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The impact was cataclysmic. Sandro smashed into the Undertaker's chest in the center of the ring, the force driving both men flat to the mat amidst the wreckage. The ring buckled under them. The sound echoed through the stadium like a car crash.
The crowd detonated.
"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"
Cole was screaming at the top of his lungs.
"HE JUST DID IT AGAIN! HE JUST THREW HIMSELF THROUGH THE CELL!"
Lawler stood up, hands on his head, voice cracking.
"I'VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS IN MY LIFE!"
Striker yelled, barely coherent.
"This is not human! This is not human!"
Sandro lay draped over the Undertaker's body, barely conscious, his arm flopping weakly across the Deadman's chest. The referee hesitated for a heartbeat as he is stunned, before then dropped to his knees, and crawled into position to count.
ONE—
TWO—
THE UNDERTAKER KICKED OUT BEFORE THE REFEREE HAND HIT THE MAT MILIMETERS.
The stadium lost its mind.
Cole shouted in disbelief. "HOW?! HOW DID THE UNDERTAKER KICK OUT?!"
Lawler screamed, half furious, half awed. "That was twenty feet of gravity and steel! HOW IS HE STILL FIGHTING?!"
Striker shouted, "The Deadman will not stay down!"
Sandro rolled off, staring up at the lights, chest heaving violently. His eyes were glassy, unfocused. He laughed again, but this time it wasn't mocking. It was exhausted. Almost hysterical.
Undertaker rolled onto his side, then onto his knees, shaking his head slowly as if trying to clear the fog. Both men were covered in blood, sweat, and steel dust.
Cole said softly, "We are witnessing something historic… something terrifying."
They rose together.
Not fast.
Not clean.
But together.
They met again in the center.
Forearm from Sandro.
Right hand from Undertaker.
Forearm.
Right.
The strikes were slower now, heavier, every blow fueled by pure will rather than strength. Each hit echoed through the arena.
Sandro tried a kick, Undertaker caught it and shoved him backward.
Undertaker fired a boot to the gut and went for the Tombstone again.
The crowd rose to their feet.
Sandro fought it, slipping out, dropping behind—
GERMAN SUPLEX.
Undertaker landed hard but rolled through to his knees again.
Sandro charged—
BIG BOOT from Undertaker.
Both men staggered.
Undertaker roared and grabbed Sandro—
Sandro ducked and drove a sharp elbow into the back of Undertaker's neck. Undertaker dropped to both knees, hands braced on the mat, head bowed.
The arena froze.
Cole's voice dropped.
"Oh no…"
Sandro backed into the corner, eyes locked on the Deadman's kneeling form. He wiped blood from his face, his breathing ragged, his body trembling.
Lawler growled,
"This is it. This is how he ends it."
Sandro took off.
He sprinted toward the ropes, then rebounding back into the ring with explosive speed, dropped low, slid across the mat—
ELBOW FROM INWARD TO OUTWARD—
LAST NOTE.
The elbow smashed into the back of the Undertaker's head and neck with sickening force, snapping the Undertaker so hard that he collapsed forward, face first into the canvas, completely motionless.
The crowd erupted in pure chaos.
Then Sandro collapsed on top of him, hooking the leg with the last ounce of strength he had left.
ONE—
TWO—
THREE.
The bell rang.
DING DING DING.
The reaction was deafening.
Boos poured down from every corner of the stadium, mixed with stunned disbelief and reluctant awe.
Justin Roberts' voice echoed through the chaos. "Here is your winner… and STILL WWE Champion… SAAANDRO ZHAAAAAANG!"
Sandro lay motionless atop the Undertaker for several seconds before rolling off, staring blankly at the ceiling as his chest rose and fell.
Cole's voice was heavy, conflicted. "I don't like it… I don't respect it… but I can't deny it."
Lawler shook his head. "He survived the Undertaker. He survived Hell in a Cell. And I hate that."
Striker added quietly, "Love him or hate him, Sandro just went through hell… and came out still the champion."
The referee handed Sandro the WWE and the United States Championship. Sandro barely had the strength to lift it, but he did, clutching the gold to his chest as he rolled onto his side.
Undertaker remained down in the center of the ring, unmoving, as officials rushed in to check on him.
Sandro looked back once, breathing hard, staring at the fallen Deadman.
No words.
No taunt.
Just a long, heavy look.
Then he turned and leave through the broken Cell wall, still champion, leaving behind destruction, disbelief, and a Hell in a Cell match that would be talked about for generations.
Undertaker then to the surprise of the officials, slowly sat up, holding the back of his neck. He looked at Sandro in the entrance stage, really looked at him, for a long moment.
His eyes stayed locked on Sandro from across the distance, dark and unreadable, like twin voids cutting through the chaos of officials and wreckage.
For several long seconds, nothing happened. The Cell loomed broken. The ring lay in ruin.
Sandro stood on the entrance stage, hunched over, both championships clutched tight against his chest, his breathing heavy and ragged, every rise of his shoulders a reminder of the punishment he had just endured.
Then—
The atmosphere changed.
It wasn't gradual. It wasn't subtle.
It was instant.
A low rumble rolled through the Dallas stadium, felt more than heard, vibrating through the seats, through the floor, through the bones of every person in attendance. The lights flickered once… twice… then washed over the arena in a deep, ominous purple.
Fog began to pour from beneath the stage, curling outward like living smoke.
Cole's voice dropped, hushed, reverent. "Oh… oh my God…"
Lawler stood up slowly. "No… no way…"
The Undertaker's entrance music hit.
The reaction was nuclear.
The boos, the disbelief, the noise from moments earlier vanished in an instant, replaced by a thunderous, unified roar. Thousands upon thousands of fans surged to their feet, voices merging into a single chant that shook the rafters.
"UNDERTAKER! UNDERTAKER! UNDERTAKER!"
Inside the ring, the Undertaker slowly rose to his feet, still holding the back of his neck, still bleeding, still battered, but unmistakably present. The fog swirled around him, the purple light casting his silhouette into something mythic, something unreal.
Sandro turned sharply toward the ring, eyes wide now, shock flickering across his bloodied face. For the first time all night, he looked… uncertain.
Striker's voice trembled. "He's not finished… not like this."
Undertaker lifted his head, staring straight down the ramp at Sandro. The music swelled, the fog thickened, and then, slowly, Undertaker raised his right hand.
The crowd screamed.
BOOM.
A lightning strike crashed down the center of the ramp in a blinding flash of white and purple, exploding against the stage with a deafening crack of thunder. The entire stadium recoiled.
Sandro stumbled backward instinctively, shielding his face, losing his footing as the shockwave rippled outward. He fell hard onto his back, the championships clanging against the steel stage, his chest heaving as he tried to suck in air.
Cole was shouting now. "LIGHTNING FROM THE DEADMAN! THE UNDERTAKER IS STILL CLAIMING THIS NIGHT!"
Lawler yelled, almost gleeful. "That's fear! That's the first time tonight Sandro's felt fear!"
Sandro rolled onto his side, clutching the titles to his chest, eyes locked on the ring, staring at the Undertaker through the haze of fog and light. His jaw tightened. His body trembled, not from fear alone, but from exhaustion, adrenaline, and the reality of how close he had come to falling.
Then movement behind him.
AJ Lee was the first to emerge from the fog, sprinting down the ramp, panic written all over her face. Nikki Bella followed close behind, her usual confidence replaced by visible concern. Alexa Bliss came next, steel chair discarded somewhere backstage, her eyes wide as she dropped to her knees beside Sandro.
They surrounded him instantly.
AJ cradled his head, brushing blood soaked hair from his face. "Hey… hey… stay with us. You're okay. You're okay."
Nikki knelt at his side, one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping the edge of the stage. "Breathe. Just breathe."
Alexa pressed her forehead against his briefly, whispering something only he could hear, her voice shaking despite herself.
Behind them, Paul Heyman appeared, his expression unreadable but his posture tense. Drew McIntyre, Wade Barret, Big E, Ryback, Kofi Kingston, Chris Jericho, and Dolph Ziggler followed, fanning out defensively around the group. The Undisputed System had arrived.
The crowd erupted in boos the moment they were visible.
"BOOOOOOO!"
Cole snarled. "Here they come. Like vultures."
Lawler scoffed. "They don't care about the reaction. Look at their faces, they care about him."
And it was true.
For all the venom raining down from the stands, none of them acknowledged it. This wasn't posturing. This wasn't dominance. This was concern. Real concern. Sandro had pushed his body beyond any reasonable limit, and they knew it.
AJ's hands were trembling as she checked his ribs. Nikki looked up the ramp, eyes darting between the ring and the surrounding area, half expecting another lightning strike. Alexa kept her hand clasped tightly in Sandro's, her expression caught somewhere between kayfabe defiance and genuine fear.
Sandro slowly sat up, wincing, sucking in a deep breath. He waved them off weakly, trying to stand on his own. The moment he rose to one knee, the crowd booed louder.
He didn't care.
His eyes never left the ring.
Undertaker stood there, unmoving, fog swirling around his boots, purple light bathing the broken Cell behind him. The two men locked eyes again, champion and legend, conqueror and immortal.
No words were exchanged.
They didn't need to be.
Then—
The lights went out.
Instant darkness.
The stadium gasped.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing. No music. No fog. Just silence and darkness.
Then the lights snapped back on.
The ring was empty.
The Undertaker was gone.
The fog dissipated as quickly as it had come, the purple glow fading back into normal arena lighting. Officials looked around in confusion. The camera panned the ring, the Cell, the aisle.
Nothing.
Cole exhaled sharply. "He's gone…"
Lawler nodded slowly. "That's the Undertaker. He doesn't leave through the door. He leaves a message."
Sandro stared at the empty ring, jaw clenched, chest still heaving. For a moment, just a moment, he looked almost relieved.
Then he stood.
AJ, Nikki, and Alexa helped him to his feet, each supporting him as he lifted the WWE Championship and the United States Championship high into the air. The boos were deafening, but they washed over him like static.
Cole closed the show, his voice heavy with finality.
"Tonight… against everything this crowd wanted… against everything the odds said… the Undisputed System still stands tall. Sandro Zhang made the ultimate statement by defeating the Undertaker… inside Hell in a Cell."
The camera lingered on Sandro's bloodied face as the screen faded to black.
And then—
Twitter exploded.
Within seconds of the broadcast ending, hashtags flooded timelines worldwide.
#HIAC
#SandroVsUndertaker
#GodOfWWE
#FiveStarsIsNotEnough
Clips of the match circulated at lightning speed. Screenshots of Sandro falling through the Cell. Pictures and videos of the Chokeslam through the roof. Slow motion replays of the diving body splash. Frame by frame breakdowns of the Last Shot connecting.
Fans couldn't stop talking.
Mainstream fans, those who only tuned in for big events, were stunned. Many admitted they hadn't known much about Sandro before this match. They knew him now.
Hardcore fans dissected every moment, praising the pacing, the escalation, the brutality, the psychology. They talked about how rare it was to see a Hell in a Cell match that felt earned again. How the violence wasn't gratuitous, it was purposeful.
One tweet went viral within minutes. "Five stars isn't enough. This wasn't a match. This was a war."
Another read. "Who in their right mind takes a chokeslam from the top of the Cell… survives… climbs it AGAIN… and dives again? That's insanity."
And again, and again, the same sentiment echoed across platforms.
This defined what wrestling is.
Especially Sandro.
Fans talked endlessly about the moment he fell through the Cell and still refused to stay down. About the body splash, how no one asked him to do it, how no one expected it, how it felt like something ripped straight from a different era and yet somehow perfectly belonged in this one.
They talked about kayfabe.
About how this match didn't just protect Sandro, it elevated him.
He didn't beat the Undertaker in a normal match.
He beat him in Hell in a Cell.
That mattered.
In kayfabe terms, it changed everything. Sandro wasn't just a champion anymore. He wasn't just dominant. He was untouchable. He had defeated every top name in the company, one way or another. He had walked through DX, through Raw, through SmackDown, through legends, through monsters.
And now—
Through the Undertaker.
The nickname he had claimed today, mocked by fans, rejected by commentators, was suddenly harder to laugh at. "The God of WWE." People didn't like it. But they were starting to believe it. Of course, not everyone was convinced. A loud minority emerged, as they always did.
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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