SSS-Class MILFs And Their Yandere Daughters, I Want Them All!

Chapter 413: I’ll Take On The World For You

Astrid was horrified by the sight.

She had finally found him. After miles of trekking through that cursed forest, after counting close to two hundred bodies—she had finally found Mika.

This should have been a moment of elation.

Joy.

Happiness.

She should have been jumping up and down, screaming his name, running into his arms.

But she couldn’t.

Because the state Mika was in...it was absolutely miserable.

He was alive. Somehow, impossibly, he was alive.

But looking at him, she couldn’t help but think that death might have been kinder.

He stood in the middle of the clearing, if you could call it standing.

It was more like he was held upright by sheer force of will since his body was a canvas of wounds.

Bruises covered every inch of visible skin.

Cuts and gashes crisscrossed his arms, his legs, his face.

One of his legs was twisted at an angle that made her stomach turn—clearly broken, and badly.

His arm...oh god, his arm.

A bone was sticking out of it, white and horrible against the red of his blood.

His fingers on one hand were crushed—flattened like they had been stepped on by something massive.

Multiple puncture wounds decorated his back, still seeping crimson.

Patches of skin on his right side had been torn away entirely, leaving raw, exposed muscle beneath.

And blood.

So much blood.

It covered him completely, coating his body in a thick layer of red so that she couldn’t even see half his wounds anymore.

He looked like he had been thrown off a cliff, then hit by a car, then thrown off another cliff for good measure.

Astrid’s eyes filled with tears.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was the bodies.

Dozens of them.

They littered the clearing like fallen leaves after a storm.

Demi-humans—warriors, soldiers, hunters lay in piles around Mika.

Some had their limbs torn off. Others were cut into pieces so small they were almost unrecognizable.

A few had been...mushed.

Reduced to nothing more than red paste on the ground, as if something had simply crushed them into oblivion.

It looked like a war had taken place here.

A one-sided war.

And Mika had been the victor.

Standing amidst the carnage, covered in the blood of his enemies, with wounds that should have killed him ten times over—

He looked like something from a nightmare.

But also like something from a dream.

Her little brother.

Her protector.

Her Hero.

And at that moment, only one demi-human remained alive.

Astrid recognized him immediately.

It was the same warrior who had raised his axe to cut off her tail, all those days ago.

The one with the prideful look on his face, like he was about to accomplish something great.

He didn’t look prideful now.

He looked broken.

He was on his knees or rather, what was left of his knees. His legs were shattered, bones protruding at sickening angles.

He couldn’t crawl. Couldn’t run. Couldn’t even stand.

All he could do was kneel there, tears streaming down his face, arms raised in supplication, begging.

"Please—please stop—I beg of you—"

His voice was hoarse from screaming.

"It was the prince! It was all the prince’s idea! We were just soldiers—just hired men—we didn’t want any of this!"

"Please, I’ll do anything—anything at all—just let me go!"

Mika stood before him, silent.

The warrior sobbed.

"I have a family! A wife! Children! They’re waiting for me back home! If you kill me, they’ll starve—they’ll die—please, I’m begging you—"

Mika looked down at him.

And his expression—

Astrid had never seen anything like it.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hatred. It wasn’t even satisfaction.

It was nothing.

A void.

A gaze so empty, so devoid of emotion, that it seemed to look through the man rather than at him.

Like he was already a corpse. Like he was just another obstacle to be removed.

And slowly, Mika stepped forward.

The man tried to scramble away, but his broken legs wouldn’t cooperate.

He could only drag himself a few inches through the mud before Mika was there, standing over him.

"No—no, please—I BEG YOU!"

But Mika didn’t care and instead sat down on the man’s chest.

His small body, so tiny compared to the warrior beneath him, nevertheless pinned the man completely.

And then, with one hand, he reached into the man’s mouth, grabbing hold of the lower jaw.

With the other, he gripped the upper jaw.

The man’s eyes went wide with terror.

He knew what was coming.

He screamed, a horrible, guttural sound of pure desperation.

But it was muffled by Mika’s hands.

Tears poured down his face. His body convulsed. He tried to beg, but the words couldn’t form.

Mika looked at him one last time.

Then he began to exert pressure.

The man’s screams turned into something else—something that wasn’t quite human anymore.

His body thrashed wildly, but Mika held on, immovable, relentless.

The sound of straining muscles, cracking bones, tearing flesh filled the clearing.

And then—

CRACK!

The man’s jaw split open.

His cheeks tore apart.

His mouth became a gaping, bloody hole where two separate jaws now hung, disconnected, useless.

Mika pulled out the lower jaw—actually pulled it out—looked at it for a moment with that same empty expression, then tossed it aside like garbage.

The man’s body went still.

Mika let out a deep sigh and stood then up slowly, his movements stiff and pained.

He looked around the clearing at the dozens of bodies, at the carnage he had created, at the blood that coated everything.

Then he reached down and picked up something from the demi-human’s pocket.

A small ball.

Made of obsidian.

Astrid watched all of this from the edge of the clearing, frozen, unable to move or speak or even breathe.

In that moment, everything clicked into place.

The bodies she had found. The traps. The brutal killings. The sheer scale of the massacre.

It wasn’t monsters.

It wasn’t hunters.

It wasn’t the demi-humans killing each other.

It was him.

It was Mika.

Every single time he had left the cave, he had been hunting.

Every line on the wall wasn’t a day—it was a life.

One hundred and eighty lines.

One hundred and eighty demi-humans.

An entire army, wiped out by a five-year-old boy.

For her.

She should have been terrified.

She should have been horrified.

She should have looked at this bloody, broken child and seen a monster, since she was a child after all.

But she didn’t.

Because she knew why he had done it.

Every kill. Every trap. Every brutal, vicious death.

It was all for her. All so she could survive. All so she could be safe.

All so they could go home.

Her little brother—the one who was so kind to animals, who was always polite to elders, who made sure to eat all his vegetables so the farmers wouldn’t feel sad—had become a demon.

For her sake.

Tears spilled from Astrid’s eyes.

Not tears of fear.

Tears of gratitude.

Overwhelming, soul-crushing, heart-bursting gratitude.

Meanwhile, Mika clutched the obsidian ball in his bloody hand.

He swayed on his feet, barely standing, and for a moment, that cold, empty look returned to his face as he turned thinking that there was another enemy behind him but—

He saw Astrid crying.

And the moment their eyes met, everything changed.

The coldness vanished.

The emptiness filled.

The demonic mask crumbled.

His eyes lit up.

His nose twitched.

And despite everything—despite the broken leg and the protruding bone and the puncture wounds and the missing skin and the sheer impossible weight of what he had done—he smiled.

A genuine smile.

A smile that radiated from the very bottom of his heart.

"Astrid..."

He said, his voice barely a whisper. He held up the obsidian ball.

"I-I got it. I finally got it."

"Now we can go home."

But the moment the words left his mouth—

His body gave out.

All the strength that had been keeping him upright, keeping him alive, keeping him going—it vanished in an instant.

His eyes rolled back. His legs crumpled.

And he collapsed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

"MIKA!"

Astrid screamed and ran to him, dropping to her knees at his side. She grabbed him, shook him, begged him.

"Mika! Mika, wake up! Please, wake up! Don’t die—please don’t die—"

He didn’t respond.

His breathing was shallow. Weak. Each breath a struggle.

She looked at him properly now, up close, and the full extent of his injuries became clear.

Every part of his body was wounded. Broken. Damaged.

He had pushed himself far beyond any limit a child should have—beyond any limit a person should have.

He was dying.

Right here, in her arms, he was dying.

But the she saw the obsidian ball, still clutched in his hand.

She recognized it now. Her mother had taught her about these—communication devices, linked to specific coordinates. With this, she could send a message. She could transmit their location.

She could call for help!

She grabbed it from his limp fingers and activated it with trembling hands.

"Mama." She whispered into it, her voice breaking. "Mama, we’re here. Please—please come—Mika is dying—please—"

She sent the coordinates.

Then she dropped the ball and went to work.

The medicine Mika had brought her—she still had some left.

The bandages, the salves, the healing supplies—she grabbed them all and began frantically trying to patch him up.

She wrapped his wounds, applied the medicine, did everything she could with her small, shaking hands.

All while tears streamed down her face.

All while she prayed to anyone who might be listening to save Mika.

When she had done everything she could, she pulled him close and wrapped all seven of her tails around him, forming a cocoon of warmth and protection.

And then she waited.

Her eyes scanned the forest, wary, alert. Her fangs—she didn’t even realize she had bared them were visible, ready to fight.

If anyone came now, anyone at all, she would kill them.

She didn’t care how small she was.

She didn’t care how weak.

She didn’t care that she had never hurt anyone in her life.

If anyone tried to hurt Mika now—

She would rip them apart.

Just like he had done for her.

And just then—

WHOOSH!

A portal ripped open in the air before her.

Astrid’s knife was out in an instant, pointed at the shimmering gateway, her body tensed to attack.

But the moment the figure stepped through—

The knife fell from her hand.

Her fierce expression crumbled.

And she screamed the only word that mattered.

"MAMA!"

Nadia stood there.

Disheveled. Exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes that spoke of weeks without sleep.

Her clothes were wrinkled, her hair a mess—the great Nadia, who was always immaculate, always composed, looked like she had been through hell and back.

Because she had.

For over a month, she had searched.

She had torn apart worlds looking for her daughter and Mika.

She had tortured information out of anyone who might know something, threatened entire civilizations, made demands that shook the foundations of reality.

And through it all, her grief had been so immense, so overwhelming, that she had started losing control of her blessing.

Earthquakes had rumbled across continents.

Tsunamis had battered coastlines.

Storms had raged without end.

The world itself had begun to reflect her pain.

The rest of the battle angels had been forced to place her in a special chamber, a void space completely isolated from the rest of the world just to stop her from accidentally destroying everything.

She had been sitting there, in that endless emptiness, consumed by guilt and despair, when the message had come.

Her daughter’s voice.

’Mama...please come...Mika is dying...’

She had never moved so fast in her life.

And now—

She was here.

Astrid was in her arms before she even realized she had moved.

"My baby."

Nadia whispered, holding her daughter so tightly it must have hurt.

"My baby, my baby, my baby—"

"Mama." Astrid sobbed into her chest. "Mama, Mika! Mika saved me—he saved me!

"But he’s—he’s—"

Nadia looked down.

At the small, broken boy lying in a pool of his own blood.

At the bodies surrounding them—hundreds of them, all dead.

And in that moment, she understood.

Her son—her precious, gentle, kind little son had done all of this all for the sake of protecting her daughter.