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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Paul Heyman!" Sandro roared, launching into a full blown, volcanic explosion of anger toward the man who had stabbed him in the back last night. "You fat, treacherous, pathetic, parasitic leech! I pulled you out of the gutter! I made you relevant again! I gave you power, I gave you money, I gave you a seat at the table of the absolute greatest mind in the history of this industry!"
The crowd booed at the sheer arrogance, but Sandro completely ignored them, losing himself entirely to the tirade.
"And you stab me in the back?!" Sandro screamed, his voice cracking, spittle flying from his lips. "You ungrateful son of a bitch! You absolute piece of human garbage! You think you can walk out on the God King?! You think you can void your contract with Nexum Core?! I will sue you into absolute poverty! I will drag your name through the mud until you are begging on the streets! You are a dead man walking, Paul! A dead, fat, irrelevant walrus!"
The broadcast team was entirely speechless as Sandro hurled every kind of curse, slur, and demeaning insult his billionaire vocabulary could muster directly at the betrayer.
"And your little hired muscle?" Sandro continued, pivoting his rage, dragging Brock Lesnar directly into the verbal assault. "You think bringing a cage fighter back from the UFC is going to intimidate me?! You think getting F-5'd by some mindless, tattooed gorilla changes the fact that I am the untouchable Triple Crown Champion?! Brock Lesnar is a brainless thug! He is a meathead who couldn't handle the pressure of the WWE the first time, and he won't be able to handle it now! If that oversized freak ever steps foot in my ring again, I won't just elbowed him in the head... I will end his entire existence! He is a victim waiting to happen!"
Sandro took another deep, shuddering breath, his ribs visibly causing him immense physical agony. He grabbed his aching side, but his eyes never left the hard camera. He was operating entirely on delusion and unchecked executive power.
"And as for the gold that was stolen from me last night," Sandro declared, his voice dropping back into a cold, corporate, entirely authoritative tone. "I am not accepting the results of that absolute farce of a match. I am the God King of this universe, and I make the reality."
Sandro pointed back toward the bruised, humiliated forms of Big E and Ryback.
"I am officially declaring that the vacant World Tag Team titles still belongs to the Undisputed System as of this exact second!" Sandro shouted, utilizing an imaginary authority that he fully believed he possessed. "The win that those washed up, geriatric, pathetic nostalgia acts, Randy Savage and Hulk Hogan, managed to steal last night... is hereby completely erased from the record books! It did not happen! It is stricken from the annals of WWE history!"
The fans absolutely erupted in a chorus of enraged boos, horrified that the God King was trying to literally rewrite the history of WrestleMania just to soothe his own shattered ego.
"What is he talking about?!" Cole yelled over the noise. "He can't just erase a WrestleMania victory! He doesn't have the authority to erase the Mega Powers win and becoming the World Tag Team Champions! He is completely delusional!"
"He's making a mockery of the sport!" Lawler agreed, shaking his head. "He's throwing a temper tantrum like a spoiled billionaire child!"
"He is asserting his executive privilege!" JBL argued loudly, refusing to back down. "He has massive pull with the Board of Directors! If Sandro Zhang says the match is stricken from the record, then as far as I'm concerned, Hogan and Savage doesn't win and become champions even if they vacated it right after!"
"And furthermore," Sandro yelled over the deafening crowd, entirely lost in his own sociopathic reality. "I demand that those now vacant World Tag Team titles be put back on Big E and Ryback immediately! They will be handed the gold before the end of this broadcast, or I will personally walk into the production truck and shut this entire television show down!"
Sandro Zhang stood in the center of the ring, breathing heavily, entirely convinced that his demands would be met. He was a man who had lost his physical muscle, lost his strategic advisor, and lost his absolute invincibility on the grandest stage of them all.
His faction was standing behind him, bruised, humiliated, and filled with deep, silent resentment. His body was battered and covered in medical tape.
Yet, in his own mind, the Triple Crown Champion was still the untouchable, omnipotent ruler of the universe.
He threw the microphone violently onto the canvas, extending his hands behind his back. The terrified Queens immediately stepped forward, placing the World Heavyweight Championship and the United States Championship back onto his aching shoulders.
Sandro Zhang stood tall, glaring furiously out at the Atlanta crowd, an unhinged, dangerous, and completely unpredictable God King whose golden empire was violently burning to the ground all around him.
And then, the universe answered his arrogance.
SCREECH!
The sudden, horrifyingly heavy, unmistakable screech of the electric guitar violently ripped through the Philips Arena sound system. It was followed a microsecond later by the aggressive, thumping, apocalyptic drumbeat of "The Next Big Thing".
The twenty thousand fans in attendance did not just cheer, they fundamentally exploded. The noise that erupted from the grandstands was a seismic event, a literal tidal wave of pure, unadulterated euphoria that physically shook the ring ropes. They had been waiting for this exact moment all night long, and the sheer timing of the interruption was a masterpiece of professional wrestling drama.
Stepping out from behind the heavy black entrance curtains, looking like a terrifying, genetically engineered weapon of mass destruction, was the Beast Incarnate.
Brock Lesnar had arrived on Monday Night RAW.
Lesnar was dressed in his signature black MMA fighting shorts, his massive, heavily tattooed chest gleaming under the harsh arena spotlights. He didn't walk, he stalked. He bounced from foot to foot with a terrifying, predatory agility that simply shouldn't belong to a man of his gargantuan size.
Walking one step behind Lesnar's massive right shoulder, a look of absolute, sickeningly smug satisfaction plastered across his sweaty face, was the architect of the betrayal. Paul Heyman, the newly christened Advocate, held a live WWE microphone tightly in his grip.
Lesnar and Heyman did not immediately march down the incredibly long entrance ramp. Instead, they stopped at the absolute edge of the entrance stage. Lesnar looked around the massive, sold-out arena, soaking in the deafening adulation from the WWE Universe. He took a short, sharp breath, rolled his massive shoulders, and executed his signature, violent kick motion with his massive right leg!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Massive, concussive pillars of pyrotechnics immediately shot out from the steel grating of the stage, rocketing toward the rafters in a blinding display of explosive power!
The heat washed over the front rows, but Lesnar simply closed his eyes and breathed it in, entirely at home in the chaos.
As the pyrotechnics faded into thick white smoke, Paul Heyman took a step forward, utilizing Lesnar's massive body as an impenetrable, physical shield. Heyman slowly raised the microphone to his lips. He let out a loud, theatrical cough, explicitly clearing his throat to ensure he had the undivided attention of every single human being in the building.
"Ladies and Gentlemen..."
The twenty thousand fans inside the Philips Arena instantly chanted the next words in perfect, deafening unison.
"...MY NAME... IS PAUL HEYMAN!"
Heyman smiled, a wide, wicked, carnivorous grin.
"And I am the Advocate... of the Beast... BROCKKKK LESNARRRRR!"
As Heyman shrieked the name at the absolute top of his lungs, his voice echoing through the massive sound system, he pointed a dramatic finger directly at his new client. Lesnar walked in place on the stage, aggressively flexing his massive chest muscles, practically vibrating with the urge to commit acts of extreme physical violence.
Inside the ring, Sandro Zhang's face twisted from unhinged arrogance to absolute, venomous hatred. His grip on his championships tightened so hard his knuckles turned completely white.
"Look at you, Sandro," Heyman began, his voice dripping with condescending, highly articulated poison. "Look at the absolute state of the so called God King. You stand in that ring, wrapped in medical tape, bleeding from your own ego, screaming into the void like a petulant, spoiled child."
Heyman took a slow, deliberate pace back and forth across the stage, looking directly into the hard camera.
"For a year, the entire WWE Universe has known that you are crazy. They have known that you are entirely delusional. They have known that you are a toxic narcissist full of unprecedented arrogance," Heyman preached, his tone turning incredibly sharp, dissecting Sandro's psychology piece by piece. "We all knew you were a mental abuser, Sandro. You manipulated the board. You manipulated me. You manipulated those beautiful Queens who currently cower in your shadow."
Heyman suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing into dark, judgmental slits, pointing an accusatory finger directly at the center of the ring.
"But tonight, Sandro Zhang... tonight you crossed a line that can never be uncrossed! Tonight, you have officially become a physical abuser!" Heyman roared, the sheer conviction in his voice echoing through the stadium. "We all just watched you physically attack the men standing behind you! The men you called your own brothers! The men you publicly claimed were your own family! You just slapped them in the face, repeatedly, like dogs, in front of millions of people watching around the entire world!"
The camera quickly cut to the bruised, humiliated faces of Wade Barrett, Drew McIntyre, Kofi Kingston, Big E, and Ryback. They stared at the canvas, the red handprints still visibly glowing on their cheeks, the shame practically radiating from their massive bodies.
"I ask you, Atlanta!" Heyman yelled, turning to the live crowd. "Is that what a family should be?! Is that how a leader treats the men who bleed for him?! Is this sociopathic, abusive, unhinged tyrant what the WWE wants to have as the absolute face of its global brand?!"
The fans immediately let out a massive, deafening, continuous cheer in absolute, unified agreement with everything Paul Heyman had just said. For the first time in his career, the slimy, manipulative Advocate was speaking the undeniable, objective truth, and the WWE Universe was completely eating out of the palm of his hand.
At the ringside commentary desk, the broadcast trio was completely divided by the bombshell promo.
"Paul Heyman is absolutely right!" Cole yelled over the roaring crowd, slamming his hand on the desk. "Sandro Zhang's actions tonight have been completely indefensible! He assaulted local talents, he attacked our own crew, and then he physically humiliated his own faction! The man is completely out of control, and Heyman is simply calling a spade a spade!"
"It's about time somebody stood up to this bully!" Lawler agreed enthusiastically. "Sandro has ruled this company through fear and intimidation! He broke the spirits of Wade, Drew, Kofi, Big E, and Ryback! Paul Heyman saw the writing on the wall, he recognized the absolute toxicity of the God King, and he got out while he still could!"
"Are you two completely out of your minds?!" JBL roared back, his face turning an angry, splotchy purple. He aggressively ripped his headset off with one hand to yell directly at Cole and Lawler. "You are buying into the lies of a professional con artist! Paul Heyman doesn't care about those men in the ring! Paul Heyman cares about Paul Heyman!"
JBL frantically slammed his headset back on, practically spitting into the microphone.
"Paul Heyman is a peanut that has completely forgotten his skin!" JBL shrieked, utilizing a colorful, furious analogy that perfectly encapsulated his utter disgust. "He is an ungrateful parasite who forgot who brought him back to this company! Sandro Zhang pulled him out of bankruptcy! Sandro Zhang supported him, funded him, and made him the General Manager of Monday Night RAW! Sandro made him so utterly untouchable here in the WWE that even Vince McMahon couldn't fire him without facing massive legal consequences! And how does that peanut repay the God King?! He betrays him on the grandest stage of them all! Paul Heyman is a coward and a traitor!"
As the commentary team fiercely debated the morality of the situation, the tension inside the squared circle had reached a boiling point.
Sandro Zhang could not take another second of the public humiliation. The God King violently shoved the United States and World Heavyweight Championships back into the arms of Nikki and Alexa.
He aggressively snapped his fingers at the ringside crew, entirely bypassing the ropes, and a terrified technician practically threw a fresh microphone into the ring to avoid Sandro's wrath.
Sandro snatched the mic out of the air. He didn't pace. He marched directly to the ropes, leaning over the top cable, pointing a trembling, taped finger directly at the Advocate standing on the stage.
"You better shut your damn mouth, Paul!" Sandro screamed, his voice a hoarse, ragged bark of pure, unfiltered fury. "You better stop talking right this exact second, before I get out of this ring, walk up that ramp, and slap you right in your fat, useless mouth!"
The twenty thousand fans in attendance immediately let out a loud, collective "Ohhhhhh!" at the sheer, blatant threat of violence.
On the stage, Paul Heyman's eyes went wide. He feigned a look of absolute, theatrical shock. He placed a hand over his heart, gasping into his microphone, but there wasn't a single ounce of actual fear in his body. Because standing right next to him was a 280 pound apex predator.
"Oh, you want to slap me, Sandro?" Heyman taunted, a wicked, evil grin splitting his face. "You want to walk up this ramp and assault an executive? Well, I formally invite you! Come on up here! Come up here if you actually dare, and face the man who just laid you to absolute waste last night! Come stand face to face with BROCKKKK
LESNARRRRR!"
Hearing the direct challenge, Sandro Zhang let out a guttural huff of pure, unadulterated anger. He was completely blinded by his own toxic ego. He threw the microphone down, grabbed the top rope, and aggressively swung his leg over, entirely preparing to march up the ramp and fight the Beast bare handed.
But he never made it to the floor.
Instantly, the three Queens of the Undisputed System, AJ Lee, Nikki Bella, and Alexa Bliss, threw themselves forward. They grabbed Sandro by his arms, his waist, and his suit jacket, frantically holding him back from leaving the ring.
"Sandro, no! Don't do it! You're hurt!" AJ screamed, her voice completely panicked, pulling back with all her weight.
"He's baiting you! Stop!" Nikki yelled, wrapping her arms around his waist.
Sandro thrashed against their grip, his bruised ribs screaming in agony, entirely enraged that his own women were stopping him from asserting his dominance.
Standing on the stage, watching the God King struggle against three women, Paul Heyman let out a loud, mocking laugh that echoed cruelly through the arena.
"Look at you!" Heyman shrieked, pointing his microphone at the chaotic scene in the ring. "You are nothing but a pathetic pussy who hides behind his women! You act like a tough guy, you act like a God King, but the second real danger presents itself, you let your little girlfriends hold you back!"
The crowd gasped at the explicit, deeply personal insult, but Heyman was not even close to being finished. He was going for the absolute jugular.
"And let's talk about those women!" Heyman sneered, his voice dripping with pure, undeniable disrespect. "Let's talk about this little polyamorous relationship you parade around on television! Do you want to know the real reason why they wanted to be with you, Sandro? Do you want to know why they share you? It's not because you're a god! It's not because you're son of a billionaire! It's because those poor girls have never, ever stepped near a real, actual man of the class of BROCKKKK LESNARRRRR!"
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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