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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
The visual was absolutely staggering. Sandro Zhang, the bruised, battered, bleeding Triple Crown Champion, standing nose to nose with the fresh, muscular, terrifyingly powerful UFC heavyweight juggernaut. They looked at each other with absolute, uncompromising steel in their eyes. Sandro did not back down, his chin raised in defiance. Lesnar simply stared back, a cold, predatory amusement dancing in his eyes, completely unfazed by the gold draped across Sandro's shoulders.
The seventy thousand fans buzzed with an electric, breathless anticipation, waiting to see if they were going to come to blows right then and there.
"Look at this staredown!" Booker T whispered, completely mesmerized. "The God King and the Beast! Two apex predators realizing that the jungle is only big enough for one of them!"
"The Undisputed System has officially crumbled, gentlemen!" Cole declared triumphantly. "It is over! The faction is dead! Paul Heyman just delivered the absolute kill shot to the empire!"
"My world is spinning," JBL moaned, holding his head in his hands, completely devastated as he watched his beloved faction dissolve into absolute ruin. "This is the darkest night in the history of professional wrestling."
Sandro Zhang, realizing the sheer physical disadvantage he was at after his brutal war with Chris Jericho, made a highly calculated, tactical decision. The God King did not swing.
He did not attack. He simply glared at Lesnar, memorizing the face of the man who had dared to invade his kingdom.
Slowly, deliberately, Sandro took several steps backward, retreating toward the far side of the ring. He kept his eyes locked on Lesnar and Heyman, ensuring they didn't lunge at him.
Sandro leaned through the middle ropes. He aggressively snapped his fingers at the ringside crew, demanding a microphone. A terrified technician quickly scrambled forward, handing a live mic up to the Triple Crown Champion.
Sandro pulled back into the ring. He took a deep, shuddering breath, wincing slightly as the pain in his battered ribs flared up. He raised the microphone to his lips, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, chillingly calm baritone that completely cut through the noise of the crowd.
"So..." Sandro began, his dead eyes shifting from Lesnar to his former Special Advisor. "...this is it. This is the grand master plan of the locker room Rebellion. When the legends fail, when the nostalgia acts like Randy Savage and Chris Jericho are completely broken at my feet... you just try to dig up another ghost from the past to try and take me down."
Sandro let out a dry, humorless scoff, adjusting the heavy gold on his shoulders.
"You think bringing a mercenary back from the octagon is going to change the reality of this universe?" Sandro sneered, pointing the microphone directly at Heyman. "Paul... I have known for my entire life that you were a snake. I have known that you were weak and have no backbone. I fully expected this pathetic, cowardly betrayal from you eventually."
Sandro tilted his head, his cold eyes locking back onto the Beast Incarnate.
"But I must admit," Sandro concluded, a dark, terrifying smirk slowly spreading across his bruised face. "I simply didn't expect you to bring me my next victim... quite so soon."
Paul Heyman, standing safely behind the massive, towering shoulder of his newly acquired mercenary, heard those words echo through the massive stadium sound system and looked completely, utterly flabbergasted. The sickeningly smug smile that had been plastered across the Special Advisor's face just seconds prior was instantly wiped away, replaced by an expression of sheer, unadulterated disbelief.
His jaw actually dropped, his eyes going wide behind his glasses. Heyman had expected Sandro to be terrified. He had expected the bruised, bleeding, completely exhausted Triple Crown Champion to cower, to beg, to realize that his golden empire was dead and that the reaper had finally arrived to collect his soul.
He certainly had not expected Sandro Zhang to look the most dangerous man on the planet dead in the eyes and call him a victim.
Beside Heyman, the predatory amusement completely vanished from Brock Lesnar's face. The Beast Incarnate did not appreciate being mocked. The terrifying, bouncing swagger came to an abrupt halt. A thick, angry vein immediately popped against the side of Lesnar's massive, heavily tattooed neck. Lesnar let out a heavy, aggressive exhale through his nose, his chest expanding as he showed a very visible, very terrifying bit of anger on his face.
Lesnar took a single, heavy, deliberate step forward, entirely invading Sandro Zhang's personal space. The sheer physical size difference between the two men was absolutely staggering, casting a massive, intimidating shadow directly over the bruised God King.
Sandro Zhang, seeing this massive freak of nature step up to him, did not flinch. He did not back down a single inch. Instead, a dark, incredibly bad smile slowly crept across his battered face. It was the smile of a man who had completely detached himself from the reality of fear.
"Why, Brock?" Sandro asked into the microphone, his voice dripping with an arrogant, condescending poison. "Why the anger in your eyes? Do you want to hit me? Is that what you want?"
Sandro slowly spread his arms wide, completely dropping his guard, offering his bruised ribs and his chin to the Beast.
"Come on, then!" Sandro goaded him, his voice rising in pitch, practically daring the juggernaut to strike. "Come hit me, Brock! Do you really think just because you left this company, went away for a few years, and managed to become the UFC Heavyweight Champion that you actually intimidate me?! You think a piece of octagon gold makes you a god in my universe?!"
And as Sandro Zhang said those words, looking directly up at the hulking mass of muscle and violence, the Triple Crown Champion tilted his head back and let out a loud, chaotic, completely maniacal laugh.
The sound of that unhinged, sociopathic laughter echoing through the massive speakers of the Georgia Dome caused a wave of absolute shock to wash over the seventy thousand fans in attendance. People in the front rows literally covered their open mouths with their hands.
They could not believe what they were witnessing. Sandro Zhang, a man who had just survived a thirty minute, barbaric, career shortening war against the Painmaker, a man who could barely stand on his own two feet, was actively, intentionally taunting Brock Lesnar.
He was poking a sleeping bear with a short stick, laughing in the face of the most dangerous, legitimate fighter on the planet for some time like it was an absolute joke.
The commentary team, completely shell shocked by the display of suicidal arrogance, instantly erupted into a frantic dialogue.
"Has he completely lost his mind?!" Cole shouted, his voice cracking with sheer disbelief. "Sandro Zhang is actively looking for his own death! He is begging to be destroyed!"
"He has to be concussed, Michael! He has to be out of his mind!" Lawler yelled, clutching his headset. "He just went to hell and back with Chris Jericho! He doesn't have the physical energy to fight off a cold, let alone fight off Brock Lesnar!"
"Shucky ducky quack quack, this is the ego of a billionaire who has never been told no!" Booker T analyzed, his eyes wide. "He thinks his money and his titles make him bulletproof! He is looking at a biological weapon and treating it like a toy! Brock is going to snap him in half!"
"You all need to shut your mouths right now!" JBL barked aggressively, desperately trying to defend his leader while entirely failing to mask his own terror. JBL was the only one at the desk who still supported Sandro and the Undisputed System, but he was visibly sweating. "Sandro Zhang is the greatest martial artist in the WWE! He is not afraid of a cage fighter! He is simply asserting his dominance as the God King!"
But despite his loud proclamations, JBL's hands were shaking. He gripped his pen tightly, leaning toward his monitor, trembling and genuinely afraid for Sandro's physical well being. "But... but maybe Sandro should just step out of the ring," JBL added quietly, almost pleading. "He's already proved his point. He doesn't need to do this tonight."
In the ring, Brock Lesnar had heard enough.
The maniacal laughter of the God King completely shattered the Beast's patience. Lesnar, his face turning an angry shade of red, lunged forward with terrifying, explosive speed. He didn't throw a punch. Instead, Lesnar reached out with his massive, taped hand and violently snatched the microphone right out of Sandro's grip!
The sheer, sudden force of the snatch was so powerful that it physically pulled Sandro a half step forward, completely startling the champion. Lesnar didn't say a word into the mic. He simply glared at Sandro with unadulterated hatred, pulled his arm back, and aggressively threw the WWE microphone completely outside of the ring, sending it crashing into the steel barricade with a loud, electronic screech that echoed through the arena!
Paul Heyman, watching this incredible display of physical intimidation from the safety of the ring apron, let out a massive, purely evil smirk. The power dynamic had instantly shifted, and the walrus was absolutely reveling in it.
Heyman raised his own microphone to his lips, staring at the suddenly mic less God King with profound, vindictive joy.
"You can stand there and act brave all you want, Sandro," Heyman sneered, his voice dripping with venomous delight. "You can put on your little sociopathic smile. You can pretend that you are still the untouchable God King of this universe. But let me make this abundantly clear to you. In front of the Beast... in front of BROCKKKK LESNARRRRR... you are absolutely nothing!"
The crowd let out a massive, unified "Ooooooh!" at the sheer disrespect radiating from the former Special Advisor.
"You are a tired, broken, bleeding little boy playing dress up with championship belts," Heyman continued, twisting the psychological knife. "And I highly suggest, I strongly warn you, to think twice before you make your next action. Because my client does not care about your ego, and he certainly does not care about your physical health."
Sandro Zhang, his chest heaving, his bruised ribs throbbing with every single breath, listened to the ultimate betrayal. He stared at the smirking face of Paul Heyman.
Instead of showing fear, Sandro simply snorted. It was a loud, dismissive, entirely arrogant sound.
Without a microphone, Sandro didn't care if the seventy thousand fans in the upper decks could hear him. He stepped forward, getting right in Lesnar's face to look past the Beast, and shouted directly at his former manager with absolute, homicidal fury.
"You better keep your damn mouth shut, walrus!" Sandro roared, his raw, unamplified voice carrying through the ringside microphones and echoing across the broadcast feed. "If you don't shut your mouth right now, I swear to God you are going to become my next victim! And I promise you, Paul... I wouldn't stop until you got hurt so badly that you have to retire from this industry permanently because of it!"
All of this, the bulging veins in Sandro's neck, the spit flying from his lips, the sheer, unhinged venom of his threat, and the cold, terrifyingly blank stare of Brock Lesnar standing right in front of him, was perfectly, beautifully captured by the primary hard camera. The visual of the crumbling God King desperately trying to maintain his aura of absolute terror was a cinematic masterpiece of professional wrestling storytelling.
But threatening Paul Heyman in front of Brock Lesnar was the absolute, final mistake of the Triple Crown Era.
Lesnar didn't wait for Sandro to finish his sentence. The absolute second the word "retire" left Sandro's lips, the Beast Incarnate attacked.
With terrifying, impossible speed for a man of his massive size, Lesnar ducked his shoulder and lunged forward. Before Sandro Zhang could even raise his hands to defend himself, Lesnar scooped the 220 pound Triple Crown Champion completely off his feet!
In one fluid, breathtaking motion, Lesnar hoisted Sandro into the air, instantly throwing him up onto his massive shoulders, locking the God King securely into the torturous, inescapable F-5 position!
The sudden, violent elevation was too much for the heavy gold draped across Sandro's body. As Lesnar hoisted him up, the gleaming United States Championship and the massive World Heavyweight Championship both violently slipped off Sandro's sweaty shoulders, clattering heavily to the ring canvas!
The only piece of gold that remained was the WWE Championship, which was still firmly clasped around Sandro's waist.
Seeing this terrifying, sudden escalation of violence, absolutely everyone in the seventy thousand seat Georgia Dome gasped in perfect, stunned unison. The collective intake of breath sucked the oxygen right out of the stadium.
On the ring apron, Paul Heyman was practically vibrating with joy. He was hopping up and down, pointing at the trapped God King, an ecstatic, wicked smile stretching from ear to ear.
"Do it, Brock! Do it!" Heyman screamed off mic, entirely thrilled to watch his former abuser be destroyed.
Sandro Zhang, completely trapped on the shoulders of the Beast, began to fight with pure, unadulterated desperation. He was exhausted, he was battered, but his survival instinct was absolute. Sandro began throwing wild, frantic elbows backward, desperately trying to strike the side of Lesnar's head to get out from the terrifying position.
When Lesnar spun his massive body, preparing to launch the God King face first into the mat, when absolutely everyone in the arena thought that Sandro was about to be hit with the devastating F-5, the very first man who would get hit with the catastrophic finishing move after Lesnar had been gone from the WWE for so long, a miracle occurred.
Sandro Zhang's elite martial arts background kicked in. As Lesnar threw him forward, Sandro violently shifted his hips and entirely altered his center of gravity. Instead of rotating horizontally to take the face plant, Sandro slipped out of Lesnar's grasp!
Sandro plummeted toward the canvas, but he managed to miraculously land squarely on his feet!
The entire stadium let out a massive shout of pure shock.
Lesnar, completely surprised that his prey had escaped the trap, spun around with wide eyes.
As the Beast turned, Sandro Zhang immediately pivoted on his heel. Tapping into absolute, hidden reserves of energy that defied human biology, Sandro launched his leg into the air and delivered a lightning fast, devastating superkick directly to the point of Lesnar's chin!
SMACK!
The sound of the superkick cracked like a bullwhip!
The sheer, unexpected impact caused the massive UFC Heavyweight Champion to physically stumble backward, his eyes rolling briefly as the blow connected to the surprise of absolutely everyone in the arena!
"HE COUNTERED IT!" Cole screamed, entirely losing his mind at the commentary desk! "SANDRO ZHANG JUST SUPERKICKED THE BEAST!"
"The God King refuses to die!" JBL shrieked in absolute, euphoric delight, jumping out of his chair. "I told you! He is the greatest martial artist on earth! He is untouchable!"
Sandro didn't stop to admire his work. He knew that a single superkick was not going to keep a monster like Lesnar down for long. Sandro immediately turned and sprinted toward the far side of the ring. He hit the ropes, accelerating his exhausted body to maximum velocity, rebounding with lethal intent.
Sandro launched himself completely into the air, aiming his elbow directly at the skull of the staggering Beast, looking to completely decapitate him with a catastrophic Last Note to the head!
"The Last Note!" Booker T yelled! "If he hits this, Brock is going to sleep!"
When everyone in the Georgia Dome thought that the lethal knee strike was going to connect and that Sandro Zhang was going to impossibly conquer the returning Beast Incarnate, reality aggressively, violently reasserted itself.
Brock Lesnar was not Chris Jericho. He was not a tired veteran. He was a fresh, genetically superior freak of nature.
As Sandro flew through the air, elbow extended, Lesnar miraculously managed to recover his bearings. The Beast planted his massive feet, entirely braced for impact. Instead of dodging, Lesnar simply reached his massive, tree trunk arms forward and caught Sandro Zhang completely in mid air!
Sandro's forward momentum was instantly, terrifyingly halted.
Without missing a single beat, Lesnar used Sandro's own aerial momentum against him. In one seamless, horrifying display of raw power, Lesnar transitioned the catch, flipping Sandro entirely upside down, and hoisted the God King right back onto his massive shoulders!
There was no escape this time. There was no shifting of weight.
Lesnar let out a primal, guttural roar, spun his massive body with the torque of a hurricane, and threw Sandro Zhang completely off his shoulders!
F-5!
The impact was absolutely catastrophic. Sandro Zhang flew through the air, completely unable to protect himself, and hit face first, completely flat, incredibly hard onto the unforgiving canvas of the ring!
The sound of the impact echoed through the stadium, immediately drowned out by the huge, deafening cheers of everyone in the Georgia Dome!
The fans leaped out of their seats, absolutely thrilled to finally see the arrogant, sociopathic tyrant of the Undisputed System get his physical comeuppance.
"F-5! F-5! F-5!" Cole screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice completely raw. "THE BEAST JUST DESTROYED THE GOD KING!"
"He broke him in half!" Lawler laughed, clapping his hands together in pure joy! "Sandro Zhang just got hit by a freight train!"
"NO! NO! NO!" JBL wailed, clutching his chest as if he had just suffered a physical heart attack. "SANDRO! GET UP! PLEASE, GOD, GET UP!"
Sandro Zhang lay entirely motionless on the canvas for several long, agonizing seconds. The sheer force of the F-5, combined with the catastrophic damage he had already sustained in the main event, should have put him to sleep for a week.
But the ego of the Triple Crown Champion was a terrifying, unyielding force.
Sandro didn't fall entirely unconscious right away. To the sheer amazement of everyone watching, the God King's fingers began to twitch. He slowly, agonizingly planted his hands flat on the mat. He pushed, his arms violently shaking, his triceps screaming in pain. He struggled with every single ounce of his remaining strength to push himself up to a vertical base.
He managed to get to his knees, his head hanging low, blood dripping from his nose onto the white canvas. But his body simply gave out. He failed to get up.
Sandro collapsed, rolling over so he was forced to turn his body to face upward, staring blindly at the blinding stadium lights.
Brock Lesnar stood directly over him, a massive, terrifying shadow looming over the fallen king. Lesnar was breathing heavily, a dark, sadistic smirk returning to his face, waiting to see if the champion had any fight left in him.
Sandro Zhang looked up at the Beast Incarnate. He couldn't speak. He couldn't stand. He couldn't throw a punch. His empire was dead, his body was broken, and his reign of absolute terror had just been violently interrupted.
But Sandro Zhang would never, ever submit.
To the huge, absolute shock of everyone in the seventy thousand seat arena, Sandro slowly raised his trembling, gloved hands into the air. He curled his fingers, leaving only two digits extended. Right in the face of the most dangerous man on the planet, the bruised, battered, bleeding God King gave out two, perfectly extended middle fingers.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 21 (2011)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: WWE - RAW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: The Undisputed System
Championships History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA X Division Champion, 1x WWE United States Champion, 1x WWE Champion, & 1x World Heavyweight Champion
Other Achievements: 1x Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royale Winner, 1x Mr. Money In The Bank, Youngest WWE Champion, PWI Top 500 (No.1) - 2010, & 1x KOTR (2010)
Wrestlemania Record: 2 - 0 | Main Event: 1 - 0