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Justin Roberts continued. "And introducing the champion… representing the Undisputed System… from Orlando, Florida… weighing 220 pounds… he is the WWE United States Champion… and the WWE Champion… THE GOD OF WWE… SAAANDROOO ZHAAAAAANG!"
The crowd rained down venom.
"The 'God of WWE'?" Cole scoffed. "Listen to that. The delusion of this man is boundless. He's walking into a cage with a Reaper and he thinks he's a god."
Striker chimed in, "Delusional or not, Michael, look at the gold. He's a double champion. He's done things in one year that people haven't done in twenty. The ego is earned, even if it's insufferable."
Sandro entered the ring, standing nose to nose with The Undertaker, unflinching.
Then came the sound that everyone had been waiting for and dreading. The grinding of heavy machinery. The massive, five ton steel structure of the Hell in a Cell began its slow, arduous descent.
The fans cheered with a morbid fascination as the black mesh lowered over the ring, section by section, sealing the two men inside. To the fans, it was a cage of justice. To the wrestlers, it was a tomb.
Once the structure was settled, the ring crew worked with a practiced, somber urgency. They closed the door, sliding the heavy steel bolt into place.
Then came the sound of metal on metal, the clinking of heavy chains being wrapped around the handles, followed by the sharp click of a massive padlock being put on. There was no escape. No interference.
Inside the ring, the referee approached Sandro. With a look of utter disdain, Sandro unbuckled the United States Title and handed it over. Then, he took the WWE Championship off his shoulder and handed it over as well.
The referee held the WWE title high in the air, the lights of the arena reflecting off the gold, showing the world exactly what was at stake. He then handed the belts to a ringside official who exited the cell just before the final lock was turned.
The referee looked at the Undertaker. The Deadman gave a singular, slow nod. The referee looked at Sandro. Sandro smirked, Adjusted his jaw, and bounced on the balls of his feet, looking entirely too comfortable in a cage.
Wit that, the referee called for the bell.
DING DING DING!
The sound echoed through the Dallas stadium, a sharp, metallic note that signaled the start of a war. Sandro and the Undertaker didn't move at first. They stood in their respective corners, the silence of the cell a stark contrast to the roar of the 20,000 fans outside the mesh. The air was thick with the scent of old blood and fresh sweat.
Sandro broke the silence first. He didn't throw a punch. He pointed at the Undertaker, his lips moving as he spoke words that only the Deadman could hear, likely reminders of the Tombstone, reminders of the photo leaks, reminders that the Undisputed System was the new law of the land.
The Undertaker's response was a simple, slow step forward.
"Here we go," Cole whispered, his voice barely audible over the rising tide of the crowd's anticipation. "History is being written in blood tonight."
The two men goes to circle each other, their boots scraping against the mat canvas, eyes locked, as neither willing to blink first. The Hell in a Cell loomed around them, the steel mesh humming faintly under the vibrations of the crowd. This wasn't just a match, it was a collision of eras, arrogance versus inevitability.
Sandro finally moved first.
He lunged forward with a sharp, snapping leg kick aimed at the Undertaker's thigh, testing the waters. Undertaker didn't flinch. Sandro followed with another kick, then a third, each one landing with a dull thud. He backed away, smirking, nodding to himself as if to say see? you bleed like everyone else.
Undertaker stepped forward again.
Sandro swung a right hand.
Undertaker blocked it.
And then he answered.
A single, brutal right hand from the Deadman cracked across Sandro's jaw, snapping his head to the side and sending him stumbling backward into the corner. The crowd exploded.
Cole shouted, "There it is! One shot and Sandro felt it!"
Undertaker followed with another right, then a third, each one heavier than the last. He grabbed Sandro by the throat, lifting him just enough to drive him back first into the turnbuckles. Sandro gasped, clutching his ribs as Undertaker leaned in, pressing his forearm across Sandro's throat, eyes burning with cold purpose.
Striker's voice carried a mix of awe and tension. "This is the Undertaker imposing his will early. He's not rushing. He's dissecting Sandro."
Sandro shoved Undertaker back, creating space, then exploded forward with a running knee strike to the midsection. Undertaker grunted, stepping back half a pace.
Sandro capitalized immediately, unloading with rapid-l fire forearms, each one snapping against Undertaker's chest and neck. He hit the ropes, came back with a low dropkick to the knee, finally bringing the Deadman down to one knee.
Sandro didn't hesitate.
He sprinted toward the ropes, leapt, and hit a springboard knee strike straight to Undertaker's temple. Undertaker toppled sideways, rolling to his back for the first time in the match.
The crowd buzzed, half shocked, half furious.
Cole growled, "I hate to admit it, but that was impressive."
Lawler shot back, "Doesn't mean I have to like him."
Sandro stood over Undertaker, arms outstretched, shouting something obscene toward the hard camera before stomping down on Undertaker's chest.
He followed with a stiff soccer kick to the ribs, then another, and another, each one echoing through the cell. Sandro grabbed Undertaker by the hair, getting ghim out to ringside, and then dragging him up and whipping him hard into the steel mesh.
The sound was sickening.
Undertaker bounced off the cage and collapsed to one knee, clutching his shoulder.
The fans booed loudly.
Sandro pressed his forehead against the steel, yelling, "This is my house now!" before grabbing Undertaker and ramming his face into the cage. Once. Twice. A third time.
Striker winced. "The cell is unforgiving. Every impact changes the match."
Sandro backed up, measuring his target, then charged, only to be caught.
Undertaker exploded forward, lifting Sandro and slamming him spine first into the cell wall. The impact rattled the entire structure. Sandro cried out, collapsing to the ringside, clutching his back.
The crowd roared.
Undertaker wasn't done.
He grabbed Sandro up and put him inside the ring, then grab him by the arm, twisting it, dragging him toward the center of the ring, then yanked him up and delivered a massive short arm clothesline that flipped Sandro inside out.
Undertaker followed with a leg drop across Sandro's throat, then sat up slowly, rolling his shoulders as the fans chanted his name.
"UNDERTAKER!" Clap clap clap "UNDERTAKER!" Clap clap clap "UNDERTAKER!" Clap clap clap "UNDERTAKER!"
Cole was practically yelling now. "This is the Undertaker's domain! This is what Hell in a Cell was built for!"
Undertaker hauled Sandro up and whipped him into the ropes, catching him on the rebound with a sidewalk slam that shook the canvas. He went for the cover.
ONE—
Sandro kicked out immediately.
Undertaker didn't look surprised.
He pulled Sandro up again, this time lifting him into a vertical suplex, holding him there, suspended, for several long seconds before slamming him down hard. Sandro writhed, clutching his lower back.
Undertaker turned and glanced at the cell.
The message was clear.
He dragged Sandro toward the steel cell again, hooking his arm and running forward, Sandro reversed at the last second, sending Undertaker shoulder first into the cage.
Undertaker staggered, and Sandro seized the opening, leaping onto Undertaker's back and locking in a sleeper hold, his legs wrapped tightly around Undertaker's waist, causing them to fall down in ringside.
Striker leaned in. "Smart. Cut off the oxygen. Neutralize the power. Even if he wasn't going to win since it was at ringside."
Undertaker tries anything he can, reaching for the ring apron or the cell mesh, which all become like it weren't there.
Sandro squeezed tighter, yelling encouragement to himself. The Deadman hand drop once… then twice.
The crowd murmured nervously.
Undertaker then suddenly planted his hands on the ground and surged upward, before then ramming Sandro backward into the cage. The impact forced Sandro to release the hold. Undertaker spun, grabbed Sandro by the throat—
CHOKESLAM.
Sandro bounced off the ringside mat, landing in a heap.
The building erupted.
Lawler shouted, "That might do it!"
Undertaker picked him up, pushed im back into the ring, and then went for the cover.
ONE—
TWO—
Sandro kicked out again yet again.
Undertaker sat back on his heels, staring down at Sandro, his expression unreadable. He rose slowly, signaling for the Tombstone. The crowd rose with him.
Undertaker hooked Sandro's arms.
Sandro fought wildly, elbows flying, connecting with Undertaker's ribs and jaw. He slipped free, ducked under a clothesline, and hit the ropes, springboard roundhouse kick to the side of Undertaker's head.
Undertaker stumbled.
Sandro climbed the turnbuckle without hesitation, turning his back to the ring—
MOONSAULT.
Undertaker rolled out of the way.
Sandro crashed hard.
Undertaker grabbed him immediately, lifting him into a scoop slam, then running the ropes and dropping a massive jumping leg drop. He covered again.
ONE—
TWO—
KICKOUT.
Cole was stunned. "How is he still in this?"
Undertaker dragged Sandro up and began hammering him with right hands, backing him into the corner. He climbed to the middle rope, raining down punches as the crowd counted along.
One!
Two!
Three!
Four!
Five!
Six!
Seven!
Eight!
Nine!
Ten!
Undertaker hopped down, grabbed Sandro, and whipped him across the ring, Sandro reversed again, sending Undertaker into the corner. Sandro charged, but Undertaker moved, and Sandro crashed chest first into the turnbuckles.
Undertaker grabbed him—
Snake Eyes.
Sandro bounced off the buckle.
BIG BOOT.
Sandro folded.
Undertaker backed into the corner, signaling again.
But Sandro rolled out of the ring.
The crowd booed as Sandro slid under the bottom rope, collapsing on the floor outside the ring, inside the cell. Undertaker followed, stepping out deliberately, eyes never leaving Sandro.
Sandro scrambled to his feet, grabbing a steel chair from under the ring, which of course was fully legal move inside hell in a cell. He swung wildly.
Undertaker caught the chair.
And ripped it out of Sandro's hands.
The crowd exploded.
Undertaker raised the chair high—
CRACK.
Across Sandro's back.
CRACK.
Across his ribs.
CRACK.
Across his shoulder.
Sandro collapsed, screaming in pain, rolling across the steel floor. Undertaker tossed the chair aside and dragged Sandro up, ramming him face first into the cell wall. Sandro staggered, blood beginning to trickle from his forehead.
Striker's tone was grim. "This is where legends are forged or broken."
Sandro suddenly surged forward, driving Undertaker back into the ring post. Undertaker grunted, clutching his shoulder. Sandro followed with a running knee to the post, crushing Undertaker's arm between knee and steel.
Sandro grinned through the blood.
He climbed onto the apron, then onto the ropes—
SPRINGBOARD CLOTHESLINE, BUT UNDERTAKER DUCKED.
Sandro crashed onto the ringside floor again.
Undertaker grabbed Sandro by the throat and lifted him—
CHOKESLAM, ON TO THE STEEL STEPS.
The sound was horrifying.
The crowd lost their minds.
Cole yelled, "That could end a career!"
Undertaker rolled Sandro back into the ring, following him inside. He pulled Sandro up slowly, methodically, once again setting up for the Tombstone.
Sandro kicked desperately, connecting with Undertaker's knee. He slipped free, spun, and hit a sudden low dropkick to Undertaker's leg. Undertaker fell to one knee.
Sandro hit the ropes—
SHINING WIZARD.
Undertaker collapsed fully to the mat.
Sandro didn't cover.
Instead, he climbed the turnbuckle again.
He pointed at Undertaker.
Then at himself.
Then he leapt—
450 SPLASH.
The impact echoed.
Sandro hooked the leg.
ONE—
TWO—
Undertaker kicked out.
The arena erupted.
Sandro sat back in disbelief, both hands on his head, screaming at the referee. Cole was losing his mind.
"HE HIT EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING!"
Lawler shouted, "And it still wasn't enough!"
Sandro staggered to his feet, breathing hard, blood smeared across his face, eyes wild. He backed into the corner, slapping his thigh, lining up another strike.
Undertaker slowly sat up.
The crowd erupted again.
Sandro charged—
Undertaker caught him.
CHOKESLAM.
Sandro bounced again, rolling toward the ropes.
Undertaker grabbed him, hoisted him up—
LAST RIDE POWERBOMB!
The ring shook violently.
The crowd came unglued.
Undertaker collapsed on top of him for the pin.
ONE—
TWO—
SANDRO KICKED OUT AGAIN.
The reaction was nuclear.
Cole was stunned. "HOW?!"
Striker's voice cracked. "This is unreal. This is beyond human."
Undertaker sat back on his knees, staring at Sandro with disbelief for the first time. Sandro coughed, rolled onto his side, blood dripping onto the mat, and laughed, actually laughed.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
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
Other Achievements: 1x Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royale Winner, 1x Mr. Money In The Bank, Youngest WWE Champion, & PWI Top 500 (No.1)
Wrestlemania Record: 1 - 0