them up, transport them, destroy them properly. That’s the job.”

Seraphina unfolded the paper with trembling hands, her breath catching as she saw the map Kafka had drawn—a rough sketch of the forest, dotted with countless X marks.

Lyla peered over her shoulder, her gasp audible as she counted.

Ten, twenty, fifty…over a hundred marks, scattered across the terrain like a constellation of death.

Seeing this, Seraphina’s head snapped up, her voice shaking with disbelief. “Master, this…this can’t be right. Over a hundred? There’s no way…There’s no way there can be so many bodies?”

But to her utter shock, Kafka only shook his head, his expression almost apologetic, though his eyes gleamed with something darker.

“No mistake, Seraphina. There really are that many…You see, my family’s safety has been tested more times than you’d think, and I handled it myself before you all stepped in to protect them.”

“But it’s not just that…I also took out anyone who might’ve been a threat—serial convicts, predators, anyone lurking too close to my home. Made the town safer for my family , for all of them.”

“…That’s how the numbers added up.”

The assassins stared at him, their horror deepening with every word.

A hundred bodies…A hundred lives snuffed out, not just in defense, but preemptively, to carve out a sanctuary for his family.

The scale of it, the cold pragmatism, was staggering. Kafka’s willingness to kill—relentlessly, mercilessly, revealed a devotion so absolute it bordered on madness.

Kafka then glanced at his phone, checking the time with a casual flick.

“Better get started.” He said, his tone brisk. “There’s a lot to dig up, and even with all of you, it’ll take time. Best to finish before sunrise—don’t want anyone spotting a bunch of pretty girls hauling bodies around, right?”

He paused, his smile softening as he suggested helping out.

“You know, I can stay and help if you need me. Could speed things up.”

But Seraphina’s head snapped up, her voice urgent.

“No, Master. We’ll handle it. You…You should go home. Be with your family.”

Kafka raised an eyebrow, his smile turning faintly amused. “You sure? I could be useful.”

“Yes.” Seraphina said quickly, her tone firm despite the fear in her eyes. “We’ve got this. Please, go home.”

The truth was unspoken but clear: his presence, his casual ease amidst such carnage, made their skin crawl. They couldn’t work with him looming over them, a reminder of the demon they served.

Kafka shrugged, seemingly unbothered.

“Alright, if you insist. Take care, ladies. Finish the job properly.”

He peeled off his blood-soaked raincoat, tossing it into the dying flames, and walked away, his steps light and unhurried, as if he were merely strolling through the night.

The ducks on the discarded raincoat curled and blackened in the fire, a final, mocking image of the night’s horrors.

The assassins stood in stunned silence, the weight of their task settling over them like a shroud. Lyla stepped closer to Seraphina, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I get it now…” She said, her eyes wide with realization. “Why you’re so afraid of him. He’s…He’s an angel, Seraphina. He saved us, pulled us out of hell. But he’s a demon, too. What he did tonight.”

“…It’s the kind of carnage that would make the emperor of the underworld himself look away in fright.”

Seraphina’s expression was grave, her gaze fixed on the map in her hands.

“As long as we’re on his side, Lyla, we’re safe. He’d protect us with his life, same as he does his family. But…” Her voice dropped, a shiver running through her. “If we ever cross him, if we ever step onto his bad side, we’re nothing but trash bags under the ground…Just like them.”

The words hung heavy, a chilling truth that silenced the group. The assassins shivered, their eyes darting to the map, to the hundred X marks promising hours of grueling, soul-crushing work.

Seraphina folded the paper, her jaw set. “No time to waste.” She said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. “Sun’s coming up soon. Start digging. Every body, every mark. Let’s get this done.”

The women moved, their shovels biting into the earth once more, the notion of their work a desperate attempt to outrun the horrors of the night.

The fire burned low, its embers glowing faintly as the forest swallowed Kafka’s retreating figure.

The assassins dug, their hands blistered, their hearts heavy, knowing that the demon who had saved them was also the one who had stained their souls forever.

And as the night settled, the forest seemed to whisper its own warning: to serve Kafka was to walk a razor’s edge, where loyalty meant survival, and betrayal meant a shallow grave…