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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Sandro blinked, momentarily blinded. Ziggler capitalized, throwing a desperate, looping right hook that staggered the champion. Ziggler grabbed Sandro by the collar of his white gear, dragging him through the sea of screaming fans, and violently slammed Sandro's head against the hard plastic of the arena concourse seating.
"Ziggler is fighting for his life in the crowd!" Lawler cheered. "He's using whatever he can find to gain an advantage!"
"It's a disgrace!" JBL barked. "Get them back in the ring! Throw the match out!"
Ziggler dragged Sandro back toward the barricade. He climbed onto the concrete divider, pulling Sandro up with him. Ziggler looked to suplex the champion back into the ringside area, but Sandro blocked it, dropping his center of gravity.
Sandro threw a heavy knee into Ziggler's gut, stunning the challenger. With a frightening display of strength, Sandro lifted Ziggler straight up into the air and hit a devastating suplex, dropping Dolph directly across the top of the barricade!
Ziggler let out a breathless shriek of agony, clutching his already battered ribs, before tumbling awkwardly to the ringside floor.
The referee's count reached eight.
Sandro rolled into the ring, his face a mask of cold intensity, leaving Ziggler for dead on the outside.
"Nine!" the referee shouted.
At the very last fraction of a second, Ziggler dove under the bottom rope, collapsing onto the canvas, narrowly avoiding a count out loss.
"He made it!" Cole gasped. "Ziggler is still in this match!"
Sandro didn't look frustrated. He looked methodical. As Ziggler pushed himself up to his knees, Sandro charged, hitting a massive running boot that practically took Ziggler's head off.
Sandro dragged Ziggler up, setting him up for a powerbomb.
He lifted Ziggler high, but Ziggler started throwing wild punches to the top of Sandro's head. Ziggler shifted his weight, executing a breathtaking mid air hurricanrana that sent Sandro flying face first into the middle turnbuckle!
Sandro staggered backward, dazed. Ziggler hit the ropes, leaped into the air, and connected with a beautiful Fameasser!
Ziggler hooked the leg with everything he had!
One!
Two!
Two and nine tenths!
Sandro thrust his shoulder up, breaking the pinfall at the absolute last microsecond!
The stadium erupted into a deafening roar!
The fans could feel the momentum swinging wildly.
"He kicked out!" Lawler screamed, holding his head. "I thought Ziggler had him! I thought we were looking at a new champion!"
Ziggler dragged himself to the corner, his chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face. He began stomping his boot against the mat, tuning up the band, waiting for the God King to rise. The crowd clapped along with every stomp, the energy reaching a fever pitch.
Sandro slowly pushed himself up, turning around.
Ziggler launched his body forward, executing a flawless, picture perfect Superkick!
But Sandro caught the boot in mid air.
Ziggler's eyes widened in horror. Sandro spun Ziggler around, grabbing him by the neck. In a flash of terrifying agility, Sandro used the ropes as a springboard, launching himself into a mid air backflip, and drove Ziggler face-first into the canvas with the devastating Heavensfall Cutter!
Sandro hooked the leg!
One!
Two!
Ziggler kicked out!
The roar from the crowd was physical, shaking the television cameras.
"ZIGGLER KICKED OUT!" Cole shrieked, his voice completely raw. "Dolph Ziggler just survived the Heavensfall Cutter! This match is an absolute classic!"
"I don't believe it!" JBL yelled, genuinely stunned. "No man should be able to kick out of that maneuver!"
Sandro sat up, a look of genuine surprise crossing his normally stoic face. He looked down at Ziggler, an unspoken layer of respect forming in his eyes.
Sandro slowly pushed himself to his feet. He stalked Ziggler, waiting for the Showoff to find his balance. As Ziggler staggered up, Sandro lunged forward, looking to deliver a heavy lariat.
Ziggler ducked the arm.
Ziggler jumped onto Sandro's back, wrapping his arms around the champion's neck, and violently ripped him backward with a spectacular, desperate Zig Zag!
The impact shook the ring!
Ziggler scrambled over, throwing his entire body weight onto Sandro's chest, hooking both legs.
ONE!
TWO!
THRE—NO!
Sandro kicked out, throwing Ziggler completely off of him!
The fans were on their feet, screaming, jumping, and grabbing their heads in sheer disbelief. The atmosphere was completely unhinged.
"This is unbelievable!" Lawler yelled over the noise. "Neither man refuses to quit!"
Ziggler, running on absolute fumes, crawled toward Sandro. He grabbed the champion by the hair, hauling him up, looking to hit a second Zig Zag to finish the job.
But Sandro was done playing games.
As Ziggler moved behind him, Sandro spun around with blinding, terrifying speed. He ducked a wild right hand from Ziggler, hit the ropes to build maximum velocity, and rebounded.
Sandro delivered a ruthless, sickeningly stiff running elbow strike directly to the back of Ziggler's skull!
The Last Note elbow connected flawlessly.
Ziggler's eyes instantly rolled back into his head. His body went completely limp, dropping straight to his knees in the center of the ring.
Sandro didn't go for the pin. He wanted to make a definitive statement.
The God King grabbed the unconscious challenger, hauling the dead weight of Dolph Ziggler up onto his broad shoulders, settling him into the electric chair position.
Sandro looked out at the roaring crowd, his white gear stained with sweat, his expression cold and unforgiving. He reached up, locking his grip tightly around the back of Ziggler's neck.
With a fierce, terrifying shout, Sandro dropped violently to a seated position, driving Ziggler straight down to the canvas, spiking the Showoff brutally onto his neck and shoulders with his new, catastrophic driver!
"He calls it the Fall From Grace!" JBL roared at the top of his lungs, revealing the official name of the devastating finisher. "The God King has executed his judgment!"
Sandro rolled over, hooking Ziggler's leg firmly.
The referee slammed his hand onto the mat.
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
DING! DING! DING!
The energetic, heavy rock instrumental of Sandro's theme song blared through the PA system, washing over a crowd that was simultaneously exhausted and thoroughly amazed by the masterpiece they had just witnessed.
"Here is your winner, and STILL the World Heavyweight Champion... SANDROOOO ZHANGGGG!" Justin Roberts announced.
"What an absolute war!" Cole yelled, clapping his hands at the broadcast desk. "Dolph Ziggler brought the fight of his life! He pushed the God King to his absolute limit, but in the end, Sandro Zhang proves why he holds the gold!"
"An instant classic, Michael!" Lawler agreed, shaking his head in awe. "Ziggler has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. But that Fall From Grace maneuver is the most dangerous weapon in this company today."
"The King remains on his throne!" JBL cheered triumphantly, raising his hands in victory. "Sandro Zhang gave Ziggler an opportunity, he beat him cleanly in the center of the ring, and he sent a massive warning to Brock Lesnar!"
Inside the ring, the referee handed Sandro the WWE and World Heavyweight Championship. Sandro didn't celebrate wildly. He didn't climb the turnbuckles. He simply stood in the center of the ring, his chest heaving, looking down at the broken body of Dolph Ziggler.
Sandro draped the both titles over his shoulder respectively. He reached down, grabbing Ziggler by the arm, and slowly hauled the battered Showoff back to his feet.
The crowd went quiet, expecting a post match attack.
Instead, Sandro looked Ziggler in the eye and gave him a slow, highly respectful nod, acknowledging the absolute war they had just waged. Ziggler, barely able to stand, returned the nod before rolling out of the ring to let the champion have his moment.
Sandro turned to face the hard camera, raising the WWE and World Heavyweight Championship high into the air. The bright white lights illuminated his gear, making him look like a truly unstoppable deity.
The broadcast cameras focused tightly on the center of the ring. Sandro Zhang stood tall under the blinding white spotlights, the WWE Championship and the World Heavyweight Championship hoisted high into the air. His pristine white gear was stained with sweat and the grit of the canvas, making him look like a conquering deity who had just descended to clear the battlefield.
The New Mary crowd rained down a chaotic, swirling mixture of massive cheers and bitter boos. The atmosphere inside the arena was incredibly unstable. The air felt thick, heavy with an electric tension, as if the thousands of fans in attendance were holding their collective breath, waiting for the next spark to ignite the powder keg.
Sandro slowly lowered the twin belts, resting them on his shoulders. He turned toward the ropes, preparing to step onto the apron and make his exit before the television feed cut to commercial.
Suddenly, a harsh, blaring siren ripped violently through the stadium speakers.
The heavy, aggressive theme music of the Nexus flooded the arena.
The reaction was instantaneous. The fans turned their attention away from the ring and toward the entrance stage, erupting into a deafening wall of loud, hostile boos.
Halfway up the long steel ramp, Dolph Ziggler froze. The Showoff was clutching his ribs, his body screaming in agony from the devastating driver he had just taken. But the moment he heard the siren, instinct took over.
Ziggler didn't retreat to the locker room. He whipped around and began to sprint back down the ramp as fast as his battered legs could carry him. He pushed past the ringside technicians, sliding under the bottom rope and popping up to his feet. Ziggler put his back against the turnbuckle, raising his taped fists, clearly rushing in to help the champion if another multi man ambush was about to begin.
Sandro paused near the ropes. He looked over his shoulder, his cold eyes locking onto Ziggler. The God King didn't say a word. He didn't offer a thank you, but a brief, silent look of acknowledgment passed between them. The urgency of the moment forged a strange, temporary respect.
On the entrance stage, the bright arena lights flashed.
Wade Barrett stepped out from behind the curtain, a live microphone resting in his right hand. The Nexus leader was flanked by Ryback, Mason Ryan, David Otunga, Heath Slater, Justin Gabriel, Darren Young, Curtis Axel, and Michael Tarver. The nine men spread out across the top of the ramp, looking down at the ring with smug, dangerous expressions.
Barrett brought the microphone to his lips and let out a loud, mocking laugh that echoed over the boos of the crowd.
"Well, well, well," Barrett chuckled, shaking his head in feigned amusement. "Isn't this just a beautiful, heartwarming picture? The tyrant and his favorite little court jester, standing shoulder to shoulder."
Barrett took a slow step forward, a sharp, dismissive sneer crossing his face.
"I have to admit, Sandro, I am a bit confused," Barrett mocked, his thick accent dripping with sarcasm. "Just last week, you stood in that exact same ring and declared that you only wanted to give a title opportunity to someone who actually deserved it. You claimed you wanted a monster. You claimed you wanted Brock Lesnar. And yet, here we are, seven days later, and you just handed out a world title shot to Dolph Ziggler?"
Barrett pointed a finger at the Showoff. "Why exactly does he deserve it? Did you hand him a main event spot just because he tried to play the hero and help you out last night? Is that how the great God King operates now? Handing out participation trophies to the guys who hold the door open for him?"
Inside the ring, Sandro didn't flinch. He casually walked over to the ropes, signaling for a ringside crew member to hand him a microphone. He took it, tapping the grill once before bringing it to his mouth.
"Who I give a title opportunity to is my business, Wade," Sandro replied smoothly, his voice cutting through the noise of the arena with chilling authority. "And yes, I gave Dolph the opportunity tonight because he deserves it."
The crowd buzzed, a little surprised to hear Sandro openly defend the challenger.
"Dolph earned his shot for one simple reason," Sandro explained, pacing slowly. "When the rest of you cowards tucked your tails and ran, he stayed loyal. When the ship was supposedly sinking, he was the only man who stood by the flag. That loyalty earned him the chance to step into the ring with me tonight."
Sandro stopped pacing. He turned his head, looking directly at Ziggler. The champion's expression grew incredibly cold and analytical.
"But let's not twist the reality of the situation," Sandro continued, his voice dropping into a blunt, unforgiving register. "Did his loyalty earn him a match? Yes. But in terms of pure skill? In terms of the ruthless mindset required to actually be a world champion? No. Dolph Ziggler does not deserve to hold these titles. He isn't on my level, and quite frankly, he isn't even close."
The arena instantly erupted into a massive chorus of boos. The sheer, brutal bluntness of the statement hit hard. It wasn't standard wrestling trash talk, it sounded like a cold, clinical assessment, which made the insult cut infinitely deeper.
Ziggler stood in the corner. He didn't yell back. He didn't snatch the microphone away. The Showoff simply lowered his eyes to the canvas, reaching up to rub the back of his aching neck. He swallowed hard, taking the harsh words quietly. He knew he had just given everything he had, and he had still fallen short. He bore the heavy weight of the reality check without visibly acting shocked, holding onto his composure by a thread.
At the broadcast desk, the commentary team was divided.
"That is just uncalled for!" Cole argued, slamming his pen down. "Dolph Ziggler just took Sandro to the absolute limit! He nearly won that match three different times! To stand there and publicly humiliate the man who just ran down the ramp to save your skin is disgusting!"
"Sandro doesn't know how to be a human being, Michael," Lawler agreed, shaking his head in frustration. "He only sees people as assets or liabilities. Ziggler just found out exactly where he stands."
JBL leaned back in his chair, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Are you two finished crying? Sandro Zhang is simply stating a fact! He isn't out there to massage Dolph Ziggler's feelings! The God King operates on truth. His brutal honesty is exactly what makes him such a dangerous, effective leader! Ziggler needs to hear it if he ever wants to improve!"
Up on the stage, Wade Barrett laughed again, a harsh, grating sound.
"I really don't care about your twisted performance reviews, Sandro," Barrett sneered. "But I do find it fascinating. You are standing in that ring, still acting incredibly carefree. Still strutting around as if this place belongs to you, even after my boys and I kicked your door down and taught you a severe lesson last week."
Barrett gripped the microphone tightly, his eyes narrowing.
"If you are so confident, Sandro... if you truly believe that you are untouchable... then prove it," Barrett demanded, his voice echoing loudly. "Next week, I want the exact same opportunity you just handed out to Ziggler. I want a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship."
The New Mary crowd immediately showered the stage with deafening boos, rejecting the idea that the Nexus leader deserved anything.
Sandro let out a slow, mocking sigh. He shook his head, looking up at Barrett as if staring at a stain on the pavement.
"Why in the world would I ever accept such a remarkably stupid idea?" Sandro asked, his voice dripping with venom. "You want a title shot? Wade, you don't deserve anything from me. You don't deserve my time. You don't deserve my pity. In fact, you don't even deserve to breathe the same recycled air that I do."
The insult hit its mark perfectly. Barrett's smug smile vanished in an instant. His face flushed bright red, a vein bulging visibly in his neck. He practically vibrated with anger, nearly losing his composure on live television. Behind him, Ryback and Mason Ryan tensed up, their fists clenching, looking fully prepared to sprint down the ramp and tear the ring apart.
Barrett quickly threw his arm out, stopping the massive enforcers from charging. He took a deep breath, forcing a dark, twisted smirk back onto his face.
"I figured you would try to talk your way out of it," Barrett said, his voice dropping into a dangerously calm register. "So, I decided to raise the stakes. You are going to accept my challenge, Sandro. Because if you don't... your three little girls are not going to survive the night."
The crowd fell into a sudden, terrified silence.
Barrett pointed a finger up toward the massive screens hanging above the stage. "Take a look."
The TitanTron flickered. The digital graphic of the skull and knife vanished, replaced by a live, grainy camera feed from a dark, heavily secured room somewhere deep in the bowels of the arena.
Trapped inside the small, concrete walled storage room were AJ Lee, Nikki Bella, and Alexa Bliss. The heavy metal door was visibly barred from the outside. AJ was pounding her fists furiously against the reinforced glass window of the door, yelling something that the audio feed couldn't pick up. Nikki had her arms wrapped protectively around a visibly shaken Alexa. The threat was real, immediate, and completely chilling, and inside the ring, Sandro snapped.
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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 (1st - 376 days), 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