Warning Spiking Glitch

The top floor of the Wenlang-Hua Yong conglomerate was a fucking pressure cooker. The air didn't just feel heavy; it felt electrified, buzzing with a low-frequency Enigma hum that was making the high-end electronics on the mahogany desk glitch out.

Wenlang sat in his massive executive chair, his legs splayed wide because his stomach was now a hard, vibrating sphere of pure biological rebellion. He was eight months and some change deep, and the kid inside him was currently trying to use his spine as a fucking ladder.

"Fucking... hell," Wenlang hissed, his fingers digging into the expensive leather armrests until the seams groaned. A sharp, pulling contraction rolled over him—a heavy, low-frequency ache that felt like his pelvis was being pried apart with a crowbar. He didn't flinch, but his gold eyes flared with a jagged violet light that signaled the kid’s power was bleeding into his own.

Hua Yong was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, a silent, lethal shadow silhouetted against the city skyline. He wasn't looking at the view. His head was cocked, his violet eyes locked on Wenlang with an intensity that was bordering on fucking predatory. Every time Wenlang’s breath hitched, the Reaper’s shoulders tensed, his own Enigma aura flaring in a protective, suffocating wave.

"You're peaking," Hua Yong rumbled, his voice a deep vibration that Wenlang felt in his goddamn marrow. "The contractions are hitting every twelve minutes. The Enigma bleed is reaching 48%. We’re leaving."

"I’m not leaving shit," Wenlang snapped, though he let out a ragged breath as the pressure shifted. "I’ve got the port authority heads coming up that elevator in ten minutes. I’m the King of this fucking city, and I’m not running home to hide under a blanket just because this brat is throwing a tantrum."

The double doors to the boardroom swung open, and six high-ranking officials from the Port Authority filed in. They were Alphas, mostly—the kind of middle-management pricks who thought their titles gave them weight. They stopped dead when they hit the wall of scent in the room. It was a chaotic mix of Wenlang’s aggressive spice and the heavy, metallic ozone of an Enigma on high alert.

Wenlang didn't stand up. He couldn't have stood up if the building was on fire. He just glared at them from the head of the table, his hand resting over the massive swell of his gut.

"Sit the fuck down," Wenlang barked, his voice sounding like it was scraped over gravel. "I don't have all goddamn day."

The lead official, a bloated Alpha named Ming, cleared his throat. "Mr. Wenlang, we’re here to discuss the new tariff regulations for the South Pier. But, if you’re... incapacitated... we can reschedule."

Wenlang’s eyes flashed a dangerous, predatory gold. A contraction hit him right then—a searing, white-hot grip that made his muscles lock. He gripped the edge of the table so hard the wood actually splintered under his palm.

"Incapacitated?" Wenlang rasped, leaning forward until Ming flinched. "I could have a fucking aneurysm and I'd still be more competent than you. Open the folder and start talking before I decide your pier doesn't need a permit anymore."

For the next hour, the boardroom was a fucking war zone. Every time the officials tried to push back on a percentage, Wenlang would lash out with a jagged, brilliance that left them stuttering.

"That's the stupidest fucking thing I've heard all year," Wenlang snapped at a woman trying to explain logistics. "Do you even know how a dock works, or do you just spend your time inhaling your own bullshit? Adjust the margin to 12% or get the fuck out of my building."

Beside him, Hua Yong was a silent, terrifying presence. He didn't speak, but every time Wenlang let out a sharp gasp or his face went pale from a contraction, the Reaper’s violet eyes would glow brighter. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. The air started to hum. One of the officials’ tablets actually short-circuited and started smoking.

"Mr. Wenlang," Henderson stammered, sweating through his shirt. "The... the power surge... maybe we should take a break?"

"The only break you're getting is your goddamn neck if you don't sign the proposal," Wenlang hissed, his teeth gritted. He felt the kid inside him give a violent, heavy shove against his ribs.

Not yet, you little shit, Wenlang thought, his hand tightening over his stomach. We’re closing this deal first.

♡☆♡

By the time the officials scrambled out of the room—practically tripping over each other to get away from the terrifying, pregnant King and his Reaper—the sun was dipping below the horizon.

Wenlang slumped back in his chair, his forehead slick with cold sweat.

The silence that followed was heavy.

"Satisfied?" Hua Yong asked, his voice low and dangerous. He walked behind Wenlang, his large hands settling on Wenlang’s shoulders, massaging the knotted muscles.

"I got the 12%," Wenlang muttered, his eyes closed. "Fucking worth it."

"You're a maniac," Hua Yong rumbled, but there was a deep, fierce pride in his voice. He didn't waste any more time. He hauled Wenlang up, ignoring the sharp, sweary protest that followed. "The day is over, Wenlang. You've bled the city dry. Now we’re going home before you birth a prince on a mahogany conference table."

The ride home in the armored SUV was a blur of gritted teeth and muffled curses. Every pothole in the road felt like a personal insult to Wenlang’s spine.

"Fucking... slow... down," Wenlang groaned, clutching the door handle as a contraction peaked.

"I am going twenty miles an hour," Hua Yong replied, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He was vibrating with a suppressed Enigma panic that he was barely keeping under control.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse felt like it took a fucking century.

Wenlang leaned his weight against the wood-paneled wall, his breath hitching as another wave of pressure hit. It wasn’t a "get to the hospital" contraction yet, but it was a heavy, grinding ache that made him want to punch a hole through the elevator's gold-plated ceiling.

"Stop staring at me, Hua Yong," Wenlang hissed, his eyes squeezed shut. "I can feel your fucking concern radiating off you like a space heater. It’s annoying."

"I’m not staring," Hua Yong rumbled, though his violet eyes hadn't moved from Wenlang’s face for a single second. "I’m monitoring. Your pheromones are spiked with cortisol. You’re pushing yourself past the limit for a 12% margin on dock fees."

"It’s about the principle, you big prick," Wenlang snapped as the doors hissed open.

The penthouse was quiet—well, as quiet as it got with the faint sound of Liang crying in the distance and the hum of ShaYou’s latest high-tech security upgrades. Wenlang made a move for the kitchen, his gait heavy and awkward. Every step felt like he was carrying a bowling ball made of lead and spite.

"I need a drink," Wenlang muttered, reaching for the fridge.

"You need to sit the fuck down," Hua Yong countered, his hand closing over Wenlang’s wrist before he could even touch the handle. It wasn't a rough grip, but it was absolute. "You’ve been on your feet since six. The kid is reacting to your stress. Look at the air, Wenlang."

Wenlang looked. The kitchen was hazy—not with smoke, but with a thin, shimmering veil of violet static.

The Enigma bleed was getting worse. Small metal objects on the counter—spoons, a forgotten set of keys—were vibrating in place, humming in sympathy with the power surging through Wenlang’s core.

"He's just... energetic," Wenlang grunted, finally giving in and letting Hua Yong guide him toward the massive velvet sofa in the living room. He sank into the cushions with a groan that sounded like a dying engine. "He’s an Enigma. What the fuck did you expect? Him to sit in there and knit a sweater?"

"I expected him to be powerful," Hua Yong said, kneeling on the floor between Wenlang’s legs. He didn't ask; he just reached out and began untying Wenlang’s boots, his movements methodical and calm despite the way his own power was prickling under his skin. "I didn't expect him to be as stubborn as his father."

"Fuck you," Wenlang said, but there was no heat in it. He leaned his head back, watching the ceiling fan spin.

"I’m starving. If I have to eat another salad, I’m going to set this sofa on fire. I want the greasy shit. The kind that makes ShaYou cry."

"I'll handle it," Hua Yong promised, his hands moving up to rest on the hard, jagged curve of Wenlang’s stomach.

The second the Reaper’s palms hit the silk of Wenlang’s shirt, the kid inside went ballistic. A sharp, visible kick sent a ripple across Wenlang’s abdomen, followed by a sudden, intense pulse of violet light that made the floor lamps flicker.

"God-fucking-dammit!" Wenlang barked, his back arching as a cramp seized his side. "Tell him to stop! He’s trying to kick his way through my fucking liver!"

Hua Yong’s eyes went dark, his Enigma aura surging to meet the baby’s. "Quiet," he rumbled, his voice dropping into a register that was less a word and more a command to the very cells of the child.

The vibration in the air died down. The spoons on the counter stopped rattling. Wenlang let out a long, shaky breath, his body slumping back into the pillows.

"See?" Wenlang rasped, his eyes fluttering shut. "I told you. I’m fine. Just... a long day. We aren't going anywhere tonight."

Hua Yong didn't answer. He just stayed there, kneeling at the King’s feet, his hands never leaving the swell of Wenlang’s gut. He knew the peace was a lie. He could feel the countdown ticking in the "closed circuit," a heavy, rhythmic thrum that told him the storm wasn't over—it was just gathering strength.

But for now, the penthouse was still. The King was home, the Reaper was on guard, and the city was beneath them, oblivious to the fact that its next ruler was currently settling in for one last night of fucking chaos.

"Get the food, Hua Yong," Wenlang muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion. "And make sure it’s spicy. I want to feel the burn."

"Whatever the King wants," Hua Yong whispered, though his eyes never left the clock.

Hua Yong didn't move for a long time, his hands just tethered to Wenlang’s stomach like he was trying to keep a goddamn ship from drifting into a hurricane. Finally, the Reaper stood up, his violet eyes lingering on the King’s pale face before he turned toward the kitchen.

♡☆♡

A few minutes later, he returned. He didn't bring the greasy, heart-attack-inducing trash Wenlang had demanded. He came back with a massive bowl of grilled chicken, spinach, and some kind of high-protein grains that looked like birdseed.

Wenlang opened one gold eye and stared at the bowl like it was a pile of steaming dog shit.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me," Wenlang rasped, his voice dripping with venom. "I asked for the grease, Hua Yong. I asked for the kind of food that clogs your goddamn arteries just by looking at it. What the fuck is this? I’m not a fucking rabbit."

"You’re an Alpha carrying an Enigma-heavy load," Hua Yong rumbled, sitting on the edge of the sofa and holding the fork out like he was prepared to force-feed him if necessary. "Your digestive tract is already compressed. If I give you that street meat, you’ll be in agony in twenty minutes. Eat the fucking chicken, Wenlang."

"I hate you. I hope the kid inherits my stubbornness and your shitty social skills," Wenlang muttered, but he opened his mouth and took the bite anyway.

The food actually tasted... decent. Not that he was going to tell Hua Yong that. He leaned his head against the Reaper’s shoulder, the two of them sitting in the dim light of the living room, the city lights flickering like a sea of diamonds sixty floors below.

"It’s quiet," Wenlang noted after a few minutes of chewing. "Too fucking quiet."

As if on cue, the double doors at the end of the hallway swung open.

ShaYou marched in, looking like he’d been through a blender. He was still wearing his suit, but the jacket was gone, his sleeves were rolled up, and he was carrying Liang in one arm while holding a stack of tablets in the other. Gao Tu followed behind him, looking as icy and untouchable as ever, though his silver eyes softened the second they landed on Wenlang.

"We’re moving the base of operations," ShaYou announced, dumping the tablets onto the coffee table and collapsing into the armchair. "Gao Tu decided that our headquarters smelled too much like 'corporate failure' today, so we’re finishing the night here."

"I said the ventilation was shitty, ShaYou. Don't misquote me," Gao Tu said smoothly, walking over to the sofa. He reached out, his hand brushing against Wenlang’s forehead.

"You look like hell, King. How are the surges?"

"They’re a fucking delight, Gao Tu. It’s like being electrocuted from the inside every ten minutes," Wenlang smirked, reaching out to poke Liang’s chubby cheek. The baby made a small, indignant noise and grabbed Wenlang’s finger with a grip that was surprisingly strong. "Hey there, you little prick. You still judging everyone with those eyes?"

Liang just stared at him, his tiny face a mirror of Gao Tu’s silent judgment. "He's an Alpha," ShaYou beamed, leaning back and watching the group. "He knows quality when he sees it. And right now, he see a room full of the most dangerous, overqualified babysitters in the fucking world."

For the next few hours, the "War Room" turned into something Wenlang never thought he’d see. They weren't the King, the Reaper, the CEO, and the Secretary. They were just four people trying to survive the chaos they’d built.

ShaYou was sitting on the floor, spreading out blueprints for a new "Secure Educational Facility" while Liang crawled over his legs. Gao Tu was sitting next to him, sipping a tea that smelled like expensive grass and correcting ShaYou’s logistical errors with a sharp wit.

"If you put the panic room there, the Alpha-level guards won't have a clear line of sight to the nursery, you idiot," Gao Tu muttered, marking the tablet with a red line.

"It’s a nursery, Gao Tu! Not a fucking black site!" ShaYou barked back, though he immediately adjusted the plans to Gao Tu’s specifications.

Wenlang watched them, his heart doing a weird, heavy thrum that had nothing to do with the contractions. He felt Hua Yong’s arm wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer. The Reaper’s scent—that dark, grounding ozone—wrapped around him like a shield.

"We’re a bunch of fucking monsters, aren't we?" Wenlang whispered, his voice low so the others wouldn't hear.

Hua Yong looked at him, his violet eyes reflecting the warmth of the room. "The best kind, Wenlang. The kind that keep their own safe."

Wenlang looked at Gao Tu, who was now holding Liang and whispering something in the baby's ear that made the kid let out a tiny, high-pitched giggle. He looked at ShaYou, who was currently trying to explain the concept of "compound interest" to a one-month-old. And then he looked at Hua Yong—the man who had gone from a weapon to a father, all while keeping his hands bloody enough to protect them.

"Thanks," Wenlang said suddenly, the word feeling heavy and strange in his throat.

ShaYou looked up, blinking. "For what? The organic pacifiers? Because I’ve got another shipment coming—"

"No, you dumb fuck," Wenlang laughed, though it turned into a wince as a sharp pain shot through his hip. "For... all of it. For not letting me do this shitty pregnancy thing alone. For being the only people in this city I don't want to kill on a daily basis."

Gao Tu looked up, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "Don't get soft on us now, Wenlang. You’ve still got an empire to run and a kid to birth. We’re not going anywhere."

"Better not," Wenlang grunted. "Because the second this kid comes out, I’m taking a fucking week off and one of you is going to have to deal with the dockworkers."

"Not it!" ShaYou yelled, raising his hand.

"I’m an Omega, I’m on leave," Gao Tu added instantly, his face deadpan.

Wenlang looked at Hua Yong. The Reaper just stared back, his expression unreadable. "I’ll kill them. It’s faster than negotiating."

"Goddamn, I love this family," Wenlang chuckled, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

The contractions were still there, a constant, rhythmic reminder of the storm that was coming. But as he sat there, surrounded by the three people he trusted and the two children who would carry their names, the fear that had been gnawing at his gut for months finally settled.

They were ready. For the birth, for the war, for the future. Whatever the fuck the world threw at them, they’d just punch it in the face and keep moving.

"One more bite of the chicken, Wenlang," Hua Yong rumbled, holding the fork up again.

"If I eat one more bite, I’m going to puke on your shoes, Hua Yong. I fucking mean it."

"The shoes are replaceable. The nutrients aren't. Open up."

"I hate you so fucking much."

"I know."

And as the clock ticked toward midnight, the penthouse was filled with the sounds of sweary arguments, a baby’s soft breathing, and the low, steady hum of a legacy that was just beginning to find its voice.