//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 // Story: Hotter Than Hell // by totallynotabrony //------------------------------// Getting dragged down the street by a chain around her neck, if she had time to think about it Sunset would have been surprised that had the time to remember her new leather jacket, and how she wasn’t wearing it. Maybe if she was, her skin wouldn’t be peeling away on the pavement. She probably had so much time to think despite the agony because there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She couldn’t get the chain off. She couldn’t breathe. That was nothing compared to hitting a speedbump in the street and shattering her shoulder. Her finger bones snapped like twigs as they got caught in the holes of a drain grate. All over her body, more and more skin kept getting ground off. She pinballed between a few curbs and parked cars, rounded a couple of corners, and finally slid to a stop. Sunset took a huge gasp of air, though nearly choked on a lungful of snow and dirt. Where did the dirt come from? She was able to raise her head just enough to see that she was in some kind of lot and surrounded by derelict cars. A junkyard?  Sunset took another stuttering breath, willing her body to heal, though this was far worse than a simple cut. She wasn’t dead, but she surely could be without treatment. How many bones were broken? How much road salt had been ground into her wounds? How much of her skin had been torn - no, at this point, how much of her skin remained?  She heard a deep voice chuckle humorlessly, and forced her head to lift just enough to see the source. It was none other than Macintosh Apple.  He seemed healthier now than he had in the hospital. Sunset had heard his nickname was “Big” - and he was. He wore jeans and a leather jacket, and sat astride a motorcycle wrapping a chain around his arm, the same chain that had been used to drag her through the streets.  “So, yer a Ghost Rider?” Mac asked, looking down at Sunset as a smile crossed his lips. “Not much ta look at,” he said, an obvious drawl in his voice as he put down the bike’s kickstand and swung one leg around so he could face Sunset fully. As he did, his eyes flashed from signature Apple Family green to a bright shade of orange.  “It's almost like a baby me,” he said, but the voice that came out of his mouth this time was somehow even deeper and seemed more jagged.  He got off his bike, his boots inches from Sunset’s face. She wasn’t sure she had enough blood left to flush, but would have rather died before admitting to her humiliation at being literally broken at someone’s feet. And after she had just beaten Blair so easily! “Get up,” Mac said, his voice and eyes back to normal. Was he serious? Hadn’t he just made sure she couldn’t? Much as Sunset hated to be beaten, she knew when it was time to try a different tactic. Mac was a country bumpkin like his sister, right? Maybe it was time to play the sympathy card. “I-I can’t.” “Then you ain’t tryin’ hard enough.” Mac turned his back and took a few steps away. “Or are ya just that puny? Never knew a Devil ta choose such a weak host. ‘Course if you can’t do it, you can always beg the spirit for help.”  He was provoking her, and they both knew it. But Sunset didn’t see that she had many other options. It was better than lying here bleeding. She searched for the fire she’d felt before, and let it burn. The pain in her body started to ebb, and Sunset thought she could actually feel her bones knitting back together. Was the snow around her already starting to melt? She took a breath, and then got her hands under her, pushing herself up to a crouch.  Mac turned to watch her, sitting back down on his motorcycle. He rubbed his chin and the bit of stubble there. “Looks about the same,” he murmured, seemingly to himself as Sunset felt her body trying its best to regenerate, to put her back into working order. “But it's not like us,” he said.  Sunset managed to spare a glance at him. “What are you even talking about? Who is us?”  Mac kicked her in the ribs hard enough to slam her into a junk car and dent the door. Sunset gasped, partly out of surprise, partly out of having the breath driven out of her. Also partly out of pain, but a boot to the gut was hardly the worst injury she’d suffered in the last few minutes. Recovering this time, Sunset managed to get all the way up, even though her entire body felt weak, exhausted, as the heat kept rolling across her skin.  Mac was still looking in her direction, but it was clear that he wasn’t actually talking to her as he kept rubbing his chin. “No, I can’t hear the Spirit either. Just like the others, why does every Spirit have to be so damn different?” Mac grumbled, rolling his neck as stood up and took a few steps towards Sunset. She ground her teeth. He was acting like she was nothing before him, that she wasn’t even worth talking to when she had this power! She focused on that other fire inside of her, the searing, hellish one that only came out when she fought Blair, but…this time, she couldn't feel it at all.  Sunset looked down at her hands, fire was still tracing her fingers but it wasn’t coming to her like it had before. “Why can’t I-”  “Ah, yer that new.” She looked up to find Mac towering over her in height, and apparently in knowledge of the Spirit of Vengeance. She knew that she couldn't do anything about height but she would be damned if she wasn’t smarter than some human. Yes, all of this was new to her but she wasn’t going to let him know that! She was stronger now, and he was going to tell her everything, willing or not.  She made both her hands into fists and took a step towards Mac, fire or not she wasn’t going to let him get the upper hand.  “You are going to tell me everything about this power, or I’m going to beat it out of you,” Sunset said, matching her voice to the anger inside of her as it came out low, and full of scorn. While she didn’t get her full desired effect, both of Mac’s eyebrows went up. Now she was making some progress, she was going to show this human, Ghost Rider or not, that she meant business. “Do you understand?”  “Celestia, that is adorable,” Mac laughed, a smile spreading across his lips. “Absolutely adorable.”  The humiliation was too much. Sunset swung at Mac. If there was one thing she had learned since being in this world it was how to throw a punch. It was the most basic of human attacks, but she was not human, far beyond it. She put her full weight behind the punch, moving her body with her fist to deliver the most power she could summon.  Mac moved so quickly that she didn’t even have time to counter as he grabbed her by the wrist and used her own momentum against her, throwing her over his shoulder and into the pile of junkyard scrap beyond. She went tumbling into the pile of rusty metal, slicing into her flesh as the sheer force of the impact rebroke her bones. She hit a car hard enough that the one stacked atop it came crashing down, pinning her legs.   Sunset could only give out a low groan of pain as she heard Mac’s slow steps thumping towards her. “You got that much strength outside of yer Rider form? Color me impressed, never seen that before,” Mac said, giving out a low whistle as he stood in front of the scrap. “Now, if yer done throwin’ a tantrum we need ta-”  Even if he had complimented her, Sunset wasn’t in the mood to talk, the fire of the Spirit already healing her body as she ripped the door off the nearest car that was pinning her down and lunged for Mac from the scrap pile. She threw the door at Mac, who - much to Sunset’s satisfaction - jumped out of the way as it came crashing down on where he had been standing.  It didn’t dampen her fury, though. Mac had dragged her across the city, refused to acknowledge her ability, and he spoke to her as though she was a child! To make things even worse he dared use Celestia’s name around Sunset. She was going to make him pay for this.  It would have helped if she was more experienced in fighting, but even still, Sunset had defaulted to wild punches, ready to cave in Mac’s skull under her might. Once again though, he completely subverted her plan as he side stepped her blows, and threw her into another pile of discarded metal and junk. This time, she slammed into an old refrigerator, putting a large Sunset-shaped dent in the back wall. The fridge tumbled over, the door slamming shut on her. It took a moment, which felt far too long, to orient herself and kick the door open again.   “Guess we got her all worked up.”  That damn voice again! He was mocking her by changing voices as well? She wasn’t going to stand for that!  “Shut up!” Sunset roared, lifting the refrigerator over her head and hurling it at Mac like a missile. “Just shut up!” Her rage grew hotter as once more Mac stepped out of the way of her attack, but she was already moving again, reaching out for him. “Easy sugar,” Mac growled, as he moved to evade Sunset’s grasping hands, reeling his hold on the chain around his forearm and using it to wrap around Sunset’s wrists as she went by. “You got a head as hard as Applejack!” Sunset screamed in response, now he was making a comparison to someone far inferior to her? She would show him, by breaking his chain and choking him with it!  Though, tried as she might, the chains didn’t break. She had just lifted a refrigerator without any problem, ripped a door off a car, and moved faster than any human could, but these chains would not submit to her will. “What the, how are you, what are the-”  Mac smoothly pivoted in place and gave her a toss. A particularly sharp piece of steel pierced her back, sliding between her ribs and emerging from the front of Sunset’s torso. She couldn’t even gasp this time, lungs bisected. Her feet didn't reach the ground to get herself unstuck, either. “Ah might not have yer strength in this form,” Mac said, “But once yer a Rider fer a bit, ya pick up a few things.” He smiled at her, as runes and sigils were momentarily illuminated upon the chain. “But yer too angry ta listen clearly, so Ah guess ya need ta work out some of that anger on someone deservin’.” Mac lifted his head and let out a low whistle, a throb of energy going out with it.  The roar of an engine replied as if in answer, a very familiar exhaust that Sunset had come to know. In a few moments, her motorcycle came tearing into the junkyard without a rider.  The motorcycle circled her and Mac, tires skidding in the snow, before it slid to a stop before them. “How did you-” Sunset began, coughing up a little blood in the process.   “Time fer ya ta learn the real purpose of yer Spirit,” Mac said. He grabbed the front of Sunset’s shirt, pulling her from her impalement. Putting her surprise at the motorcycle’s sudden appearance aside, Sunset tried to lunge at him, to beat him bloody, to show him that he had no power over her, but she suddenly couldn't make herself move. Mac dropped her astride the motorcycle. Instead of grabbing his throat and choking him, her hands found the handlebars and revved the engine. She was already aboard the bike, putting it into gear without giving her body permission to do any of this.  “Just let the Rider take over,” Mac said, clapping her on the shoulder. Sunset could command her body enough to look over at Mac, glaring hatred. “It hurts a lot less, trust me on that,” he said, smiling down at her, “And when yer ready ta learn, Ah’ll find ya.” Like a rubber band being released, Sunset went shooting forward as the motorcycle took on a mind of its own and led Sunset where it wanted to go, her holding on as merely a passenger.   She went flying down the road, out of the junkyard and into the city proper, zooming by stop lights that were red, passing every stop sign, and leaving a trail of fire in her wake. Sunset realized something had happened to her bike; the motorcycle’s wheels were on fire, and she could feel the heat of the engine pulsing through her, burning her as that fire from before started to race up her body, blazing away everything that was her and leaving something else behind. Sunset was disciplined in magic, she had devoted herself to her studies and knew that nothing came without a cost, and sometimes that cost was painful. She had built up her mental defenses to block out pain so she could push past her limitations, but this burning was like nothing she had ever felt before, and she realized she couldn’t fight it.  The fire Sunset thought until now had been warm and healing about her body was suddenly an inferno, raging hotter than anything she had ever felt before. Even as she tried to take her hands from the handlebars, she could feel it incinerating her skin and flesh. She screamed until the fire burned through her neck and vocal cords, and her lungs and throat were next. Sunset couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything but the fire, until suddenly her senses were too sharp to not notice the world around her. It was as if her eyelids were gone and she couldn’t look away. She screamed, but instead, another voice came out, a roar, a sound that she knew her own throat wasn’t capable of forming…or was it her voice anymore?  As the fire reached her face, she felt the transformation coming over her and she tried to fight it, to keep control of who she was, that she was Sunset Shimmer and nothing was going to stop her, nothing at all. She tried to scream again, but the roar came out instead as something else had control of her body.  As the fire enveloped her, she felt a tug, a pull, a drive within her. The feeling was similar to what she’d thought the power of the Spirit of Vengeance had been, only seemingly thousands of times more intense. The motorcycle didn’t seem like another entity now, it was part of her, or at least part of whatever was driving her forward now. Wherever it was taking her, she knew there would be evil, and this spirit - or at least that’s what everyone kept calling the thing - wanted at it.  She veered down another road to what was obviously the bad side of town and came to a screeching stop at the mouth of an alley. As the dust settled, she could hear someone begging for help. Once more, her body moved without her permission, and as much as she fought it, didn’t even make a difference as her legs dismounted the bike and started down the alley, lighting the way as flames danced around her skull.  As she approached, Sunset saw what evil called to her. A man pressed a woman to the brick wall in front of him, a knife at her throat.  It was obvious what was happening, or was about to happen, as the man’s trousers were around his ankles and the woman looked beaten, her clothes ripped and teardrops mixed with makeup ran down her cheeks. Both of them, though, stopped to stare at Sunset’s approach. “Wh… what the fuck are you?” the man demanded pointing his knife at Sunset, before apparently deciding he’d rather have a hostage and moving it back to the woman’s throat. The look of utter terror on his face, perhaps even more than the woman, was just the thing Sunset craved, the power over someone she had wanted. At that moment, she felt that this was exactly what she traded for her soul. “St-stay the fuck back!” he yelled at her, holding the woman up more as holding the knife against her neck tight enough that a tiny trinkle of blood started to roll down her skin. “I’ll do it! I’ll fucking do it!”  Sunset knew she didn’t have eyes, that the fire had burned them away, but she could see everything clearly as if it were daylight and she watched as the droplet of blood ran from the knife and formed a droplet. Everything moved in slow motion as the blood fell, she could see it so clearly as the light of her flames glinted on the blood, before it hit the ground; and like that, a dam broke.   Sunset wasn’t even sure how the whip had appeared in her hands, but it was already flying through the air and bending at an impossible angle to wrap itself around the man’s neck like Sunset’s own not too long ago. The leather whip somehow glowed bright as if aflame, and the man screamed as the burning sensation came over him, or at least until his air was choked off. He dropped the knife, going to his knees, and his hostage had enough self preservation to duck away as Sunset advanced.  Sunset’s boney fingers took hold of the man’s dirty shirt and slammed him hard against the wall, the whip falling away to leave a nearly perfect imprint of itself on the man’s neck like a branding mark. He kicked and failed himself at Sunset, kicking her in the stomach, legs, and smacking her arms and face with his hands but all it did was add to his building pain as nothing he did could hurt her, the flames burning his fingers, turning black and shriveling from contact.  “Look into my eyes,” Sunset said, or the spirit did using a mockery of her voice. The voice was deeper, raspier, powerful. She could see the man fighting against it, to stop himself from obeying her, but like the force that had brought her here, her target couldn't help but look into her eyes. And then the screaming started.  Sunset had a front row view of the man’s life of sin, of pain, and of his punishment. She witnessed all of the crimes he had ever committed and the pain it had caused others. Not just physical pain, but the ripples of emotions, stress, self loathing, hatred towards the world, and so much more. Not just of his victims but she could feel the pain of others, the ones closest to them, their friends and family who shared that pain and felt their own because of it, and those who suffered because of that.  From every victim that this man had tortured, he didn’t just feel their pain, but the pain that rippled out because of his acts, and it was all focused on him, again, and again. It didn’t stop as it reached his last victim, but it kept going in an unending loop as the man’s soul was burned.  Sunset could only watch as the film of sin passed her eyes, hearing his screams of pain mixing in with all the screams that he caused in a loop of torture right up untill the spirit let go of him, letting him fall to the concrete of the alley. He was breathing, his eyes wide open, but besides that, nothing else. The body was alive, but the soul had been burned away. “Guilty,” Sunset said, or her voice did at least as she turned from the man to find his latest victim cowering behind a dumpster, trying to cover herself the best she could. Sunset could already feel the spirit controlling her body looking into the woman’s eyes, and Sunset tried to force it away, not wanting to go through that again, having to face another loop of pain.  But the voice declared “Innocent,” and Sunset passed right by her, back to the motorcycle that sat idling in the street.  It sat perfectly upright, balancing unnaturally by itself on two wheels. It was the first time she had managed to take a good look since this ordeal began. The tires were aflame - no, they were flame. The chassis seemed to have lengthened, and there were more spikes. It looked as if it were about half organic. And the other half was raw fire. Sunset’s bony hand coiled the whip and hung it back on the bike. She then picked up her leather jacket, still somehow lying across the seat, that she hadn’t been able to put on before this all began. Her arms slipped it on, and to her relief, it didn’t burn. It felt good, like a reward after a job well done. Finally, she got to wear it. After the night she’d had, it felt like she’d earned it. But the night wasn’t over. The Rider got back on the motorcycle, without any say from Sunset, and once again took off into the night.