Where the Rainbow ends.

With a big sigh Rainbow stepped into the prep room for the last time in her professional career. The room itself was very plain with light blue ceiling, floor and walls. The last of which was almost completely covered by varying sized posters of the participants. The bigger ones belonged to the best and most popular flyers while the less successful ponies got lot smaller pictures crammed into the background.

“Prep room.” To Rainbow it almost sounded like a working title for this place that eventually simply stuck and nopony bothered to change it for some reason. Technically it wasn’t even a room, more like the first wider part of a corridor leading to the racetrack. It served only one purpose: When the commentator started to introduce the racers the broadcast could show them leaving the room and heading to the racetrack. That’s why it had to be a different room from the lockers because it was illegal to put cameras in the locker rooms, although Rainbow was unsure why the ECC consider a changing pony unfit for a camera.

Another interesting question that came to Rainbow‘s mind was that whose idea it was to put the lockers so far out from the prep room. Whoever that joker was, their name was never revealed to the public.

Out of nowhere the announcer’s voice bellowed into the air making her heart almost jump out of her chest. The whole room was designed in such a way that the competitors could clearly hear the announcer since their introduction was their cue to fly out and up to the starting line. Though Rainbow wouldn’t have minded if they hadn’t tried to puncture her eardrums at every race by the absurd volume.

“Good afternoon Fillies and Gentlecolts. This is it, it’s the big one. Welcome to the final of the Celestial Cup. After four epic days only two remain. It’s the ultimate showdown between generations, the race that brings the curtain down on an era regardless of its result, a chapter in competitive flying’s history will be closed. Fillies and Gentlecolts, lets get the racers on the starting line.

“From the lower bracket, one of the most exciting new talents in recent years. She has been taking the competition by storm this year, winning every one of her races by more than three seconds. She’s fast as Lightning, ruthless as a Griffon and hungry like a Dragon. She’s the Manehattan Machine. She’s Misty Skies.”

As her competitor flew out of the preproom next to hers and the applause slowly faded, another strange thought occurred to Rainbow. She knew that Misty had no blood relation to Soarin and their identical surname was merely a coincidence – turns out if somepony locks up thousands of pegasi with limited creativity in cloud cites for several millennia a lot of them are going to end up with sky related surnames – But how many times was she asked this question before the race?

“And now it is my absolute honour to introduce our next competitor. She’s without a doubt the greatest flyer ever to soar the skies of Equestria. She has still yet to lose any individual competition in her professional career and she’s looking to take her perfect record to her retirement. Her epic tale has been already written, but can she cross the t’s and dot the i’s in style? Fillies and Gentlecolts blink and you miss her, she’s the Mare, the Myth, the Legend. She’s– and I don’t want to hear my voice as I say it –

“RAINBOW DASH!” the crowd roared in ecstasy

“Showtime.” Rainbow shook her wings and took a few paces. Then, with one strong flap she leaped into the air to steadily glide through the corridor, keeping her altitude with a few hard beats. When she flew out into the open the crowd went nuts, cheering and stomping all over the stands and rhythmically chanting Rainbow’s name. But Rainbow was in her own personal bubble, barely even perceiving any of the spectacle that was going on. Her eyes were squinting, visualising the series of round cloud gates that formed the famed track number fifteen and the tactics they came up the day before with Soarin.

The infamous track number fifteen. The ultimate creation of the slightly deranged genius track designer Claw Mind. Not long after finishing this design he died in a horrid gym accident. Turns out that not even the Power of Friendship can give enough strength to somepony to bench-press five hundred pounds. Especially if the term Power of Friendship refers to cheap moonshine from the street instead of an actual gym-bro.

The first sector was a series of long straights connected with the sharpest imaginable U turns and in one case even a loop-de-loop. It was designed to test a pony’s top speed and acceleration. Both were dimensions were she was miles behind Misty. And Scoots wasn’t an idiot so she probably instructed her disciple to try to create as much distance as she could before the second sector.

However Rainbow also had a trick or two up in her sleeves. While on a straight sprint track she’d undoubtedly lose to Misty, both her turn speed and turn rate were still the best in the world, meaning that in those sharp turns she could probably make up for most of the time she lost in the straights. And she had to abuse this as much as she possibly could. She had to make Misty feel threatened in the sector that was definitely hers on paper. She had to make her fall out of her pace because if Rainbow didn’t throw a wrench into that well-oiled machine she’d get processed into natural fertilizer just like the rest of Misty’s opponents.

Scootaloo surely had Rainbow’s strengths and weaknesses mapped out pretty perfectly and (had) undoubtedly made an immaculate race-plan for Misty. But she can’t fly in her behalf. And Misty, still just twenty-one, most likely lacked the experience to properly handle these stressful situations. Not that she had never been under pressure. She had been to a number of finals and won a few herself, but there was pressure and there was flying-a-one-on-one-final-against-the-legendary-Rainbow-Dash-in-the-most-anticipated-race-in-the-last-decade pressure.

So she had to keep close to Misty and if possible force her to go faster than she originally planned. The harsh changes in speed and the heavy accelerations already took an enormous toll on a racer’s endurance so if she could disturb her pacing it would benefit Rainbow tremendously for the race.

And in the last turn of the first sector she had to overtake her no matter the cost. Because the second sector the biggest reason why track fifteen earned the nickname Swirling Hell.

It was a series of zig-zags, loops and chicanes weaved into one another. It had such an unpredictable and erratic course that some racers speculated that it was created by some sort of magic that nopony could really explain or make sense of.

There was no ideal way to make those turns. For every perfect turn, the racer had to sacrifice two others which made her lose time. To make matters worse outside factors like the wind, temperature and the air pressure played a major part in how a competitor should approach a situation. Some said this was the ultimate test of one’s racing proves, but Rainbow never bothered to participate in those pointless arguments. The thing she was concerned with was the fact that a pony needed two things to execute this sector cleanly: Turn speed and experience, (both) in which she was vastly superior to Misty.

Also if there was a place to force mistakes out of Misty that was it. It was hard enough already trying to find the right balance between the complicated twist and turns of the sector. But doing it in somepony else’s tailwind while constantly looking for ways to overtake your competitor, it was a nightmare. And to makes matters worse it was also the time the worst enemy of the second placed racer started closing in on them: The finish line.

If the second sector was the reason most racers loved this course the third was why the audience adored it. Two upward spirals weaved around each other, expanding outwards as they went higher and higher, forcing the racers to face a lose-lose scenario. As the diameter of the spirals expanded the theoretical maximum speed increased, however as the finish line drew nearer the athletes got more and more exhausted desperately scraping for any sort of final wind that was left in their system.

To make matters worse at the end of each spiral there was a long straight heading into the centre, opposite to each other with the finish line in the dead centre. This meant the racers finished by flying directly at each other which gave a unique viewing experience, and some really memorable photo finishes.

For a moment Rainbow glanced on the board. It was still empty for the most part so she easily spotted the one line she was looking for “ER: R. Skies-Dash, 4:26:36 and a date from almost exactly five years before. She still remembered that race like it was yesterday. After the landing she had plopped into panting sweating mess and was trying to convince her heart and lungs not to explode quite there and then because it would have looked bad on the camera. At least she knew that she did good. Sadly she couldn’t check just how good it actually was because for that she would have had to lift her head up and in her state that felt like much too big of an effort. Luckily a young orange mare just galloped to her, screaming a combination of numbers that was way too complicated for her to comprehend, but the behaviour of her coach indicated that it was indeed a record. And that was exactly the last moment she remembered up until next morning when she woke up in her bed. But at least she still had the video footage, which proved that she had indeed ran the compulsory circles like the award ceremony and all that jazz, which is something.

From the corner of her eyes she saw something pink, which must have been the hoof of Misty hanging there waiting for the bump. Without even looking at her Rainbow clicked her hooves with Misty’s. With most racers she would have looked at them or even exchange a few verbal formalities, but with Misty it was a waste of time. She was famous for never looking at her opponent or saying even a word before the race, or after it for that matter. This kind of reserved, borderline rude mannerism earned her the nickname ‘Manehattan Machine.’

“Racers, on your marks.” The loud, stern voice of the referee said and the two racers stepped to the starting line. Any clamour coming from the audience immediately stopped, replaced by that constant agitating hum, filled with excited anticipation.

“Get set!” Rainbow moved into the starting position as her back legs crouched to an almost sitting position, tensing her muscles to be ready for take-off.

“Go!” shouted the referee.

Rainbow leaped to the familiar, ever so welcoming embrace of the air. For a fraction of a moment she let the air’s gentle chilliness embrace and caress her entire body. The wind’s sharp whistle was but an ancient poem softly whispered into her ears, telling her everything she had to do. Like a soft song that set the rhythm for her dance with the devil in pale moonlight. A dance in which she partook many times, yet she only grew to love it more and more with each and every one of them. It radiated a celestial harmony that shone through the skies like a painting that was being painted by the athlete’s body. Few could separate this artistry from the rousing rush of adrenaline that competition itself gave, but the initiated who were deemed worthy to realise the difference could really understand what it meant to race.

They knew that a race wasn’t just a competition but so much more. It was the journey and the goal in one. It was everything, it was life itself. For one last time Rainbow was going to enjoy it to its fullest.

She felt the air in front of her grew thinner by the second, meaning a clearer path for her. She broke a smile as she saw she was exactly where she wanted to be. The air itself gave her an advantage. But with the heartless bitch that air was, it only gave something if it could take something else. That object that Rainbow was trailing behind did reduce her own resistance substantially, but only if she put in the effort to keep up with it closely. Should she fall just a little bit more behind, the whirls the object generated would destabilize her flight. But air was a tricky one, because she knew that if Rainbow was to keep up with drafting she’d tire herself out before the end of the race. Rainbow however has been through way too much to fall for such a cheap trick. She just looked for her own path in her own tempo, waiting for the right moment, positioning in such a way that it would have been insane for anypony else but her. Because she knew she was going to take the following U-turn in a way that would make up for any time she lost on the straight line.

The traditional way to deal with the upwards U-turn was the Immelmare, a move comprising an ascending half-loop followed by a half-roll, resulting in level flight in the exact opposite direction at a higher altitude. A few years back Scootaloo proposed a daring new way to combine the two elements into one, essentially doing the roll during the loop, which resulted in better a turnrate without losing significant amounts of speed. It caught on like wildfire after Rainbow first pulled it out at an event, but even to this day nopony could master it so impeccably as she did.

As she saw the turn approaching Rainbow held her breath for a moment, readying her body to the outlandish forces of a high speed turn like that. She turned her wings and twisted her upper body into the exact position for the millionth time, but not even the years of practice could make the pain in her wings and back disappear. The air just seemingly turned into a solid chunk of rock whose only purpose is to crush her. But today wasn’t the day she’s going to go down.

After all, this was nothing new to her. Her body remembered how to do this sequence of movement, the pain was nothing but a good old friend who always looked to improve her. Or kill her, Rainbow was never quite sure, but whichever is its purpose it did the other one pretty damn well too.

However Rainbow couldn’t forget that amongst the outlandish torments of flight, she had a plan to carry out. And she just noticed the first instrument she needed to succeed: The loop the loop on the end of sector one. For once she didn’t let the drift of thin air elude her. Instead she put in more power to get as close to its epicentre as she possibly could, even if it put unsustainable amounts of strain on her endurance.

Then the first gate of the loop appeared and she uncompromisingly set her eyes on the upper part of the cloud circle, aiming to just skim it with her mane as she went through . Normally for an upward loop like that it would have been advised to take the outside track of the loop. It had numerous advantages; better control, momentum conservation and overall bigger margin for error. However Rainbow couldn’t let herself have the luxury of not believing that she could pull of the loop perfectly on the inside track. Keeping so much of her speed like that would have seemed impossible for anypony else, so she rather just relied on her experience and the soft stroking sensation as her mane touched the gates to guide her way.

Nonetheless her efforts bore fruit. She emerged out of the first sector exactly where she wanted. If she had been on any other track a smile of some sorts would have appeared on her face after that immaculate first sector, but alas things worked here a bit different. The Swirling Hell was like an overbearing housewife, it didn’t treat kindly those who didn’t give it their undivided attention at all times.

Turn after turn it pushed Rainbow to her absolute limits, daring her to try to take each turn faster than the last, to squeeze out every fraction of a second she possibly could in the curves. All the while the track was waiting like a hyena for her to make the tiniest mistake, be it just a slightly sloppily positioned limb or even just a miniscule miscalculation of momentum, and then pounce on it without hesitation. Most racers usually pull back a notch because it is never worth it to risk a total wipeout and possible injury for such negligible advantages. Normally Rainbow would do the same. But alas this wasn’t a normal race. She had no chance if she didn’t risk it all on every single turn, doing moves that even her younger self would have considered unbelievably reckless. She might as well close her eyes for all she saw as the track was blurred into an incomprehensible mess. It was utter madness.

Yet there was something rather comforting about facing the elements like this. It’s all that matters. Nothing else even seemed to exist outside her pure instinct to win. Her medals, her fame and all her records even her legend, it was all meaningless. The race was the only thing that was real. To fly on behalf of her very self and nothing else. She never felt so complete.

Or tired. The second sector took its immense toll on her psyche as well as her physique. One thing that Spitfire taught her way back when Rainbow was just a rookie was that if she had any idea at the middle of the race how she was gonna last for the last third of that race then she wasn’t doing it right. Well Spitfire would be proud for Rainbow had absolutely no clue how she was going to do the next sector. As she reached the two-way crossroad that lead to the two spirals of the final ground, she took the right one as she usually did and begun the last arc of this danse macabre.

And what a dance it was. As she was quickly running short of air and energy she had to close her mind of any sensation that came from the outside. She needed to shut out everything and focus solely on keeping her forms so that she could still create the needed thrust to propel her to the finish line. She had to retreat to the deepest recesses of her mind where she was alone, alone with the race and nopony could separate them. It was a connection deeper than friendship, more intimate than lovemaking and stronger than motherly love. A cycle of motions repeating constantly, slowly striping her of her consciousness as she merged with the cycle. They were one.

She was the breath of chilly air she took. She was the expansion of her chest as she took in the outer world, encompassing its gifts into herself. She was the stabbing pain in her chest barring her from everything she needed. She was the oxygen that oozed through her alveoli, into her bloodstream providing her with the essential element of life. She was everything her life gave her to succeed.

She was the beats of her heart. She was the blood running through her veins. She was the reason her muscles could still strain and relax. She was the burning agony of every single movement. She was the will to defy the laws of motion and gravity and the force to deny her muscles their well earned rest for a few more seconds. She was the perfection with which she took the next cloud gate, turning to the home stretch. She was the greatest racer who has ever graced the skies.

She was the flap of her wings. She was the air, disturbed by her motions and then settling back to normal as if nothing has happened. She was the act that can seem pitiful at first, yet in due time could cause a cascade of events that alter the world as we know it. She was the impact on a thousand lives and a thousand more. She was insignificant yet nothing could have been more important. She was all the difference one could make to the world, and everything in it.

She was the blackness that slowly descended to her mind. She was the finish line. She was the end.