//------------------------------//
// It Can Break a Pony 
// Story: It Comes in a Flash 
// by Crystalis McCloud 
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After a long week, Flash was excited to finally see the familiar nimbus-crafted structures of the Cloudsdale Flight School.

Even he was surprised at how happy he was to be back. He knew why though; he was ready to win. The past week had been hard, but he finally understood now.

As he glided in closer to the ivory entry gates that lead to the school grounds, Flash put on speed. In only three flaps he hit his peak speed, and with a flare of his pinions, he slowed into a gentle touchdown on the surface of the clouds.

Flash paused for a moment to look past the gates. Tiny multicolored dots zipped through the air beyond them. The students were doing their warm-up exercises from the looks of it, and the usual white noise of excited chatter reached even this far. Nopony noticed his arrival yet either.

Another typical day at Flight School.

Well, it wouldn't be soon. Flash was ready to put an end to his reputation as a clutz. No more crashes. No more bruises. No more being made fun of. He was going to show them all what he could really do.

As Flash took off into the school grounds, he heard the piercing call of the coach's whistle. That was good, he was just in time. Even better was that he was able to slip into the back of the crowd of students as they gathered up in front of the teacher.

A strangely loud murmuring came from the front of the group. That was odd. Usually everypony was dead silent waiting for roll call and the first competition of the day.

"Whoa, no way! Is that...?!"

"What's she doing here?"

The noise grew to a dull roar as Flash craned his neck to see what was going on. Unfortunately, he had no luck catching a glimpse. Whatever it was had to be special though.

Then came the shrill, piercing shriek of the whistle again. This time twice as loud. It was followed by immediate silence as Flash and all the other students stood cringing in pain with their ears folded closed.

"Alright everypony, form a row! Single file!" The voice that barked at them was that of a mare. Definitely not the coach. Still, the authority and power behind it were enough to send everypony into a scramble. "Move your flanks! I've seen newborn foals faster than all of you!"

Fillies and colts stumbled over each other in a mad rush. What should have been a simple task ended up taking much longer than it should have.

Once Flash clambered into a spot in the growing line, he saw who was causing such a big fuss. It was a hard-eyed mare with a deep sun-yellow coat. Her mane looked like fire flowing from her head, and her posture was one of total authority and confidence. However, what really stood out was her clothes; a form-fitting sea blue flightsuit with a light sky blue underbelly. A lightning pattern travelled the length of the suit, dividing the dark and light halves.

There wasn't a pegasus alive that didn't know her name now. It was Spitfire, the youngest pony to ever become a Wonderbolt.

What was she doing here at Flight School? And where was Coach Iron Wing? He wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Once all of the students were lined up in front of her, Spitfire stepped forward. "Alright, listen up," she commanded, sweeping her eyes over the class, "My name is Spitfire, and I'm going to be your coach for the next few days. Coach Iron Wing is currently under the weather with a bad case of the feather flu, and I'm substituting for him."

Her sheer presence was a powerful force, keeping all of the young ponies at rapt attention. At least, until a hoof shot up next to Flash as one colt boldly asked, "Miss Spitfire, why is a Wonderbolt like you substituting at Flight School?"

A good question.

Spitfire turned a stern eye to the outspoken colt and said, "That's Coach Spitfire to you all, and don't speak out of turn." When the colt stiffened and fell silent, she went on to explain, "If you must know, Iron Hoof created an unmatched endurance training regiment for the Wonderbolts' exclusive use a few years back. They owed him for it, so when he couldn't find a replacement on short notice, they sent me. That answer your question?"

The outspoken colt nodded vigorously, fearful.

A good question, for sure, but not good timing.

"Okay then, the introduction is out of the way," Spitfire cleared her throat, adopting a calm smile. She seemed no less ferocious. "It wasn't that many years ago that I was a student here just like all of you, so I know how things work around here. As such, I expect only one thing out of all of you; your absolute best."

She paced down the length of the line, like a drill sergeant before a fresh batch of soldiers. Flash didn't dare look anywhere but forward as she turned about and paced past him. There wasn't a peep. She had all of them right in her hooves.

"Now, I know full well that not everypony is Wonderbolt material. I'm not expecting that. Some of you may want to be weatherponies, or in the cloud construction business. Hay, you may even want to be an artist or writer, or something else that has nothing to do with flying," Spitfire explained bluntly. "But there is one thing that I know you all have in common."

With a flap of her wings, Spitfire rose up slightly and continued her pacing inches off the clouds. She stopped when she doubled back to the center of the line and swept her hoof out to point at all of them. "You're pegasi. We have warrior blood flowing through every last one of us. No matter how big or small it is, that means every one of us has a desire to be the absolute best we can be. Am I right, everypony?"

"Yes Coach Spitfire!" the entire class shouted in unison.

"So will you all be giving me one hundred and ten percent out there?" she grinned.

"Yes Coach Spitfire!" the answer repeated, louder still.

Some of the tension and nervousness was leaving Flash's body. Instead he was feeling more pumped than ever. It was true. He wanted to be his very best, and he wanted to show it to everypony here. Her declaration spoke to his desires, and made him all the more confident that today was going to be a new start for him.

"Alright then, fillies and colts," Coach Spitfire grinned, pulling a clipboard from under her wing, "once roll call is finished, I want all of you featherbrains to get into your pairs and get your flanks out by the start of the race course. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Coach Spitfire!" they echoed one last time.

Roll call was a quick affair after that. It wasn't long before everypony took off to the starting line and got into their pairs. Reluctantly, Flash set down next to Strike Wing, bracing himself for the usual insults.

To his surprise, none came.

Flash looked to Strike in confusion. This was a first. Usually Strike never missed a single chance to throw an insult out and make fun of him in some way. Instead, the maroon colt's eyes faced forward. He barely even acknowledged Flash's presence. The most he gave was a sideways glare that lasted all of a second before looking straight ahead again.

Could it be that with Spitfire as their coach instead of Iron Wing, he didn't have the nerve to bully? This day just kept getting better and better.

"Alright, the course for this morning will be the ascending-descending course. Your rising and diving speed, as well as your ability to shift rapidly between the two of them will be put to the test," Spitfire explained. She waved a hoof to the open sky behind her. Where the cloud flooring they stood on ended, extended a long stretch of cloud rings, alternating between low and high. Each ring was large, with more than enough space for two ponies to fly through at once.

"You must fly through every ring in order. If you skip one, you lose automatically," she continued. "As I'm sure you all know, this kind of course isn't terribly difficult. The hardest part is really the switch from dive to climb. Be mindful of how fast you can slow in a dive and don't overshoot your target. This kind of track is all about controlling your momentum properly. Any questions?"

Now this was a course Flash could get excited about. He could almost taste the future victory.

When no questions were asked, the young Wonderbolt quickly scanned her clipboard. Seeming to come to a decision, she announced, "Strike Wing and Flash Sentry; you two are up first."

Okay, this was officially the best day ever. The stars were aligning, or Karma was finally on his side, or whatever other phrase for good luck there was. He wouldn't have to wait and watch others fly. He'd get to strut his stuff right away.

Flitting up over the rest of the class, Flash landed at the edge of the cloud, which served as the starting line. Strike landed beside him a moment later, still silent.

Flash could just feel the excitement building up in him. Everything was going so perfectly. It honestly couldn't get any better right now. His confidence was at an all-time high.

"Get ready to lose today," Flash jeered.

The only sign of a reaction from Strike was his brow furrowing and his eyes narrowing. His gaze didn't move from the track in front of him for a second. Flash smiled cheekily at the lack of retaliation of any sort. This was just so perfect. He didn't even care that he could hear the jeers and insults that some of the viewing students whispered about him.

They'd all see soon.

Spitfire took off to land over by the finish line. She gave a short wave and both Flash and Strike lowered into their starting positions. They spread their wings wide and fanned their pinions out. Their hooves scored against the firm clouds beneath them. They were ready. They waited until they heard...

Spitfire put the whistle to her lips and let out the familiar piercing tweet.

In the blink of an eye, Flash pushed his wings down and shot into the air. He took a quick lead ahead of Strike and flew through the first upper ring. Strike was right behind Flash as he pulled into dive, aiming for the first lower ring. The lead was short-lived, as halfway through the dive, Strike went barrelling by Flash.

This was the deciding point. Flash knew Strike was faster than him. If this race had been more of a straight shot, Flash knew he would lose. He would have performed better than he had before, but he still would have lost. This course, however, was perfect for him.

As the two pegasi neared the lower ring, Strike flared his wings to slow his descent. Instead of doing the same, Flash kept going and took the lead again. He didn't slow down at all, much to the surprise of the onlookers.

"You're coming in too hot, Flash! Slow down!" Spitfire shouted from the other end of the track. "Crazy colt, he's gonna overshoot the ascension point if he keeps that up," she muttered under her breath.

Flash paid no heed to the warning. He reached the low ring and in that instant fanned his wings out. He slowed for only a half second, losing a small chunk of his momentum. It looked like he was going to overshoot it, just like Spitfire and everyone else thought.

Instead, in the next instant, his wings snapped down and he shot right up to the next ring without missing a beat. Only the faintest signs of rigor showed on the colt's face from the strain of the momentum change.

"Wha-?" was the collective statement of bewilderment. 

Even Spitfire was scarcely able to believe her eyes. She'd pulled out of high speed dives before. Faster ones than this colt had performed, but even then she would have had to slow herself down a good five yards from the ring in order to make it. On top of that, the G-forces from a shift like that were intense. Very few ponies could handle the strain, and yet it looked as though those forces seemed nearly nonexistent for him.

Flash broke into a huge grin as he reached the next high ring, which hovered even higher than the first. Strike had only climbed half of the distance, though all Flash knew and cared about was that he was winning. He was winning! That week of intense home training had been completely worth it!

This was his strength in flight. His agility.

He wasn't the fastest pegasus. Far from it. He understood that perfectly well now. He didn't need to be; not when he could go from a dead stop to full speed in just three flaps of his wings. On top of that, he could turn on a dime too. His body instinctively knew how to change the direction of his momentum while barely losing any speed. All while bringing the strain on his body to a minimum.

Acceleration and agility. These two skills fed each other. With them, he could stay at his peak speed for the maximum amount of time while slowing down as little as possible. That was why this was a perfect course for him.

Flash stooped into a dive when he passed through the ring. He squinted against the rushing winds, and brought all of his focus forward.

Behind him, Strike started to gain once more, but had to slow his own dive before he could pull ahead. Flash just kept charging forward. Just like last time, right when he passed through the ring, he turned his momentum upward and almost effortlessly rose again.

Little by little, with every switch, Strike fell farther behind. Flash, on the other hoof, surged ahead. He zig-zagged up and down through the rings with everything he had. His wings and lungs burned like fire as he pushed himself as hard as he could.

Then finally, after one last high ring, he turned down and swerved in through the finish line ring. His hooves skidded along the cloud surface as he came to a halt beside Spitfire. His breath came out in ragged gasps.

He was wiped, but he had won. He'd won! His first ever victory!

His head was swimming a little from pushing himself so hard, and his wings were already hanging dead at his sides, but he'd won. The only thing that could make this moment more perfect would be if he finally had his cutie mark.

Flash turned to look back at his flank. Nope. Still blank. Why? What was he missing? He was so close he could taste it, and that feeling only served to frustrate him.

Ten seconds after Flash's finish, Strike landing down beside him. He puffed out haggard breaths, just as winded from the race. The expression on his face said it all to Flash. He looked as though he couldn't even recognize the blue-mane pegasus. All was silent, aside from their labored breaths, until from the other end of the course, there was an eruption of cheering, hooting, and hollering. 

"Woo! You did it, Flash!" 

"That was incredible!" 

"How did you fly like that?!" 

An excited grin spread across Flash's muzzle as the cheering continued. Everything was different now, especially after a total upset like this. He was done with being called Trash Sentry.  He wouldn't have another crash like those again, because he knew why they happened now. He had been over-correcting himself when he went through hard turns. He would instinctively shift his momentum at a rate that he was never prepared for. He'd been in the mindset of taking turns just like everypony else, but when he took them so sharply, it would throw off his rhythm horribly and led to countless crashes. Now that he understood, he was ready for them, and could use it to his advantage. 

"Sentry. Strike," Spitfire called. The two colts trotted over immediately, Flash grinning cheekily at a stony-eyed Strike. "Good flying, both of you," she nodded. "Strike, as the loser, I want you to go and fly ten laps around the school. Keep a brisk pace, and don't slow down." 

With a nod, Strike took to the skies and veered off to do his laps.

Flash's grin was growing so wide that his jaw was actually starting to hurt. This grin promptly faded as Spitfire's piercing eyes leveled at him. She looked him over for a second, before a small smile tugged at the corner of her muzzle. "That was some pretty impressive flying out there for a young colt," she said in a surprisingly relaxed tone. "Take a breather here with me while we watch the rest of the races."

Flash nodded eagerly, quickly taking his place next to the coach as she looked over her clipboard. 

"Alright, next up is Sky Ripper and Tailwind," Spitfire shouted across the track. When the two colts took positions, she blew the whistle and they were off, zipping through the rings one after another. She spoke just for Flash to hear as her eyes tracked the racing colts, "You were barely over a minute and thirty seconds. I don't think any of the other students will be able to match a time like that."

Flash grinned so wide that he felt like his cheeks would tear. He had never been so happy!

Soon the next two racers finished, both of them timing in at only a little under two minutes. The victor was Sky Ripper, a colt with a deep navy blue coat and a black mane streaked with a single zig-zag of white. His cutie mark was a single golden coin split in two by a jagged crack. He had a smug grin on his face as though his victory were the only possible conclusion.

In second/last place was his friend Tailwind. The shorter colt touched down behind Sky in a rush of dark gold, his brown mane hanging over his eyes. His mark was a white cloud being pushed along by a gust of wind.

The two of them trotted over after catching their breath. Spitfire promptly sent Tailwind off to begin his laps and Sky Ripper took a spot next to Flash to watch the next race.

"I guess nopony can make fun of you now, can they?" Sky said in a hushed tone after the coach blew her whistle.

Flash cast him a suspicious look. He was one of Strike's 'friends' that laughed whenever Flash was picked on. "Not anymore," Flash whispered, a wary tinge to his voice.

Much to Flash's surprise, Sky placed a hoof on his shoulder and smiled wider. "Hey, I want to apologize. I know I've just stood by while Strike bullied you," he apologized quietly. "It wasn't cool, but none of us felt like we could stop him with his father as our coach. You understand, right?"

Flash couldn't really fault that logic. It was half of the reason that he'd never bothered to try to stand up to Strike himself, so he couldn't really hold it against others. They were in the same boat as him, in that regard, so he have a quiet nod and a small smile in return.

The two of them returned their attention forward as the next two racers shot through the goal sing one after the other. As before, the loser took off to fly laps around the school, while the winner took a spot off to the side to relax. Flash got another congratulation from this winner. And the next one. And the one after that. Flash could hardly believe how much acknowledgement he was getting for his first major win.

Once everypony had finished the race and the losers came back from all of their laps, the usual training began. Everypony broke off into their pairs again and went about exercise patterns that Coach Spitfire assigned to each of them. She would fly back and forth across the class, correcting students' workouts, demanding new repetitions of exercises done earlier, and generally working everypony as hard as she could within reason. She was every bit as dogged and authoritative as one expected of a wonderbolt.

All the while, as Flash and Strike went about their exercises, Strike never said a word. He never even looked at Flash for more than a second, and instead just went through every stretch and exercise with a stoic weak he'd never shown before. Honestly Flash couldn't be more pleased with this. The less attention he got from Strike, and the quieter the bully was, the better.

After the first few hours of hard workout, things wound down with two more hours of lectures and demonstrations from Coach Spitfire on different aerial maneuvers and their practical applications. The class was expected to perform each maneuver three times in a row successfully before moving on to the next one. Much to the students' glee, however, Spitfire did show off a few advanced tricks from Wonderbolts routines just for fun. They were all in awe as they watched her maneuver through the sky with amazing speed and grace.

Of course, they weren't allowed to practice these moves themselves. They were likely to hurt themselves trying.

After the lecture was a late lunch, and then back to more physical training, with some new routines to work with the moves they'd just been taught. This workout was lighter though, as a wind-down to get ready for class-end races. This one was a long track race a lot like the one Flash had crashed in a week ago, but with more and different obstacles this time. Teams raced through one by one, with the same laps being doled out to the losers.

Halfway through the class and Flash and Strike were up again. Flash took an early lead with his quick acceleration, and flew over, around, and through the obstacles as nimbly as could be. The obstacles didn't slow Strike down as much as the diving and climbing had, unfortunately, and with his greater speed he overtook Flash in the last quarter of the race and won.

Even though he had to fly laps, Flash was still happy. He wouldn't be able to win often on the long races. He was much happier with how close this race had been, and the fact that he was completely crash free. That was the greater victory to him.

With school over, Flash took the long flight home, grinning like a fool all the way. When he got home, his father was over the moon with excitement to hear that everything they'd done for the last week had paid off for Flash.

Things were really looking up for Tesla's research because of it too. He had gone through several extensively failed experiments already since they started, but he was sure that he was on the right path.

"I'll explode myself as many times as I have to until I succeed!" he declared proudly. He posed hammily mid-declaration and pushed up his favorite spiral-printed goggles up on his nose. Even without a light source in the room, he somehow managed to make his goggles flash with a gleam of opaque white light.

Flash could only laugh at the typical flambouyant display. His dad always did get especially corny when he wore what he affectionately called his 'explodey science goggles'.

The next week seemed to pass by in a blur. With Flash winning over half of his races at school. He grew bolder and more confident with every victory. He even started hanging out with Sky Ripper and his friends, who encouraged him into showing off in front of all the other students. In particular, he took any chance he could to show up Strike in front of everypony. Without Iron Wing around, Strike couldn't do anything. He just kept looking angrier and angrier in his silence as the days went on. It was amazing.

On the weekend, Flash worked especially hard training at home and helping his father's experiments. Thankfully the two weren't mutually exclusive, and he kept getting better all the time.

The first day of the next school week came quickly, and much to everyone's surprise, along with Coach Spitfire, another new pony was waiting at class for them. The brown coated stallion had an even darker brown mane and a mark of rain falling from a light gray cloud.

As the students gathered for the start of class, Spitfire announced, "Students, I'd like to begin class by apologizing. When I first started as your substitute, I had to tell you all a lie." A murmur of confusion spread through the class as she continued, "I'm sorry to say that Coach Iron Wing will not be coming back to teach you all. He was not sick with the feather flu. He actually slipped a disc in his spine just one vertebrae below his wings. This means he'll never be able to fly again without experiencing extraordinary pain."

Iron Wing was... crippled? Flash could hardly believe it. A pegasus of his reputation and strength brought down by a bad back? The sentiment seemed mutual across the entire class, as everypony went silent in stunned disbelief. More than a few heads, Flash's included, turned to look at Strike. The maroon colt's expression didn't change from the bitter look of anger he had worn the entire week before. He didn't acknowledge the eyes on him for even a moment. He just stood off at the edge of the group with a stony glare fixed forward.

"I was asked to tell you all that he had the feather flu so that you would not worry," Spitfire explained solemnly. "Repairing a damaged spine is an incredibly difficult procedure, even for the most talented surgeons or magical healers. It's an incredibly sensitive area that can easily be irreparably harmed during any repair process." The look in her eyes showed just how unhappy she was with this news as well. A small bit of red lined her eyes, but her tone betrayed no hint of being upset. "He's better now than when it first happened, but unfortunately any further procedures are far more likely to leave him completely paralysed than to heal him."

A sick feeling crept into Flash's stomach. This had to be why Strike had been acting so differently. And all he'd done for the last week was antagonize Strike while he'd been dealing with this. He'd been no better than a bully himself. Kicking a pony while he's down.

Spitfire blew once on her whistle to return the attention of the class before announcing, "Since today will be my last day with you all, I'd like to introduce your new coach, Downpour."

The introduction of the new coach slowly turned into white noise. He thought he heard mention of Downpour being the head weatherpony of the Manehattan area, along with something about flight in different weather conditions. Then-

WHACK! WHAM!

A loud, pained shout cut everything off, and several students in front of Flash were suddenly knocked over into a heap as Sky Ripper was flung into them. All eyes followed the line of fillies and colts turned into bowling pins to see Strike standing at the end, both a hoof and a wing held up in a clearly hostile stance. The look in his eyes was unlike anything Flash had seen from him before. Pure anger and wrath was the simplest way to describe it.

"You shut your damned mouth you bastard, or I'll kill you!"