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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Barrett is in way over his head!" JBL laughed. "You cannot play psychological games with a demon!" Barrett struggled to match Kane physically. Every time the challenger tried to mount an offense, Kane cut him down with a heavy big boot or a devastating sidewalk slam. But Wade Barrett was incredibly intelligent. He realized he couldn't win a fair fight, so he signaled his troops.
As Kane grabbed Barrett by the throat, setting him up for a chokeslam, Heath Slater leaped onto the ring apron. Kane dropped Barrett, turning to swing at Slater, who quickly dropped back to the floor. As Kane turned around, Justin Gabriel was on the opposite apron.
Kane was forced to constantly divide his attention. He was fighting a war on all four sides of the ring.
The distractions slowly drained the monster's momentum. Barrett capitalized, clipping Kane's knee and dropping the giant to the mat. Barrett relentlessly targeted the leg, systematically chopping the big man down to size.
Kane refused to die quietly. He fought back, catching Barrett with a massive flying clothesline off the top rope, and nearly secured a three count after a devastating running DDT. But the numbers advantage was simply too overwhelming.
Around the eighteen minute mark, Kane was completely exhausted. He grabbed Barrett for a final, desperate chokeslam. But Jinder Mahal grabbed Kane's ankle from the outside.
The momentary hesitation was fatal.
Barrett slipped out of the choke, grabbed Kane, and hoisted the massive monster onto his shoulders in a breathtaking display of raw strength before hitting the Wasteland, then picks him up.
Barrett delivered a perfect, brutal Bull Hammer.
Kane got hit hard, but incredibly, the monster sat right back up!
Barrett's eyes widened in panic. He immediately grabbed Kane again, picking him up with a roar of exertion, and delivered a second Bull Hammer.
Kane pushed his shoulders off the mat at two!
The crowd was losing its mind.
Barrett didn't give him a chance to breathe. He grabbed the giant, lifted him a third time, and planted him with a third Bull Hammer. Kane still kicked out.
A fourth Bull Hammer followed. Kane's kickout was weak, his eyes fluttering shut.
Barrett, completely exhausted, dragged the Big Red Monster up for one final, desperate heave. With a terrifying scream, Barrett delivered a fifth, absolutely catastrophic Bull Hammer, hitting Kane's skull straight into the oblivion.
Barrett hooked the massive leg, hooking it with everything he had.
The referee slapped the mat three times.
The Nexus flooded the ring instantly, swarming Wade Barrett as the referee handed him the Intercontinental Championship.
"They did it," Cole whispered in genuine shock. "Wade Barrett just pinned the Big Red Monster."
"Look at the visual, Michael," Lawler noted gravely. "Ryback and Otunga hold the tag titles. Wade Barrett holds the Intercontinental title. The Nexus has completely taken over Friday Night SmackDown. They control almost all the gold."
"All of it... except the World Heavyweight Championship," JBL pointed out, a serious tone in his voice. "Because that title belongs to the God King. And he is the only man standing between Wade Barrett and total domination."
The pay per view pressed forward, giving the crowd a chance to catch their breath. Natalya successfully defended the Divas Championship against Eve Torres in a brilliant, highly technical wrestling clinic, forcing the challenger to tap out to a deeply applied Sharpshooter in the center of the ring.
Several more matches and intense backstage promos filled the next hour, slowly building the tension, allowing the storylines to breathe while simultaneously ratcheting up the anticipation for the highly awaited main event.
Finally, the digital clocks hit the scheduled time.
The arena lights dimmed slightly. The low, steady murmur of the Chicago crowd rapidly swelled into a deafening, unified buzz of pure, unadulterated electricity.
This wasn't just a championship match. This was a war.
SCREEEEEECH!
The apocalyptic guitar riff ripped through the Allstate Arena.
The reaction was massive, a chaotic, earsplitting mixture of terrified boos and wildly enthusiastic cheers.
Brock Lesnar stepped out onto the massive entrance stage.
BOOM!
The pyrotechnics exploded behind him as Lesnar threw his arms down, his massive chest and shoulders gleaming under the bright lights. He bounced aggressively from side to side, a look of pure, homicidal confidence on his face.
Standing right behind him, clutching his hands together with a smug, deeply arrogant smile, was his advocate, Paul Heyman.
Lesnar didn't walk, he stalked down the ramp, a predator closing in on a wounded prey.
The atmosphere in the building was thick and heavy. This didn't feel like a wrestling match. It felt like a sanctioned execution.
Lesnar leaped onto the ring apron, stepping over the top rope with terrifying agility, and began pacing around the squared circle like a caged animal. Heyman stayed on the outside, leaning against the barricade, his eyes locked on the entrance curtain.
The music faded. The arena grew quiet, save for the low, expectant rumble of the thousands of fans.
Justin Roberts, standing in the center of the ring, raised his microphone.
"The following contest is our MAIN EVENT of the evening!" Roberts bellowed, his voice echoing cleanly over the sound system. "And it is scheduled for one fall... and it is for the WWE CHAMPIONSHIP!"
The crowd cheered, fully ready for the clash.
"Introducing first... the challenger," Roberts announced, turning toward the pacing monster. "Accompanied to the ring by his Advocate Paul Heyman... from Minneapolis, Minnesota... weighing in at 286 pounds... BROCKKK LESNARRR!"
Lesnar stopped pacing. He stood in the dead center of the ring, raised his massive, taped fists high into the air, and let out a guttural, terrifying roar that practically shook the turnbuckles. The crowd responded with a massive, deafening reaction.
Justin Roberts lowered his microphone, waiting for the music to hit.
The silence dragged on.
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds.
The TitanTron remained dark. The entrance stage remained empty.
"Where is he?" Cole asked, his voice tight with genuine concern. "The champion should be making his entrance right now."
"I told you guys," Booker T sighed heavily. "I told you. Look at the condition he was in on Monday. You take an F-5 off an elevated stage into a pile of steel... a human body is not meant to survive that. Sandro Zhang might not be physically cleared to compete."
"He will be here!" JBL insisted, though even his confident tone wavered slightly as the silence stretched into a full minute. "The God King does not forfeit!"
Inside the ring, Brock Lesnar crossed his massive arms over his chest, a dark, mocking smile spreading across his face as he stared down the empty entrance ramp, leaving the entire world wondering if the God King was actually going to show up to defend his throne.
The silence stretching across the Allstate Arena was heavy, suffocating, and thick with unbearable tension. Paul Heyman leaned against the barricade on the outside, laughing openly, practically vibrating with smug satisfaction as the seconds ticked by.
"I told you," Heyman yelled at the timekeeper, pointing a stubby finger toward the stage. "Ring the bell and count him out! The boy isn't coming!"
Thirty seconds. Forty seconds. The Chicago crowd began to murmur in genuine concern, a restless, nervous energy washing over the tens of thousands of fans in attendance.
And then, a sharp, piercing burst of static ripped through the stadium speakers.
KSSSHHH!
The heavy, unmistakable, hard hitting guitar riff of Living Colour's *Cult of Personality* blasted through the arena.
The Allstate Arena practically exploded!
A wave of relief, adrenaline, and pure, unfiltered excitement blew the metaphorical roof off the building. The fans leaped out of their seats, throwing their hands into the air as the deafening roar of the crowd threatened to drown out the music itself.
Inside the ring, Brock Lesnar's mocking smile vanished instantly. His brow furrowed, and he dropped into a low, predatory stance. On the outside, Paul Heyman's jaw dropped in sheer disbelief, his eyes wide as he stared at the stage.
The digital screens illuminating the TitanTron flared to life, burning a brilliant, vibrant crimson. The familiar red and black skull and knife logo rotated onto the massive screens.
At the dead center of the entrance stage, a mechanical hydraulic lift began to slowly rise from beneath the steel grating.
Thick, white smoke billowed around the platform as the God King emerged from the depths.
Sandro Zhang stood perfectly still on the rising lift, ascending into the bright arena lights. He didn't look like a broken man. He didn't look like someone who had been thrown off a stage two weeks prior. He looked like a conqueror stepping onto a battlefield.
Resting heavily on his right shoulder was the World Heavyweight Championship. Secured over his left shoulder was the WWE Championship. He wore his signature pristine white wrestling tights, the menacing skull logo emblazoned on the side.
The physical toll of his war with Lesnar was still starkly visible. A thick, wide bandage was wrapped tightly around his midsection, supporting his bruised ribs. Heavy strips of black athletic tape stretched across his right shoulder and snaked up the side of his neck. But if the champion was in pain, his face didn't show it. Sandro's expression was an absolute void, cold, calculating, and completely devoid of fear.
He didn't stand alone.
Rising on the lift just one step behind him were AJ Lee, Nikki Bella, and Alexa Bliss. The three women looked fierce, protective, and intensely focused. They wore matching dark ring gear, their eyes locked down the ramp, making it abundantly clear that they were walking their champion into this war together.
As the lift locked into place level with the stage, the music hit a crescendo.
BOOM!
A massive, dazzling wall of golden pyrotechnics erupted from the lighting rigs above, raining a shower of sparks down behind the God King.
Sandro took a slow, deliberate step forward, beginning his march down the long steel ramp. His three girlfriends flanked him closely, walking in perfect synchronization.
"He is here!" Cole shouted over the deafening noise of the Chicago crowd. "Against all odds, fighting through unimaginable physical pain, the God King refuses to back down from the Beast!"
"Look at the focus in his eyes, Michael," Lawler noted, a deep respect evident in his voice. "He knows exactly what he is walking into. He knows Brock Lesnar is waiting to tear him limb from limb, but Sandro Zhang simply does not know the meaning of the word quit."
"That is what makes him a true champion," Booker T added, leaning over the broadcast desk. "You can wrap him in bandages, you can tape up his shoulder, but you cannot tape up his heart! He is walking into the danger zone!"
"He isn't just walking into it, Booker, he is embracing it!" JBL roared triumphantly. "Look at the panic on Paul Heyman's face! They thought they broke him! They thought a cowardly ambush would steal the crown, but Sandro Zhang is forged in iron! You are looking at greatness!"
Sandro reached the bottom of the ramp. He paused at the steel ring steps, taking a slow, measured breath, his chest expanding against the tight medical tape. He didn't look at the crowd. His dark, intense gaze was locked exclusively on Brock Lesnar.
Sandro climbed the steps and ducked gracefully under the middle rope, stepping onto the canvas. AJ, Nikki, and Alexa stayed on the outside, standing together near the barricade, refusing to take their eyes off Heyman.
Justin Roberts raised his microphone, his voice echoing powerfully through the arena.
"Introducing the champion!" Roberts bellowed. "Accompanied to the ring by AJ Lee, Nikki Bella, and Alexa Bliss... from Orlando, Florida... weighing in at 230pounds! He is the World Heavyweight and the WWE Champion... the God King... SANDROOOO ZHANGGGG!"
Sandro walked directly to the center of the ring, stopping less than three feet away from the Beast Incarnate. The height and weight difference was stark, but Sandro didn't flinch. He slowly unbuckled the World Heavyweight Championship, handing it securely to Charles Robinson. He then removed the WWE Championship, passing it to the official as well.
The referee took the WWE title, stepping between the two massive egos. Robinson turned to Lesnar, holding the gold plate up so the Beast could see exactly what they were fighting for. Robinson then walked to the center of the ring, raising the championship high above his head to a massive, roaring ovation from the fans, before carefully passing both belts through the ropes to the timekeeper's area.
Robinson checked Lesnar, who was practically foaming at the mouth, cracking his knuckles and bouncing aggressively on his toes.
The referee then turned to Sandro. The God King gave a single, tight nod, raising his taped fists, settling into a low martial arts stance.
Robinson backed away to the ropes, raised his hand into the air, and signaled for the bell.
DING! DING! DING!
The main event of Money in the Bank had officially begun.
Lesnar didn't waste a single millisecond. The Beast exploded forward with terrifying, explosive speed, lunging across the canvas like a heavyweight grizzly bear looking to take Sandro's head clean off his shoulders with a massive right hook.
But Sandro was ready for the sheer aggression.
Using his superior agility, Sandro ducked cleanly underneath the wild swing. As Lesnar's momentum carried him forward, Sandro pivoted sharply, driving a blistering, stiff kick directly into the back of Lesnar's left knee.
The crack of shin against muscle echoed loudly. Lesnar grunted, his leg buckling slightly, but he immediately spun around, swinging a heavy backhand. Sandro slipped backward, evading the strike by inches, and answered with a rapid fire combination, a left jab, a right cross, and another stinging leg kick that found its mark on Lesnar's thigh.
"Sandro is using his speed early!" Cole called out. "He knows he cannot lock up with Brock Lesnar! He has to stick and move!"
"It's the perfect strategy, Cole," Booker T agreed. "Chop down the tree! Take away the base of the Beast, and you take away his power to throw those suplexes!"
Lesnar let out an angry roar, completely ignoring the sting in his leg, and charged again like a runaway freight train. This time, he didn't swing. He lowered his massive shoulder, tackling Sandro squarely in the midsection.
The impact drove the breath forcefully from Sandro's lungs. The champion gasped as Lesnar's raw power carried them both backward, violently slamming Sandro into the corner turnbuckles.
Lesnar didn't give him room to breathe. The Beast drove his heavy shoulder repeatedly into Sandro's heavily taped ribs. One. Two. Three. Four. Every impact forced a sickening thud, and Sandro's face contorted in absolute agony.
"Lesnar is zeroing right in on those injured ribs!" Lawler warned. "He is trying to break the God King in half in the first two minutes of the match!"
Lesnar grabbed Sandro by the waist, looking to hit his first German suplex of the night. But as Lesnar popped his hips to lift the champion, Sandro reacted purely on survival instinct. He threw two sharp, desperate elbow strikes backward, catching Lesnar flush on the bridge of the nose.
Lesnar's grip loosened just enough. Sandro spun out of the waistlock, grabbed the back of Lesnar's neck with both hands, and delivered a devastating, leaping knee strike that connected solidly with Lesnar's jaw!
The Chicago fans exploded as Lesnar staggered backward, blinking rapidly to clear the cobwebs.
Sandro hit the ropes, accelerating to maximum velocity, and launched himself forward with a beautiful running crossbody. But Lesnar simply caught him in mid air!
With a terrifying display of brute force, Lesnar shifted Sandro's weight, hoisted him up, and violently hurled the champion over the top rope!
Sandro tumbled through the air, crashing spine-first onto the thin mats covering the ringside floor.
"Good god, the sheer strength of Brock Lesnar!" Cole yelled. "He just tossed a two hundred and thirty pound man out of the ring like a ragdoll!"
"That is what happens when you anger the Beast!" Booker T said, shaking his head. "Sandro got a little too aggressive, and Lesnar made him pay the price!"
"The referee needs to get control of this!" JBL demanded angrily. "Lesnar is trying to permanently injure the champion!"
Lesnar rolled under the bottom rope, stalking his prey on the outside. AJ, Nikki, and Alexa immediately rushed over to Sandro, checking on him with wide, concerned eyes as he clutched his ribs on the floor.
Paul Heyman saw the opportunity to inflict psychological damage. The advocate strutted over, hiding safely behind Lesnar's massive frame, and pointed a mocking finger at the three women.
"Take a good look, girls!" Heyman laughed, his voice dripping with venom. "Watch closely! You are about to see what a real man looks like when he breaks your little boy in half!"
Nikki Bella's face turned bright red with fury. She stepped forward, looking ready to slap the taste out of Heyman's mouth, but Lesnar quickly stepped in her path, his chest puffed out, daring her to make a move.
The blatant disrespect to his family triggered something dark and violent inside the God King.
Ignoring the burning pain in his ribs, Sandro surged to his feet. He lunged past Lesnar's guard, grabbing the Beast by the back of the neck, and forcefully drove Lesnar face first into the heavy steel ring post!
The sickening CLANG resonated through the front rows.
The crowd went completely frantic!
Lesnar stumbled backward, clutching his forehead. Sandro didn't stop. He grabbed Lesnar by the arm, whipping the massive challenger violently into the barricade. The barrier bent under Lesnar's immense weight.
Sandro leaped onto the ring apron. He measured the distance, took a deep breath, and launched himself off the edge, connecting with a breathtaking flying forearm smash that sent both men crashing over the barricade and tumbling into the lap of the timekeeper!
"Sandro is fighting back with everything he has!" Cole shrieked over the noise of the riled up crowd. "The champion is unleashing a blinding rage on the outside!"
"He is defending his family, Michael!" JBL roared, thoroughly enjoying the violence. "You push a king, you face his wrath! Beat him down, Sandro! Send that mercenary back to the woods!"
Sandro scrambled out of the wreckage of the timekeeper's area. He grabbed a heavy steel folding chair, fully intending to swing it at Lesnar's skull.
Charles Robinson leaned through the ropes, screaming at the champion. "Put it down! Sandro, drop the chair or I will disqualify you!"
Sandro hesitated. He knew a disqualification would allow him to keep the titles, but it wouldn't slay the Beast. He didn't want to survive, he wanted to conquer. Reluctantly, Sandro tossed the steel chair away.
That momentary hesitation was a fatal mistake.
As Sandro turned back, Lesnar had recovered. The Beast lunged forward, wrapping his thick arms around Sandro's waist. With a guttural roar, Lesnar deadlifted the champion off the concrete, took two steps, and forcefully drove Sandro spine first into the unforgiving edge of the ring apron!
Sandro let out a breathless shriek of agony, collapsing to the floor and clutching his lower back.
"The hardest part of the ring!" Lawler yelled, clutching his own back in sympathy. "Lesnar is a ruthless machine! He saw an opening and he capitalized instantly!"
Lesnar grabbed Sandro by the hair, hauling the semi conscious champion up, and rolled him under the bottom rope. The Beast slid in right behind him, the terrifying smile returning to his face.
The match slowed down, shifting into a brutal, methodical dissection.
Lesnar dragged Sandro to his feet, hooked the champion's waist from behind, and delivered a massive, high angle German suplex. Sandro flew across the ring, landing awkwardly on the back of his neck.
"Suplex City has opened its doors in Chicago," Cole noted gravely as Lesnar popped his hips and delivered a second, equally violent German suplex.
The physical toll was becoming increasingly obvious. The thick strips of medical tape holding Sandro's ribs together were beginning to peel and tear under the sheer friction of the canvas. Bright red welts were forming across the champion's torso. Lesnar didn't go for a pin. He wanted to inflict pain. He dragged Sandro to the center of the ring, wrapping his massive, tree trunk arms securely around Sandro's injured midsection, and locked in a devastating, suffocating bear hug. Lesnar squeezed with terrifying pressure, shaking Sandro side to side like a ragdoll.
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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