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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"You want my World Heavyweight Championship this Saturday?" Punk challenged, tapping the gold plate around his waist. "You think you can just snap your fingers and take it? I am the Voice of the Voiceless. I stand for the people in the back who are sick to their stomachs watching you hijack this industry. I am the Straight Edge Savior, and I do not bow to false idols. So bring your crown. Bring your scepter. Bring your little army of sycophants. Because on Christmas Eve, I am going to put you to sleep, and I am going to prove that your God King is nothing but a fragile, bleeding mortal!"
Punk lowered the microphone, his chest heaving, his eyes locked in an intense, hateful staredown with the champion. The crowd was deafening, chanting Punk's name so loud the cameras were shaking.
"CM PUNK! CM PUNK! CM PUNK"
Sandro Zhang didn't blink. He didn't scream. He slowly reached out his free hand. Paul Heyman, trembling with absolute fury, respectfully placed the microphone into Sandro's palm.
Sandro brought the mic to his lips. The arena was so loud he had to wait a full twenty seconds before his voice could even be heard.
"Are you done?" Sandro asked. His voice wasn't raised. It was low, smooth, chillingly calm, and completely devoid of any emotion. It was the voice of a sociopath.
The contrast between Punk's fiery, emotional passion and Sandro's absolute, terrifying stillness was jarring.
"Are you quite finished trying to convince these mindless sheep that you are some sort of righteous martyr?" Sandro continued, slowly pacing back and forth in the center of the ring, the heavy fur coat swaying with his movements. "You stand out there, dripping in self righteousness, calling my family a clown car. You call my people brainwashed."
Sandro stopped, pointing his scepter directly at Luke Gallows and Joey Mercury.
"Look behind you, hypocrite," Sandro spat, his voice suddenly cracking like a whip. "You call me a cult leader? You travel the country with two bald, mute, brainwashed sheep who hang on your every word like you're the second coming of Christ. You shave the heads of the weak. You prey on the vulnerable. You demand absolute obedience to your 'straight edge' lifestyle. You are running a cult, Phil. The only difference between your cult and my family is that my people are dripping in gold, and your people are dressed like glorified mechanics!"
"Oh man!" Cole gasped. "Sandro is firing right back!"
"He's exposing the fraud!" JBL cackled with delight. "Tell him, my King! Tell him!"
Punk's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing, but he didn't raise his microphone. He let Sandro dig his grave.
"You want to talk about insecurity?" Sandro mocked, a dark, wicked smile playing on his lips. "You claim you don't drink. You claim you don't smoke. You claim your mind is pure. But your addiction is so much worse than alcohol or drugs, Punk. You are addicted to your own victimhood. You are addicted to the sound of your own voice complaining about the machine. You desperately need to believe that you are fighting some noble rebellion against me."
Sandro took a step closer to the ropes, closing the distance, staring up at Punk who stood on the apron.
"But there is no rebellion," Sandro whispered, his voice echoing through the silent, captivated arena. "There is only reality. And the reality is that last night, I didn't hide behind my family. I stepped into a ring with five monsters. I was dropped fifteen feet out of the sky through a wooden table. My ribs are bruised. My flesh is torn. I bled for this crown. I bled for this empire. And I broke every single one of those men by myself."
Sandro raised his arms, showcasing the United States and WWE Championships resting on the shoulders of Nikki and Alexa.
"You think you're a danger to me because you can throw a kick and lock in a submission?" Sandro laughed, a cold, soulless sound. "I survived a vehicular manslaughter orchestrated by the Chairman of the Board. You? You survived a weekend of preaching to junkies in dive bars. We are not the same."
"Listen to the arrogance!" Lawler groaned. "He genuinely believes he is immortal!"
"He IS immortal, Jerry! He proved it last night!" JBL shot back furiously.
Punk raised his microphone, stepping through the ropes, officially entering the ring. Gallows and Mercury followed him, stepping up onto the apron. The tension was explosive. The Undisputed System immediately surged forward, but Sandro held them back once again with a simple raise of his hand.
"You want to talk about reality, Sandro?" Punk growled, standing face to face with the God King. "Here's the reality. You bought your spot. You used your daddy's billionaire checkbook to buy your way into the main event. You hide behind expensive suits and corporate lawyers. I scratched and clawed my way up from the independent scene. I slept in cars. I wrestled for hot dogs and handshakes. I earned every single ounce of respect I have in this business. You were born on third base and you think you hit a triple."
Sandro didn't back down. He stepped directly into Punk's personal space, their noses inches apart.
"I don't care about your sob story, Punk," Sandro sneered softly. "I don't care how many bingo halls you wrestled in. This isn't a charity. This is an empire. And an empire requires a King. You are just a peasant holding onto a championship that belongs to me. You are keeping it warm."
Sandro looked down at the World Heavyweight Championship around Punk's waist.
"Enjoy your final few days as a champion," Sandro threatened, his voice laced with venom. "Because this Saturday, on Christmas Eve, I am not just going to take your title. I am going to break your Straight Edge Society. I am going to expose you as the fragile, sanctimonious hypocrite that you are. I am going to take your voice, and I am going to leave you absolutely voiceless."
Punk smirked, a dangerous, unhinged smile. "You can try, your majesty. But bring a body bag. Because the only way I'm losing this title is if you literally kill me."
Punk didn't break eye contact. He slowly raised his microphone above his head.
"Best in the world," Punk whispered.
He dropped the microphone. It clattered against the canvas, mirroring Heyman's action from earlier.
The crowd erupted into an absolute frenzy. "This Fire Burns" blasted through the PA system once again. Punk didn't back away. He stood face to face with Sandro, surrounded by the hostile, seething members of the Undisputed System, absolutely fearless.
"What a confrontation!" Cole screamed over the music. "The lines have been drawn in the sand! The Voice of the Voiceless against the God King of WWE!"
"This Saturday is going to be a bloodbath!" Lawler added, shaking his head in sheer disbelief at the tension in the ring. "CM Punk is not backing down an inch! He just walked into the lion's den and slapped the lion across the face!"
"He signed his own death warrant!" JBL yelled, pointing furiously at the monitor. "He is a dead man walking! The God King will not tolerate this disrespect! Tribute to the Troops will be the execution of CM Punk!"
In the ring, Sandro simply smiled. It was a terrifying, psychopathic smile. He raised his black scepter, tapping it gently against the center plate of CM Punk's World Heavyweight Championship.
"Saturday, Phil," Sandro said off mic, but loud enough for Punk to hear. "I'll take it on Saturday. When the whole world is watching."
The message was crystal clear. The God King was coming for the final piece of the crown. And the entire landscape of the WWE was about to burn to the ground to get it.
The tension in the Toyota Center was thick enough to cut with a knife as Monday Night RAW rolled on following that explosive, terrifying confrontation between the God King and the Voice of the Voiceless. The lines had been definitively drawn in the sand, and the entire WWE Universe was still buzzing, their adrenaline spiked by the sheer magnitude of the impending clash on Christmas Eve.
The three hour broadcast continued at a blistering pace, a rollercoaster of high stakes matchups and tense backstage segments. The fallout from the TLC pay per view rippled through the entire roster.
Grudge matches were settled, new rivalries sparked, and the camera frequently cut to the backstage area, showing the Undisputed System walking the halls like an occupying army, forcing production crew members and lower card wrestlers to press themselves flat against the cinderblock walls in fear.
But the most pivotal moment of the night leading up to the main event occurred inside the luxurious, leather bound office of the RAW General Manager. Paul Heyman, acting under the direct, unquestionable orders of his God King, stood before a camera and officially booked the main event of the evening.
It was to be an impromptu tag team match, Dolph Ziggler and the newly initiated Xavier Woods, representing the Undisputed System, taking on CM Punk's loyal disciples, Luke Gallows and Joey Mercury.
But Heyman, ever the manipulative snake, added a catastrophic stipulation. Utilizing his absolute executive power, he officially banned CM Punk from ringside. If the World Heavyweight Champion so much as stepped foot on the entrance ramp during the match, he would be stripped of his title immediately.
The commentary team spent the next hour breaking down the sheer, Machiavellian brilliance of the maneuver.
"It is a masterstroke of psychological warfare," Cole lamented, shaking his head at the desk. "Sandro Zhang isn't just looking to beat CM Punk this Saturday. He is looking to completely isolate him. He is using Paul Heyman's executive power to systematically strip away Punk's only line of defense!"
"It's sick, Michael," Lawler agreed, disgust evident in his tone. "Sandro knows that Gallows and Mercury are the muscle of the Straight Edge Society. If he can send his hounds to eliminate Punk's henchmen tonight, while Punk is contractually locked in his locker room, then CM Punk walks into Tribute to the Troops entirely alone."
"And he will be walking into a buzzsaw!" JBL cackled, clapping his hands together with malicious glee. "It's called strategy, King! The God King is playing mind games and in ring psychology while CM Punk is out here playing in the dirt! Sandro is ensuring that at Tribute to the Troops, he will have his entire royal court at ringside to distract, dismantle, and disorient the champion, while Punk won't have a single soul to watch his back! It is flawless execution!"
As the clock crept toward the final segment of the broadcast, the arena lights dimmed, bathing the Toyota Center in a harsh, menacing gold.
The heavy, distorted bass of the Undisputed System's theme music vibrated through the floorboards. The fans unleashed a deafening chorus of boos, practically booing the building off its foundation.
Out walked the NXT Champion, Dolph Ziggler, and the faction's masked turned unmasked assassin, Xavier Woods. They wore matching black and gold ring gear, exuding an aura of absolute, untouchable arrogance. But they were not walking down the aisle alone.
Flanking them, acting as a terrifying, impenetrable vanguard, were the reigning World Tag Team Champions, Big E and Ryback, alongside the WWE Tag Team Champions, Wade Barrett and Drew McIntyre.
Four of the most dangerous, physically imposing behemoths in the entire industry marched down the ramp, their eyes cold and dead, their respective championship titles slung over their massive shoulders.
Ziggler and Woods slid into the ring, bouncing on their toes, looking incredibly confident. Big E, Ryback, Wade, and Drew did not enter the squared circle. Instead, they fanned out, taking up positions at all four corners of the ringside barricade, effectively surrounding the ring like a pack of starving wolves waiting for a piece of meat to be dropped into the cage.
"Look at this!" Cole cried out in protest. "This isn't a tag team match, this is an execution squad! How are Joey Mercury and Luke Gallows supposed to focus on the men in the ring when they are surrounded by the four biggest monsters in the Undisputed System?!"
"They should be honored to share the same oxygen as those champions!" JBL retorted blindly.
Suddenly, the intense, driving guitar riff of the Straight Edge Society's secondary theme hit the PA system. The Houston crowd erupted into massive, supportive cheers.
Out marched Luke Gallows and Joey Mercury. They didn't have their savior with them. They didn't have the Voice of the Voiceless to lead the way. But as they walked out onto the stage, their faces were carved from pure granite. They were disciples, fiercely loyal to their cause, and they were not going to back down.
Gallows slapped his massive chest, letting out a primal yell, while Mercury cracked his knuckles, his eyes locked dead on the ring. They marched down the ramp, completely unintimidated by the four behemoths standing at ringside. Gallows walked right past a sneering Ryback, not even breaking his stride, while Mercury stared a hole right through Wade Barrett.
The two Straight Edge enforcers slid under the bottom rope and immediately charged Ziggler and Woods. The four men came face to face in the center of the ring, trading vicious verbal barbs, ready to throw hands before the bell even rang.
The referee, knowing the explosive volatility of the situation, aggressively stepped between them. He forced Gallows and Woods to the ring apron, ensuring that Ziggler and Mercury were the legal men to start the contest. He looked out at the lumberjacks on the floor, pointing a stern warning finger, before finally turning to the timekeeper and signaling for the bell.
DING! DING! DING!
The main event was officially underway.
What followed was an absolute tag team clinic, a breathtaking showcase of contrasting styles and deep, educated movesets. Despite the overwhelming odds and the looming threat on the outside, Joey Mercury and Luke Gallows proved exactly why CM Punk trusted them to watch his back.
Mercury and Ziggler opened the bout with a rapid-fire sequence of chain wrestling. Ziggler, utilizing his collegiate amateur background, shot in for a single leg takedown, but Mercury seamlessly transitioned into a front facelock, wrestling the Showoff to the canvas. Ziggler scrambled to his feet, hitting the ropes and executing a beautiful dropkick that caught Mercury flush on the jaw.
Ziggler popped up, brushing his blond hair out of his eyes, and arrogantly dragged Mercury toward the Undisputed System's corner, making the tag to Xavier Woods.
Woods entered the ring with a terrifying, cold intensity. He unleashed a flurry of stiff, martial arts inspired kicks to Mercury's chest, dropping the veteran to his knees, before hitting a devastating sliding flatliner for a quick two count. "Look at the aggression of Xavier Woods!" Striker analyzed brilliantly. "We used to know him as a fun loving, charismatic rookie in NXT. But under the tutelage of the God King, he has become a cold blooded sniper! He is dissecting Joey Mercury!"
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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) - 2010, & 1x KOTR (2010)
Wrestlemania Record: 1 - 0