Pregnant During An Apocalypse [BL] Chapter 282 - 283 - Betrayed

With unhurried grace, Kailun completed one final motion—palms gliding forward like a wave—then stepped back and let out a long exhale. As if tired from the short session, he lowered himself gently onto the bed with a quiet sigh. The mattress creaked slightly under his weight.

The bottle was still in his hand, his fingers wrapped around it naturally. As he leaned back against the headboard, he let his legs stretch out and lifted the bottle to his lips.

He took a slow, small sip.

And as he lowered it again, his other hand—palm turned inward—quietly slid the tiny slip of paper from beneath the plastic wrapping. It moved like a whisper, light and untraceable, vanishing into the long sleeve of his loose shirt. Not a crinkle, not a sound. The motion so fluid it could’ve been part of his breathing.

He yawned loudly. "Getting old," he muttered as he reclined, eyes half-lidded. "Always tired these days..."

The bedfra let out another soft creak as he adjusted his position, making it seem like he was rely settling down for a nap.

But once his head t the pillow, the yawn vanished from his face.

His expression hardened just slightly, brows narrowing with quiet focus. His hand erged from his sleeve, the folded note clenched gently in his palm.

He unfolded it, careful not to make a sound. The paper was no bigger than his thumb, the handwriting minuscule. But his vision, though aged by the years, had not dulled much—especially not when it ca to fine details.

His eyes scanned the note:

"Being watched. Bugs in room. Use your power to check who is watching and where. Send info via note."

The mont he finished reading, his lips pressed into a firm line.

So. That was the ga they were playing now.

He folded the paper again, slower this ti, sliding it back into his sleeve. He kept his posture relaxed, shoulders limp, body sinking into the mattress like he was truly preparing for sleep.

But inside, his mind sharpened like a blade.

As soon as Kailun’s eyes fully closed, his breathing deepened. His chest rose slowly... fell. Rose again... fell. Then, with a near imperceptible tremor in the air around him, his form began to flicker faintly.

A second later, his body remained still on the bed—completely lifeless in appearance.

But his consciousness, his spirit, had slipped free.

In an instant, his astral form hovered above the mattress, faint and transparent, its edges shifting with a soft ripple like heat haze. He looked down at his sleeping body for only a brief second before turning his attention to the rest of the room.

He floated forward in silence.

His astral form passed through air and matter without resistance. He weaved carefully around the room, thodically examining every corner, every shelf, every surface. His gaze was sharp, analytical.

There.

Under the nightstand lamp. Tucked just behind the curve of the base, a tiny black dot barely larger than a fingernail. He hovered closer, inspecting it. A listening bug. Disguised well, but not good enough.

His frown deepened.

No caras, though. He scoured the walls, ceilings, light fixtures—no lens glint, no signal interference. Which ant...

His gaze drifted toward the window.

Still in astral form, he floated through the glass effortlessly, erging into the cool night air outside. The fog had thinned slightly but still hung low and dense over the ground. He rose upward, scanning the nearby houses and rooftops. One by one, his spirit flickered from window to window, through walls and rafters—each house quiet, most asleep.

Then, ten houses down, he stopped.

Movent.

It was subtle, but his eyes caught it instantly. The faint shift of a curtain. The slow pacing of a shadow behind it. He glided closer, faster now, narrowing his energy until he could slip through the crack of the barely opened window.

And there they were.

Three n.

Their stances rigid. Alert. Trained.

Each wore a dark green uniform with unmistakable insignia. Military.

Kailun’s chest tightened with sothing heavy....

Betrayal.

One of the n stood by the window, a sleek military-grade rifle propped against the sill, aid directly at Kailun’s neighborhood. Another sat near him, adjusting a radio dial with quick, practiced motions. And the third...

The third held a long, matte-black scope up to his eye—clearly watching. The telescope shifted slightly every few seconds. Left, right, down... pausing.

Watching their house.

Watching his family.

Kailun hovered there, expression hardening into stone. His translucent hands clenched at his sides.

The soldiers then started to chat amongst themselves.

"Man, this is such a waste of ti. We’ve been sitting here for hours and nothing’s happening."

"Tell about it. I didn’t sign up for this babysitting crap. Watching an old guy and his weird little family? What the hell are we even doing here?"

"Orders from upstairs. High priority, they said. ’Observe but don’t engage,’ they said. I’m just waiting for them to tell us what exactly we’re supposed to be watching for."

"Yeah, they were super vague. Sothing about possible subversive behavior? The hell does that even an? The old man’s doing tai chi for God’s sake."

"I swear, if I miss another weekend rotation for this nonsense... I had plans, man. Real plans. Hot food, cold beer, actual human interaction."

"Yeah? Well now you’ve got lukewarm MREs, stale coffee, and my winning personality."

"Ugh, don’t remind . And the worst part? We’re not even allowed to question the order. So special protocol crap. Just ’follow and report’ like obedient little drones."

"Whole situation gives the creeps. Like they know sothing we don’t. You think the rumors are true? That the old man used to be part of so black ops unit or sothing?"

"Who knows. But if he sneezes weird, command wants to know. That’s how dumb this is."

"Great. Just great. Hope you’re enjoying this, Central Command."

Kailun who heard this was beyond angered.

All his life he had served the military with unwavering loyalty. He had bled for them, trained their youth, defended their borders, even as his bones aged and his hair grayed. He had trusted them—trusted the system, the oath, the promise that the military was there to protect, not prey.

But now, here they were. Rifles trained on his ho. Eyes prying into his loved ones’ privacy. Listening to their conversations. Poisoning their food.

His breath—though only a sensation in this form—ca sharp and cold.

This was no longer about politics or orders.

This was a betrayal.

And when the people he had trusted with his life tried to harm his family?

Then he would burn that trust down with his own hands.

His spirit flickered once, briefly pulsing with energy.

He now had a face to the enemy.

And he was done playing defense.