AAOOOSC! United

The afterparty is merry and jolly with power players from all NHL teams new and old conversing with one another while munching on hor d'oeuvres and sipping on refreshments.

In the back of the room, next to the Stanley Cup, some of the GHP members are huddled around with the current NHL ruler.

“Did you say hi to Crusty?” Sidney Crosby asks in his high-pitched, infantile voice. He has a large smile, hugging Bubby, his massive stuffed gorilla, in his arms. He has a short stature with thick, wavy brown hair and squinty brown eyes; he is wearing a black suit and tie.

“No, I will not say hi to a horse in a three-piece suit,” Jonathan Quick replies sharply in a dry tone. He has brown eyes, stubble lining his jaw and cheeks, and his brown hair spiked up, showing off his large, squared ears. His attire consists of an eggplant-coloured dress shirt, a black and silver striped tie, and a black blazer, dress pants, and suit.

The others turn to peer across the room, instantly noticing the golden destrier in the suit. Next to him is Reid, who is happily speaking with Nathan MacKinnon and Pekka Rinne, the other members of the GHP.

“I have to admit,” Patrick Kane speaks up in his deep, relaxed voice, “it’s pretty gnarly.” He has dirty blond, wavy hair, calm, blue eyes, and a smirk etched on his face. He is wearing a navy blue suit with black lapels over a white dress shirt and a black bow tie, including black dress pants, belt, and shoes. He then turns to Toews with a smirk. “Right, Tazer?”

Jonathan is standing next to him, peering ahead in a daze. His hands are occupied with a glass cup as he mindlessly taps on its side.

Patrick furrows his eyebrows, craning his head to make eye contact with him. “Tazer?”

“Smalls!” John Tavares barks from his other side in his sophisticated-accented tone. He has his brown hair combed nicely with soft hazelnut-coloured, round eyes under his thick eyebrows, and stubble dotting the lower half of his face. He is dressed in a dark grey suit and a silver tie, holding a glass cup himself.

Toews immediately jolts, snapping from his trance. He whirls to face his two closest friends with shifty, wide eyes. “Wha-wha-what?”

“Are you okay, man?” Patrick asks with a slight gawk. “You don’t seem rad. You seemed worried.”

“He’s worried all the time,” Jonathan remarks, his arms crossed.

Sidney holds up his stuffed animal to him. “Maybe Bubby can help you feel better.”

Toews peers down at the small skater. He lets out a light chuckle. “Thanks, Sid…” He pushes the massive stuffed animal away from him. “It’s just that...something IS bothering me.” He takes a nervous gulp from his glass.

“What’s perturbing you, kid?” John asks with a gentle inquiring expression.

As a response, Toews flicks his eyes ahead of him, landing them on whom he was staring at. The others follow his motions, immediately spotting whom he has his attention on.

On the other side of the room, Connor is excitedly conversing with Patrik Laine, the power player of the Winnipeg Jets, and Leon Draisaitl, the power player of the Edmonton Oilers. The two skaters do not appear as half as amused as the captain himself, giving him slow nods with uneasy eyes.

“What's wrong about Laine?” Sidney asks with a skeptical expression on the three skaters.

Toews whirls to face them. “No, not Laine— McDavid!”

Sidney peers up at him. “What’s wrong with Connor?”

“Didn’t you hear his speech?” Toews darts his eyes sharply at the other four men.

Patrick scratches the back of his neck. “He sounded pretty stoked to be the next ruler, dude.”

“Yeah, WAY too stoked!” Toews blurts out, throws his arms from his side, still clutching onto his glass. “He thinks that being the NHL ruler LITERALLY means ruling the NHL!”

“Well, did anyone tell him what the NHL ruler actually does?” Jonathan asks with raised eyebrows, his hands now stuffed in his pants’ pockets.

“It’s incontrovertible none has apprised him,” John points out smoothly, swirling the beverage in his glass around before taking a sip.

Sidney gazes up at the current NHL ruler. “Maybe YOU should tell him.”

Toews snaps his eyes back up across the room, landing them on Connor.

Connor has now added Jamie Benn, the new power player of the Dallas Stars, Roberto Luongo, the power player of the Florida Panthers, and Max Pacioretty, the power player of the Montreal Canadiens, to his elated conversation. Still, none of the other power players seem delighted by Connor’s conversation.

“You’re right,” Toews starts off solemnly. He turns to them again. “I’ll tell him. Right now.” He then holds his glass out at Patrick. “Hold this for me.”

“Right on, dude.” Patrick takes the glass from him. “Good luck, man.”

Toews give him a nervous smile. “Thanks. I think I got this.”

“Be assured,” John starts off, “you’re the NHL ruler, not him. Not thus far.”

Toews nods at him slowly. “Yeah, I got this. It’s just McDavid.” He then lowers his eyes downward, spotting Sidney’s frightened expression aimed up at him. “What?”

“N-n-nothing,” Sidney stutters out, shaking his head vehemently with wide eyes while embracing Bubby tightly.

“Okaaay…” Toews turns to the others. “I’ll be back.” He then spins around and saunters away from them.

“Have fun,” Jonathan calls out, jutting his chin at his back.

John then shoots Sidney a dubious expression. “To what end are you petrified, Crosby?” He takes a sip from his glass.

Sidney slowly peers up at him. “I can’t tell you,” he whispers. “It’s something that has to do...with the future…”

“Ah.” John nods his head in understanding and turns away from him.


“Connor!”

Connor halts his speaking and whirls to his right; his eyes immediately light up.

Approaching him is the current ruler himself, Toews. He has a serious expression with confidence in his stride.

“Oh, look at that!” Connor exclaims to the huddled power players, holding his hand out toward the nearing skater. “It’s the current NHL ruler himself!”

Toews halts next to him and quickly folds his arms. “We need to talk.”

Connor’s eyebrows shoot up with shock. “Excuse me?”

Toews nods his head to his left. “Come with me.” He then twirls to his nod’s direction and ambles toward it.

Connor hesitantly turns to his audience and holds a hand out at them. “I’ll be back, I got some discussion to do with the ruler himself.” He then turns around and sprints after him.

Toews halts in the corner behind the long table of refreshments. Connor quickly joins him, standing in front of him.

“So, what’s up?” Connor asks coolly, nodding at him with a smirk.

“Do you know what it means to be the ruler of the NHL?” Toews starts off gravely, not absorbing any of his extroverted aura.

He flicks his eyes around. “Uhhh...yeah…” He lands his eyes on him and slips his hands into his pants’ pockets. “It’s not that hard to figure it out.” He shrugs.

“It seems harder to figure out than it looks, especially from how you interpreted it,” Toews remarks brusquely, maintaining his composure.

A wave of discontentment comes across Connor’s face. He crosses his arms as well, narrowing his eyes at him. “Okay then, what does it mean to be the ruler of the NHL?” he snarls lowly.

“It means to protect the NHL.” Toews relaxes at the clear answer, uncrossing his arms. “There are a lot of forces out there that would love to take over this league. Sure, that is the GHP’s responsibility, but sometimes, it can get too much. And that’s when the ruler of the NHL comes into play: he is the last resort in protection, which is why he has such great power. Also with training, he can guide the GHP and work alongside Gorman to keep the NHL in good hands.”

Connor keeps his frown and narrowed eyes at him. “So why is it called the ‘NHL ruler’? Why not the ‘NHL guardian’ or ‘protector’?”

Toews shrugs. “Beats me. I wasn’t the one who titled that position.”

“So the NHL ruler doesn’t rule,” Connor states with displeasure coating his words.

He nods his head. “That’s right.”

Instantly, Connor flashes up to Toews, sticking his ire-filled face into his. “I know you’re pulling a trick up from your sleeve! You’re tellin’ me these lies so that YOU can take over the NHL before I can!”

“No!” Toews swiftly disappears in a zap of yellow energy, immediately reappears in the same energy behind Connor. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Connor whirls around to face him. “Yeah, and it makes complete sense!” He then thrusts his hands out before him, unleashing a torrent of the identical yellow energy.

Toews immediately throws his hands in front of the energy, freezing it in place feet in front of him. “No, I’m not!” he spits out. “You can ask Gorman! The ruler of the NHL does NOT rule the NHL! That is Gorman’s job!” He then snappily pushes his hands toward the energy.

The energy ripples backward, its force knocking into Connor and throwing him against the wall.

Connor slips to the ground on his hands and knees with a grunt.

Toews lowers his hands and steps up to him.

He slowly rises to his feet, his sharp eyes under lowered eyebrows fixed on the current NHL ruler. “You can tell me what to do, but I get to decide what I will do.” He takes in deep breaths, looking deeply into his eyes with building fury. “And I will rule the NHL.”

“Then you’re doing your job incorrectly,” Toews responds serenely. “You’ve already failed as an NHL ruler.”

“ARUGH!” Instantly, Connor harshly swipes his hand across his body in front of him in pure anger.

Toews and the refreshments’ table are thrown with the direction of the hand, flying across the room and slamming into the wall.

Toews rolls onto the ground then becomes motionless on his torso as the table and its contents collapse on top of him noisily. He stays still on the ground.

Connor whirls to face the room in front of him. All the thirty-one power players are now staring at him in utter trepidation.

With a roguish smirk, Connor steps toward them, rotating his hands in and out of each other. “Sorry about the scene, things just had to be settled.” He halts in front of the crowd, clasping his hands behind his back. “That’s how I do things: get to the bottom, no matter what.”

“Dude, what is wrong with you?!” Patrick blurts out, throwing his hands in the air. “You just threw Johnny man into the wall!”

Connor snaps his head at him. “I had to. Captain Serious was a bit TOO serious.” With a look of disgust, he slowly turns back to the power players. “I won’t do any harm on you guys...if you don’t go against me, that is. And I dare you to—just think about what I’m capable of.” He adjusts the lapels of his suit in arrogance. “So with that, I will rule over this league for the best.”

“That’s not the NHL ruler’s task!” Jonathan cries out.

Connor turns to him. “I can say what the NHL ruler’s task is because I AM the NHL ruler!” He instantly conjures a ball of yellow energy and blasts it at him.

Jonathan snaps his hands in front of him, creating a translucent purple force field around him. The energy strikes the force field’s surface, immediately exploding into sparks on contact.

Connor presses on with his emission, attempting to break through Jonathan’s barrier. Jonathan pushes forward toward his force field, gathering all of his superhuman strength to stop the ergokinetic attack.

Suddenly, a slick streak of crude oil sprays straight at Connor, splattering black liquid all over the front of his blazer, dress shirt, and tie.

Connor immediately cuts the flow of his energy at the sensation of the thick, cold liquid clinging onto his skin. He stumbles back in shock then peers down, noticing the horrifying stain on his formal outfit.

“Schtop!” a familiar, German-accented voice to Connor hollers.

Connor flicks his wide eyes up, making eye contact with the speaker.

It is Leon, his teammate. He is brunet, wearing a black blazer over a white dress shirt and a red tie, including black dress pants, belt, and shoes. He has a look of distress with his hands occupied each with a ball of rolling black oil.

“Du are hurding uns,” he states gruffly in his thick accent. “Du zaid du vouldn’t.”

“That’s because you guys are going against me!” Connor growls with a clenched jaw. His hands are now fists by his sides.

Then another power player slips to the front of the crowd. It is a teenager with dirty blond hair combed to side with striking blue eyes and naturally blushed cheeks; he is wearing a black suit and tie, including white dress shirt and black pants, belt, and shoes. This is Nolan Patrick, the newest power player of the Philadelphia Flyers.

“Maybe it’s because the problem is you,” he snaps confidently in his soft, smoky tone. His sharp eyes are on him.

Then, from the back of the crowd, Reid pumps a white and golden-coloured arming sword in the air. “CHARGE!” he hollers.

“YEAH!!!” Most of the power players begin igniting their own unique power:

Ryan Kesler of the Anaheim Ducks levitates into the air.

Max Domi of the Arizona Coyotes lets out a vibrating coyote’s howl: “AH-OOO!!!”

Tuukka Rask of the Boston Bruins smashes his foot against the ground, creating cracks.

Jack Eichel of the Buffalo Sabres whips his hands from his sides, extending a razor-edged blade from each side into view. “Finally, I get to battle against McDavid,” he remarks lowly.

Sean Monahan of the Calgary Flames claps his hands together, immediately engulfing himself into a body of flames.

Cam Ward of the Carolina Hurricanes holds his hands out from his sides, conjuring gales around him; his clothes and hair flutter in the wind.

Patrick whips out his bow from thin air and loads it with an arrow, aiming it at Connor.

Nathan creates a breeze packed with snow, guiding it to swirl around him majestically as he levitates.

Sergei Bobrovsky of the Columbus Blue Jackets immediately turns small, buzzing in midair.

Jamie’s extended hands begin to glow as photokinetic energy builds up in each palm.

Dylan Larkin of the Detroit Red Wings lifts himself up into the air.

Leon has his sleek oil ready to be released, rotating it in both of his hands.

Roberto has his hands by his face, displaying his sharp claws protruding from each fingertip.

Jonathan continues to hold his force field for protection.

Zach Parise of the Minnesota Wild now has a band of woodland animals from squirrels to bears to badgers by his feet, ready to obey his every command.

Max has his hands on his temples with narrowed, focused eyes fixed on Connor.

Pekka is now double his height, his head grazing the ceiling as he towers over every single person in the room due to his enhanced height.

Nico Hischier of the New Jersey Devils has maroon-coloured smoke pummelling from his feet, set to teleport in any moment.

John has lightning bouncing around his fingers as his palms circulate water above them.

Mats Zuccarello of the New York Rangers has two flat force fields above his palms, holding them up by his face in a ready stance.

Craig Andersen of the Ottawa Senators is holding a golden shield in one arm and a golden spear in another arm with his attention on Connor.

Nolan now has a sleek golden glider formed beneath his shoes, making him hover above the ground; in his hands are orange-tinted metallic throwing stars.

Sidney has ice building up from his feet as his hands pour the glacial mist from their palms.

Joe Pavelski of the San Jose Sharks is circulating a majestic stream of water around him, ready to aim it at his target, who is Connor.

Vladimir Tarasenko of the St. Louis Blues is holding a clear, pulsating sonokinetic disc in each hand with one by his neck, ready to launch them.

Steven Stamkos of the Tampa Bay Lightning has white lightning zapping all around his body from his hands, which are glowing a brilliant white.

Henrik and Daniel Sedin of the Vancouver Canucks get into taekwondo ready stances with their fists by their face and their slightly bent legs apart from each other.

Reid has his sword aimed at Connor as it hums and emits a soft golden glow of energy.

Braden Holtby of the Washington Capitals is holding a red, white, and blue-coloured shield by his neck, ready to thrust it at Connor.

Patrik’s eyes begin to glow a soft laser red at Connor as he rises from the ground.

Then they all release their powers and charge at him at once.

“NO!” Instantly, Connor flies into the air and spins around swiftly, swiping his hand to his movement.

Immediately, all the attacking power players freeze in their middle of their attacks, including their powers, their facial expressions ranging from scared to enraged to determined.

Connor chuckles as he peers at his handiwork. “Haha, well, THAT was easy.” He dusts his hands with a smirk. “I guess that’s what happens when you go against the NHL ruler, eh?”

The power players stay still, their arms in the air, their legs extended and bent, their bright energy surges flickering and weapons glinting.

Connor gradually lowers himself back to the ground. He gazes at the frozen power players. “Now, if you don’t mind me, I’ll just leave for the night. The mood here certainly got ruined, just like my suit.” He whisks to his left, where the elevator, the only direct route to the outside, is located.

He presses the button to call for the elevator then faces the motionless power players. “Hopefully this teaches a lesson for ALL you guys.”

Then the elevator dings as its doors slide open. Connor steps backward through the gap, staring at his fellow still power players. The doors then gradually come together in front of him, obscuring him from sight.

Right when the doors completely close, a flash of yellow energy flies through the air. The force holding the power players as immobile disappears, dropping its victims onto the ground.

THUMP!

The power players lie on the ground in groans and grumbling of discomfort and defeat.

Yet there is only one power player in good condition: In the dusky darkness of the back of the room is Auston Matthews, the power player of the Toronto Maple Leafs. He has his dark brown hair brushed back, revealing his large forehead, and soft, brown eyes. His attire is noticeable with a black suit and tie with a red handkerchief in his breast pocket.

Auston has his gaze on the closed elevator doors from the other side of the room. He then turns away and peers down as a sinister smirk grows on his face.

“I like that guy,” he murmurs to himself. “I gotta go talk to him.

Notes