Black Equation - The Gifted Ones

Number Twenty-Five

“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.” ― André Malraux

 

 

Number Twenty-Five

 

 

“Long time no see... Fal…con…” Ivan winced at the sharp pain just below his ribs, but he straightened, one gloved hand covering the wound. “Not glad to see you, I admit.”

The man with gray eyes had stabbed him with a serrated ceramic knife, much to his surprise. No wonder his Gift didn’t deflect the weapon. If he hadn’t slipped because of the explosion, the man would have pierced his lungs. Yeah, he was staggering on his feet, but at least he was alive.

He refused to die right now; like this, without anyone to see how heroic he is. Nah. He’s too bad ass to go without flair.

The man with gray eyes sneered at his kneeling form. He lifted Ivan’s chin with the tip of his boot, but then forced him to bow with his heel. “How did you know?”

Ivan coughed out blood in an attempt to hide a laugh. Wasn’t it obvious? Did he have to spell everything out to Krad’s old man? Chuckling, he watched his enemy’s fleeting expression of confusion, apparently troubled with his current state of mind. Maybe he could help? He too questioned his sanity every now and then.

“Your son told me, in case you’re too stupid to realize it on your own, cheesecake,” he answered in his famous la-di-da tone. Krad confided to him in secret about the rumor of Falcon having two Gifts several years ago. It was public knowledge that his ability to control electricity was laboratory-produced. But the fact that he was born a Rare Kind? Not so much.

After all, no one had witnessed Falcon using his latent powers for more than a decade. Kreuz and Vladimir were no go; they were too damn stubborn to tell anyone anything about what really happened to their “friend” Meric Underwood. Ivan had to prod a number of acquaintances before he verified the truth of Krad’s claim, and man, that was pulling a lot of favors.

“I don’t think you understand your position, Russian."

The mixed emotions that the familiar voice brought slithered down his spine.

“Aww, come on, give me some credit,” he mocked, “I’m famous for my humor.”

His attitude earned him a healthy kick on the side. Right. As if he wasn’t used to that. He smirked, continuing, “Krad said that I should watch him constantly in case you possess him. Smart guy, you know. You should be proud of him.”

That earned him a raised brow. It was something so Krad-like, that if a third party would see them, they would think that this person stepping on him was indeed Krad. Well, biologically-speaking, he really is Krad aka Gneiss Underwood aka former 01. Deep inside, this rotten person… well, Meric used to be an Equation too, wasn’t he? Was he a 01 too back then… wait… why the hell was he thinking about that again?

Krad's body moved fluidly, almost like a phantom. “Krad is no son of mine. No Underwood chooses trash over family.”

Ivan smirked. “Yeah? Good to know he didn’t choose to be with you,” he spat.

The downside though, is that the only tell-tale sign that Krad was under control was the color of his eyes – dull lifeless gray. Nothing like the summer, vibrant hue that he knew Faye loved. But they were in a war, dammit. Nobody would approach him and ask, ‘Hey, your eyes are gray. Did you get contacts?’