Chapter 431: Love, Apparently

You know those ministers or slaves in ancient times who had to literally kiss ass to get even a tiny bit of attention from their king, or those corporate slaves who have to bow down to their CEO, lick his boots so they get promoted, or so they won't get fired.

Yeah. That was me.

I was the slave, and Lament was the boss.

I promised the undead girl that I'll build a laboratory for her to practice her mad science, and I'm a goddess who always keeps her promises.

However, I have no idea how to build one, so I just figured out that I could grant her permission to use the tower's mana to create her lab.

That was a mistake.

She started bitching about how incompetent I am, how it was a mistake because she was born to such a useless mother, how her life was a miserable one because she must do everything herself.

I had to lower my head, apologize to my former one-minute-old daughter, and literally bow down to her, begging for her to teach me what I need to do.

If I didn't do that—well... You know the first thing she created after I gave her access to the tower's mana?

The guillotine.

And placed her head under it, threatening to end her life.

"..."

Yep. I had to grit my teeth and beg her, I'm the mother for fuck's sake!

And only then she 'graciously' told me what to do.

So for the next 30 minutes or so, I was her labor slave and she was my boss.

"MOTHER! The table needs to be polished. With your tongue. Now." Lament commanded, her dead eyes watching me with a hint of satisfaction as I knelt before the newly created metal dissection table. Her aura of despair was still there, a constant chill in the room, but with the immunity system active, it was just… background noise. But no less unsettling.

"...Yes, my dear daughter," I muttered, my pride in tatters as I leaned forward and ran my tongue along the cold, sterile surface of the table. It tasted of metal and my own shattered dignity.

"FASTER!" she snapped, her foot tapping impatiently on the floor. "The cadavers won't wait forever. We need a pristine workspace for my research."

"MOTHER! The bone saw is not sharp enough. Go and get me a new one."

"MOTHER! The jars are not arranged in alphabetical order. Fix it. Now."

"MOTHER! The walls are too white. Paint them red. With your own blood."

"...This one I can do," I smirked. My pride at least got a comeback as I summoned a blade and sliced my arm, letting my divine blood splatter the walls, creating a gory, artistic pattern.

"NO!" Lament shrieked, her face twisting in a rare display of emotion. "It's not red enough! Your blood is too pure! It's too... divine! It lacks the iron-rich desperation of mortal blood!"

"..." I stood there, my arm dripping with my own blood, my mind trying to process her words. 'Is this for real? She's complaining about the quality of my blood?'

"MOTHER! Stop standing there like a useless statue and get to work!" she commanded.

By my holy tits, she was worse than Arwen when she's in that 'perfectionist' mode, and that's saying something.

"MOTHER. The ceiling is too clean."

Lament pointed upward without even looking, her voice as flat as a dead heartbeat. "I expect cobwebs. Dust. Preferably, a few rotting limbs hanging artistically. This sterile nonsense is an insult to my craft."

'The fuck!' I yelled inwardly, the monkey in my brain was pulling his hair and screaming, 'She just told me to sterilize the table with my tongue and now she wants the ceiling to be dirty?! Make up your mind, you emo bitch!'

"...Sweetheart," I said slowly, rubbing my forehead, "I just spent the last thirty minutes organizing jars labeled 'misc. organs' and 'mystery bits.' I don't have rotting limbs lying around."

"Then MAKE SOME," she snapped.

"Eh?" I blinked. "Make. Rotting. Limbs."

"Yes. Use your body. Remove an arm, accelerate decomposition, hang it aesthetically. It's not hard, Mother. Even a moron could do it."

"Mommy," Lilis choked behind me, covering her mouth with both hands as she whispered, "Mommy… she really told you to amputate yourself…"

"YES," I hissed back. "I HEARD HER."

"Mother." Lament's dead eyes narrowed. "…why is your tongue still inside your mouth and not cleaning the surgical clamps?"

"..."

"Mother."

"Mother!"

"MOTHER!!"

SNAP!

"AHHHH.... FUUUUCK!!!!"

I snapped. The last of my divine patience evaporated like a puddle in a desert. A wave of pure, unfiltered, primal power erupted from me, cracking the floor beneath my feet, sending a shockwave that rattled the jars filled with "mystery bits."

Lament didn't even flinch. She just tilted her head, her black hair falling like a funeral shroud over one shoulder. Her expression remained as blank as a freshly whitewashed tomb.

"Mothe-" she was about to say something, but I teleported right in front of her and grabbed her by the throat.

"SHUT UP!"

SNAP!

With a snap of my fingers, blood chains erupted from the floor and coiled around Lament's limbs, lifting her into the air, suspending her like a ragdoll in a macabre puppet show. I flipped her over, ripped that wet nightgown off, exposing a surprisingly nice, round ass for an undead girl.

However, I wasn't in the mood to appreciate the view.

"You need to learn to respect your own mother," I growled, my voice echoing in the now-silent lab as I pulled the flat stick from my inventory.

SMACK!

The flat stick connected with Lament's ass, the sound sharp and loud in the lab.

Lament's body jolted—even though she didn't feel pain, her dead flesh still reacted, her pale cheeks rippling from the impact. Her blank eyes slowly lifted to meet mine, wide with… confusion?

Yes.

Confusion.

Not fear. Not pain. Not despair.

Just the undead equivalent of: "…Mother, what the actual fuck?"

"Let's get something very clear," I snarled, raising the stick again. "I am your MOTHER. I created you. I popped you into existence. You do NOT get to boss me around like I'm some kind of unpaid depressive intern!"

SMACK!!

"!!!" She jolted again.

"Gasp!" Lilis gasped behind me—half-horrified, half-fascinated, tail wagging like it had its own brain.

"And another thing," I snapped, pacing in front of her while she hung upside-down with her ass fully exposed and blood-chains holding her like a goth piñata, "I will NOT amputate my own arm to decorate your emo-ass ceiling!"

SMACK!!

"!!!" Her leg twitched.

'Good... Progress.'

"You miserable, suicidal, lab-obsessed brat! I love you, but holy shit—"

SMACK!

"—You are the first child to ever make me want to unbirth you just so I can birth you again and raise you right!"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Lament…" Lilis whispered, covering her mouth, "just… just apologize already… Mommy's in smite mode…"

But no.

Of course not.

This girl was born broken.

Lament stared at me, still monotone but with the faintest, microscopic tremor in her voice:

"Mother… what is the purpose… of this… barbaric… ritual?"

"..." My eye twitched. "It's called discipline."

I raised the stick again.

Her eyes shifted.

Slowly.

A tiny, tiny tilt of the head.

"…Is this… a bonding activity?"

"..." I froze.

"..." Lilis froze.

"..." Even the blood-chains froze. They were confused too.

"...What?" I whispered.

Lament blinked—one eye slightly slower than the other.

"Is this… 'familial affection'? A positive reinforcement method meant to establish hierarchy and emotional connection through physical interaction?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. No words came out.

"...Mother?" she asked, voice flat as a coffin lid. "Is this… love?"

"Lilis." I turned to my succubus daughter.

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Did my emo daughter just interpret spanking as motherly affection?"

"Yes, Mommy," Lilis whispered, her emerald eyes wide with awe. "I think… she just weaponized your own kink against you."

'...By my holy ass, she's a fucking genius,' I thought. This little undead gremlin wasn't broken. She was a different species of monster entirely. A creature so deeply entrenched in her own logic that even my attempts at discipline got folded into her worldview like a mangled cadaver into a body bag.

"..." I stared at Lament's upside-down, pale ass. The red marks from my flat stick stood out starkly against her skin like bloody brushstrokes on porcelain. I had been punished. My power, my anger, my attempts at control—all had been reinterpreted as a twisted form of love.

'Should I just shove my dick in her and see if she calls that affection too?'

"Moth...er," Lament spoke, her voice muffled and strange from her inverted position. "…Again."

"You want… another spanking?" I blinked, my grip on the stick tightening.

"Affection," she corrected. "To affirm my role. To reinforce our emotional hierarchy. To deepen our dysfunctional bond and to understand the meaning of life better."

"..."

I stared at her. Then at the stick. Then at Lilis.

"Mommy…" Lilis stepped closer, whispering, "I think she's… uh… interpreting this like training a pet. But the pet is also a suicidal serial killer. Who's also your daughter. And also clinically incapable of joy except through… this."

Lilis gestured at the suspended, ass-up Lament. "Just… roll with it."

"…You know what? Fine," I said, raising the stick. "Let's explore this familial bonding exercise. But after this, you will perform your duties as the floor manager, got it?"

"Yes… Mother." Lament whispered, a flicker of something almost like… anticipation in her dead eyes.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

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