IAN KADE
The stadium was electric, a swirling storm of cheers, chants and pounding drums, the sound vibrated through the ice, shaking the boards. Skates carved deep lines into the ice as bodies crashed, collided and fought for dominance. Adrenaline-fueled shouts echoed through the arena, swallowed by the roaring crowd. Every player wore the same expression, intense, focused, hungry.
This was it!
The final period.
The last battle.
Blizzard Hounds vs The Vortex
The championship rested on the knife's edge, the score board locked at 2-2 with barely a minute left on the clock, the next goal decided everything. Win, they'd make history. Lose and the season's blood, sweet and shattered bones would mean nothing.
Ian exhaled a cloud of white into the frozen air, he rolled his shoulders, feeling the sharp sting of exhaustion creeping into his muscles, but there was no room for fatigue. He adjusted his gloves, his fingers flexing around the cool grip of his stick. Across him was Dominic crouched low, his blade poised on the ice, muscles tensed like a spring. His dark eyes burned with something sharp and unforgiving.
Dominic Stryker didn't just want to win, he wanted to crush Ian Kade every time their blades cut through the ice, he was right there shadowing Ian's every move, slamming him into the boards with enough force to rattle his bones whenever he got a chance. However, Ian wasn't the one to back down, he met his hostility just as much fire. It was common knowledge to both schools that Dominic Stryker and Ian Kade were like oil and water and on the rink it got the best of them and just maybe that made the game even more dramatic, everyone likes free drama.
The referee dropped the puck.
The ice exploded beneath them as both players lunged forward. Skates curved deep, sticks clashed, and the puck shot loose in a chaotic scramble. Dominic was on it in an instant, shoving past a defenseman like he was nothing. He didn't hesitate, didn't think, didn't stop, just moved with brutal precision, but Ian saw it coming. He wasn't about to let Dominic win again, not tonight.
Pushing off hard, he closed the gap, reading the player before Dominic could execute it. His rival was fast and aggressive, but Ian had always been just a little smarter, a little quicker. His stick made contact first, the puck shooting away at the last possible second. The shot never reached the goal. Dominic roared in frustration, cursed, then pivoting just in time to see Ian already skating off with the puck.
"You sneaky little-" but Ian was gone.
Around them, teammates and opponents alike were locked in the struggle. Some had faces twisted in frustration, sweat dripping down their brows as they tried to keep up. Others had the mouths curled into cocky grins, reveling in the chaos. This wasn't just a game, it was war and no one was backing down.
As Ian flicked his wrist, sending the puck sailing across the ice toward his teammate, threading it perfectly between two defenders. But before he could even process the success of the pass, a wall of muscle and speed crashed into him, hard.
Ian's shoulder cracked against the boards and his already battered shoulder taking the brunt of the hit. His vision blurred, his helmet rattling as he fought to stay up, he refused to let out a sound, not in front of Dominic, not in front of The Vortex. Dominic had stood there panting, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Oops, didn't see you there" he taunted breathless.
Ten seconds.
No time to hesitate. No time to think.
Ian clenched his jaw forcing himself upright, his fingers curling around his stick, the roaring crowd, the sound of scraping ice, a sharp sting of pain, it all blurred into one thing.
Dominic was already ahead, a force of nature on the ice, unstoppable, untouchable.
Seven seconds.
Dominic's blade caught the puck, dragging it forward as he sliced through the remaining defense with a precision.
Four seconds.
Ian lunged, desperation in his grip. But Dominic was faster, cutting to the right, shoulders squaring. Ian almost leveled to him, closer enough to see the smug look on Dominic.
Three seconds.
A shadow closed in fast, before Ian could register pain exploded in his shoulders, Dominic had slammed into him right where it hurt most and sent him sprawling into the ice, breath knocked out of him, the stick skittered away.
One second.
A flick of his wrist, the puck soared through the air, the goalie lunged, the puck hit the net and the red light flashed.
Game over!
Blizzard Hounds - champions.
Ian barely had time to register the loss as exhaustion and frustration washed over him in waves. Around him, the Blizzard Hounds swarmed Dominic, sticks clattering against helmets, gloves tossed in the air, the celebration deafening. Across the rink, Dominic met his eyes, smirking.
.
.
The air in the Vortex locker room was heavywith defeat,the sharp scent of sweat and ice mixing with quiet, frustrated breaths. No one spoke. Sticks were tossed against lockers, skates kicked off with more force than necessary.
Ian sat on the bench, rolling his aching shoulder, the pain a dull throb beneath the sharper sting of loss. He could still hear the roar of the Blizzard Hounds celebrating, still feel the weight of Dominic's hit like a brand on his skin. Now that he thinks about it, he might have gone over board with his shoulder and those old stitches might have give up on him, he internally swears if Dominic injured him he would-
Suddenly, the door creaked open. "Ian Kade."
Ian's head snapped up. Their coach stood in the doorway, face unreadable, the principal just behind him.
"Come with me."
Ian frowned, glancing around at his teammates, but no one met his eyes. His stomach twisted. Whatever this was, it wasn't good.
And whatever awaited him in that office… was about to change everything.