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

Chapter 414: Foolish Words

Nadia was snapped out of her daze by Astrid’s desperate cry.

"MAMA! HELP MIKA! PLEASE!"

She looked down at the boy in her daughter’s arms and her blood ran cold.

She had seen wounds before. She had seen battlefields, massacres, the aftermath of war.

But this? This was a five-year-old child whose body had been pushed far beyond any limit a human should be able to endure.

Nadia didn’t hesitate.

She grabbed both children, one in each arm and dove through the portal.

—

The other side was chaos.

The rest of the family, officers, medical personnel—they had all been waiting for any news, any sign, any hope.

And the moment Nadia emerged with Astrid in her arms, the room erupted.

"ASTRID!"

"She’s back!"

"Oh thank the gods, she’s back!"

Yelena rushed forward first, tears streaming down her face.

Fauna was right behind her, already reaching for the girl, along with the other two battle angels.

Astrid’s sisters were there too.

Charlotte, who had always pushed back against Astrid’s big sister claims, who had argued and fought and refused to accept her authority—took one look at her and burst into tears.

She ran forward and threw her arms around Astrid, sobbing into her shoulder.

Anya, usually so mischievous, stood frozen for a moment before her face crumpled and she too joined the embrace.

"You’re back." Charlotte wept. "You’re back, you’re back, you’re back..."

But then—

They saw Mika.

In Nadia’s other arm.

Bloodied.

Broken.

Not moving.

Not breathing.

And just like that all the joy, all the relief, all the tears of happiness—froze in an instant, replaced by something far worse.

The color drained from every face. Hands flew to mouths. Eyes went wide with horror.

Fauna was the first to move.

She snatched Mika from Nadia’s arms with a speed that belied her usual gentle demeanor.

Without a word, she was gone—flying through the corridors toward the medical wing, her blessing already flaring to life.

"EVERYONE OUT OF MY WAY!"

Her voice echoed behind her.

—

The medical team worked for hours.

Fauna poured everything she had into healing him—her blessing, her power, her very life force.

But something was wrong.

Mika’s body...rejected it.

Not actively, not violently, but subtly. As if some protective mechanism deep within him was refusing outside help.

Any blessing that came from outside, even healing blessings, had almost no effect.

Fauna could feel it—the way his body clung to its wounds, the way it resisted her attempts to mend flesh and bone.

It was like trying to heal a locked door. She could only do the smallest things, the most minor repairs.

Everything else would have to be done the old-fashioned way.

Surgery.

Medicine.

Time.

She worked. And worked. And worked.

—

Astrid refused to leave.

She stood outside the operating room, pressed against the door, her eyes fixed on the small window that showed nothing but blinding white light.

Her family surrounded her, all of them begging her to sit down, to rest, to let them treat her own wounds.

But she ignored them all.

Her cuts could wait.

Her pain could wait.

Mika couldn’t.

Yelena tried to pull her away.

"Darling, please, you’re hurt too. Let them at least bandage you—"

Astrid shook her off without looking away from the door.

The Batte Angel who was normally a barbarian tried logic.

"If you collapse, you won’t be able to see him when he wakes up. You need to take care of yourself too."

Astrid didn’t respond.

The most mysterious Battle Angel who the public couldn’t even remember for some reason tried comfort, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Sweetheart, he’s strong. He’ll make it. You have to believe that."

Astrid’s only response was to clutch the doorframe tighter.

Finally, Nadia knelt before her daughter, taking her face in her hands.

"Astrid. Look at me."

Slowly, reluctantly, Astrid’s eyes met hers.

"He saved you." Nadia said softly. "He fought for you. He gave everything for you. Do you want his sacrifice to be in vain? Do you want to make him wake up to find you sick and broken too?"

Tears spilled down Astrid’s cheeks.

"I-I was supposed to protect him."

She whispered.

"I’m the big sister. I’m supposed to keep him safe. But he—he did everything. He fought everyone. He—"

Her voice broke.

"He killed for me, Mama! He killed so many people! For me!"

Nadia pulled her into a tight embrace.

"I know, baby. I know."

"He can’t die, Mama! He can’t! He just can’t!"

Nadia held her tighter.

"He won’t. Your Aunt Fauna is the best healer in the world. She won’t let him go."

—

Hours passed.

The family waited.

Charlotte and Anya sat nearby, holding each other, crying softly. The other daughters huddled together, whispering prayers.

The Battle Angels stood in grim silence, their faces masks of worry and grief.

Nadia never left Astrid’s side.

And Astrid never left the door.

Finally—after what felt like an eternity—the operating room door opened.

Fauna emerged.

She looked exhausted. Drained. But there was something in her eyes that made the entire family hold their breath.

Hope.

"He’s going to be okay." Fauna said quietly. "He’s going to recover. It will take time—his injuries were catastrophic—but he’ll live."

The relief that flooded through the room was palpable.

Yelena burst into tears. Nadia sagged against the wall. The daughters hugged each other and sobbed with joy.

But Astrid?

Astrid needed to see.

While everyone was distracted by Fauna’s announcement, she slipped past them—through the door, into the operating room, following the path the nurses had taken when they wheeled Mika out.

She found him.

And her heart shattered.

He was covered in bandages.

Every inch of him.

From head to toe, wrapped in white gauze, with only small gaps for tubes and wires.

Machines also beeped around him. IV drips fed fluids into his veins. Oxygen tubes ran to his nose.

He looked like a mummy—like something preserved rather than a living, breathing boy.

Her little brother.

Her protector.

Her Hero.

Lying there like a broken doll.

Astrid couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even cry anymore—she had no tears left.

She just stood there, staring at him, her mind a blank void of horror and guilt.

’This is my fault.’

’All my fault.’

’If I had been stronger—’

’If I hadn’t frozen—’

’If I had protected him like I was supposed to—’

’He wouldn’t be like this.’

’He wouldn’t be dying.’

"Astrid?"

Her mother’s voice, distant, muffled.

"Astrid, sweetheart, we need to treat your wounds now. Please."

She didn’t respond.

Couldn’t respond.

She let them lead her to another room. Let them lay her on another bed. Let them clean and bandage her cuts, tend to her bruises, check her healing legs.

She was aware of it happening the way one is aware of rain falling—distant, irrelevant, unimportant.

Her mind was elsewhere.

With Mika.

Always with Mika.

—

She was still in that fog when the door opened and a visitor was announced.

The king of that demi-human world.

The moment he heard that Astrid was alive and safe, he had come immediately.

He had to.

He knew that if anything permanent had happened to Nadia’s daughter, the consequences would be catastrophic.

The peace treaty would be destroyed.

War would erupt.

And worse—the Battle Angels would become their enemies.

He had heard the reports. When Nadia thought her daughter was lost, her grief and rage had caused natural disasters across the globe.

Earthquakes. Tsunamis. Storms. They had to seal her in a void chamber just to stop her from destroying the world.

If Astrid had actually died?

He didn’t want to imagine it.

So the moment he got word she was safe, he rushed to the hospital. He had to see her. Had to apologize. Had to make things right.

Nadia tried to stop him.

"She’s not in a good state right now. She needs rest, not visitors."

"Please." The king insisted. "I must apologize personally. What happened was because of my son—my own flesh and blood. The responsibility falls on me. I cannot rest until I have looked into her eyes and begged her forgiveness."

Reluctantly, Nadia allowed it and he entered the room.

Astrid lay on the bed, staring at nothing, her bandaged body still as stone.

She didn’t acknowledge his presence. Didn’t even seem to notice he was there.

But he began to speak anyway.

Words tumbled out—apologies, explanations, justifications.

He spoke of his son’s treachery, of how he had tried to stop him, of how he had punished him severely.

He spoke of his relief that she was safe.

He spoke of his commitment to peace, to justice, to making things right.

He spoke of many things.

But Astrid didn’t hear any of it.

She was still in that room with Mika. Still staring at his bandaged body. Still drowning in guilt and grief.

But then—

The king, in his relief, in his rambling, in his desperate need to express himself, said something careless.

Something stupid.

"It’s such a relief that you’re all right, Lady Astrid."

"That boy—whoever he was—took the brunt of the attack, but you survived. That’s what matters."

"Things would have been so much worse if you had been hurt."

The words hung in the air.

’That boy.’

’Whoever he was.’

’Took the brunt.’

’You survived.’

Astrid’s eyes, which had been empty and distant, suddenly focused.

But the light that returned to them was not the light of a child.

It was something else entirely.

Something terrifying.

Cold.

Ancient.

Furious.

She turned her head slowly toward the king who had just dismissed Mika’s sacrifice as if he were nothing.

As if he were just some random boy whose suffering was acceptable collateral damage.

Her gaze locked onto him.

And in that moment, the king felt something he had never felt before in his long life.

Absolute, primal terror.

Because the little girl looking at him was no longer a little girl.

But instead it looked like he was staring at the rage of the Seven-Tailed Fox Deity from his world.

The king realized immediately that he had said something terribly wrong.

The shift in the girl’s eyes made his blood run cold.

He had been around long enough, survived enough political battles, to recognize when he had crossed a line he shouldn’t have.

"I—I apologize!"

He stammered, backpedaling frantically.

"I misspoke! I didn’t mean to diminish that boy’s sacrifice! He’s clearly very important to you, and I—I’m sure he’s a remarkable young man!"

"Whatever he needs, whatever your family needs, I will provide it!"

"Medical care, resources, compensation—anything!"

Words poured from him like water from a broken dam.

Apologies. Promises. Pleas.

But all of it fell on deaf ears.

Because in that moment, something inside Astrid was changing.

Fundamentally.

Irreversibly.