Eric Coulter ⋆ One Shots

⋆ second thoughts ⋆

"Y/N and Corey. In the ring." Eric shouts, arms crossed, the forever-present scowl on his face visible as we approach the ring. My stomach hollows as I get closer to the mat.

"Good luck," Corey says to me, a quiet whisper next to my ear as he passes me. For once this isn't meant as a taunt but as a reassurance, the two best initiates going head to head seeming to bring some humanity to the ring.

My heart aches a bit at the kindness, so uncommon in the cold initiation of Dauntless. It makes me ache for my past faction. Amity was never this dark, never so malice. 

Then again here I am free, I can express myself in anyway I want without repercussions for it not being "for the best of the faction." I internally sigh.

"You too." I say, offering my hand to him. Shaking it, he nods at me, moving into fighting stance as I do the same.

"Today initiates." Eric calls again, both of us looking in his direction, catching the end of his angered wave for us to move ahead. My heart thuds in my chest, too heavy to be just anticipation. I can barely look into his eyes without my palms going sweaty and my mind freezing.

This is bad. This is so bad.

A throat being cleared makes my eyes narrow at my opponent as I face him again. He's my only division between ranking first in my class, this is the fight to end all fights.

His body is more muscular than mine, that's clear through his bulging arms and abs visible from his tight shirt, but I'm faster, I know it. He's tall, but that doesn't mean much. His stance is strong for the most part but I've seen him let it down before, usually when he thinks he already won, when he's too confident.

As I'm categorizing his strengths and weakness he makes the first move, a swift punch to my face, only barely missed as I swivel my head away.

I guess we're starting now.

I throw my weight into my punch, landing the blow on his cheek, a loud clap sounding. 

While he's stunned I turned to kick his ribs, only for him to grab my ankle in his hands. A vise-grip despite the sheen of sweat that lays over his palms. 

He uses his hold to push me to the mat, my shoulder making a sickening crunch as it makes impact. I hear the gasp from a few in the crowd before I feel the pain. A nauseating wave of heat rolls over me. Too quickly to defend, he plants a kick to my ribs, a new moan of pain echoing through me.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

With shaky movements I block his next blow, twisting his leg to the right, his own grunt now sounding through the room. Pushing further up I listen for the pop that comes from a dislocated knee. 

With the sickening sound he falls and I scramble with him, straddling is chest to pummel his face. The hand I pinned under my left knee slides free sooner than I'd like, clamping down on my hair, he slams my head agains the ground. The world seems to slow as I catch his wrist, moving it without much skill. Watching it crack. Feeling the rumble of his chest as he screams, but not hearing anything. 

Black dots dancing through my vision.

I use his weakness to my advantage, my hands finding their way to his throat. They slide over his skin too easily for such a violent action, my mouth drying as I catch a glimpse of his face, the red and blue tones making bile threaten to rise through my lips.

I grapple for a solid grip as I pick up his head and throw it back to the mat, over and over until I feel him go limp in my hands. My stomach turns but before I move from on top of him I check his pulse; just once, I just need to check this once.