Chapter One

The guitarist’s first few bars rang out across the packed and crowded stadium of Cloudsdale. Approaching the podium, with your closest co-workers by your sides, you rustle your wings. This was to be your last show ever, the big send off you had been waiting for for the last few months, your time to give it one last bang.

“THUNDER!” The crowd yelled in time with the singer.

“THUNDER!” The second roar came...

“THUNDER!”

Appleseed/DC had come up with the song specifically for this routine, striking up as the pegasi either side of you flung their wings up. Their

“THUNDER!” the singer bellowed with a clap of his hooves to the sound of the drummer’s massive bass drum, your cue to raise the two huge ash grey wings at your side. The phrase was repeated by the crowd, laughing and cheering as they watched you and the rest of the team take flight.

“It was cold, in the middle of a gryphon attaaaaack...”

As the band continued, you and the rest of the wonderbolts continued to climb, two splitting off at around one hundred meters up, two more at four hundred meters, another pair at six hundred meters, leaving you flanked by Spitfire and Soarin. They split off at eight hundred meters, leaving you to climb to one kilometer alone.

As you reached your peak, the signal reached you.

“The thunder of hooves, tore me apaaart... You’ve been,” the singer starts, the drummer beating the bass drum several times, “THUNDERSTRUCK!”

You take a massive breath before making your dive, compensating for the lack of oxygen at so far above ground, even Cloudsdale looking like little more than a city of ants. Your own trail, that of cloud and lightning, flowed from your tail as you dove, crackling on the breeze. Flapping your wings as hard as you could, you could feel the air around you compressing; you kept your breath held. You join up with the others, your group performing an incredibly intricate system of mid-air twists and turns causing your trail to mix with theirs in a double-helical pattern at close to the speed of sound.

Flapping harder, the group come out of the helix and pull up into a star-burst formation, allowing you to return to higher than your previous point. Finishing your climb, you find yourself having lost your breath, and finally gulp as you realised you had reached fifteen hundred meters. Breathing in, nothing happens, and your muscles seize up with lactate, preventing you from using your wings to keep yourself aloft.

You plunge.

The last thing you remember is shooting through the middle of the airborne stadium to the horror of the crowd, and the determined look of the single white spectator in the royal box, before slowing as you felt the immensely powerful tingle of alicorn magic envelop you.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2 Estimated time remaining: 27 Minutes