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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Lesnar finally gained the upper hand, delivering a massive right hook that knocked Sandro down to the mat. Lesnar pushed himself up to a vertical base, letting out a loud, terrifying roar that echoed through the stadium. He backed into the corner, crouching down, sizing up his prey. "Wait... What?! Lesnar's loading up a Spear!" Lawler warned. "He wants to cut the champion in half!"
Sandro slowly staggered to his feet, swaying dangerously. His right arm was completely motionless.
Lesnar exploded out of the corner, launching his 286 pound frame like a guided missile, aiming directly for Sandro's injured ribs.
But Sandro was waiting.
With blinding speed, Sandro side stepped the charging Beast and threw a devastating, jumping high knee that connected flush with Lesnar's jaw!
The impact sounded like a rifle shot. Lesnar's forward momentum was completely stopped. He stumbled backward, his eyes glazed over, completely out on his feet.
Sandro knew this was his moment.
He backed into the corner, his chest heaving, his face a mask of absolute, icy focus. He slapped his left thigh, tuning up the band for his ultimate striking finisher.
Lesnar slowly turned around, swaying heavily in the center of the ring.
Sandro sprinted forward, launching his body into the air, and delivered a sickeningly stiff Last Note running elbow strike directly to the back of Lesnar's skull.
The Beast crumbled forward, dropping to his hands and knees.
But Sandro wasn't finished.
He hit the ropes, accelerating to maximum velocity on the rebound. As Lesnar slowly lifted his head, Sandro launched himself again, delivering a second, catastrophic *Last Note* elbow strike directly to the front of Lesnar's face!
Lesnar collapsed onto his back, his arms dropping limply to his sides.
The Chicago crowd was on their feet, screaming at the top of their lungs, knowing the end was near.
"Pin him, Sandro! Pin him right now!" Cole shouted.
But Sandro didn't drop for the cover. He wanted to leave absolutely no doubt in anyone's mind who the true alpha of the WWE was. He wanted to break the Beast.
Sandro walked behind the unconscious challenger. He bent his knees, grabbing Lesnar by the waist.
"He can't be thinking about the Falls From Grace," Lawler gasped in disbelief. "Not with a dislocated shoulder! It's physically impossible to lift nearly three hundred pounds with one good arm!"
"Watch him, King!" JBL yelled proudly. "The God King defies physics!"
Sandro gritted his teeth, his face turning a deep shade of crimson as he dug deep into reserves of strength that seemed downright supernatural. Ignoring the uselessness of his right arm, Sandro relied entirely on his core, his legs, and his left arm, hoisting the massive, 286 pound frame of Brock Lesnar straight up into the air!
He settled the Beast securely onto his shoulders in an electric chair position.
The Allstate Arena shook with the deafening roar of tens of thousands of fans losing their minds.
Sandro stood perfectly still in the center of the ring, a monument to human resilience. He looked out at the roaring sea of fans. He looked at Paul Heyman, who was gripping his hair in absolute terror on the outside.
With a fierce, terrifying shout of absolute, undeniable victory, Sandro dropped violently to a seated position, driving Brock Lesnar straight down to the canvas, spiking the Beast brutally onto his neck and shoulders with maximum, devastating force.
The Fall From Grace.
Sandro rolled over, throwing his left arm and his entire body weight across Lesnar's massive chest, staring directly into the hard camera with a look of cold, undisputed dominance.
Charles Robinson slid into position, his hand slapping the canvas in perfect rhythm with the screaming crowd.
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
*DING! DING! DING!*
The energetic, heavy rock instrumental of Sandro's theme song erupted through the stadium sound system. The Allstate Arena blew the roof off the building, a massive, triumphant standing ovation washing over the ring as the God King successfully defended his throne in one of the most grueling, brutal matches in WWE history.
"He did it!" Cole screamed, clapping his hands together at the broadcast desk. "Against all odds! Against a dislocated shoulder! Sandro Zhang has slain the Beast!"
"I am in absolute awe, Michael!" Booker T yelled, shaking his head. "That was a legendary classic! We just witnessed two men push their bodies past the absolute breaking point, and the God King proved why he sits on the throne!"
"All hail the Beast Slayer!" JBL roared triumphantly, throwing his arms in the air. "Brock Lesnar thought he could walk in here and take the crown! Paul Heyman thought he could intimidate the champion! But Sandro Zhang just proved that he is the most dominant, unstoppable force to ever step foot inside the WWE ring!"
Inside the ring, Charles Robinson slowly helped Sandro to his feet. The champion was battered, bruised, and covered in a mixture of his own sweat and Lesnar's blood. His right arm still hung uselessly at his side, completely immobile, but his head was held high.
AJ Lee, Nikki Bella, and Alexa Bliss slid under the bottom rope, tears streaming down their faces. They didn't hug him, knowing how much physical pain he was in, but they crowded around him, their eyes shining with fierce pride and relief.
The referee handed the WWE Championship and the World Heavyweight Championship to Nikki and Alexa. The two women stepped up beside Sandro, raising the massive gold belts high into the air on his behalf, presenting the victorious God King to his roaring subjects.
On the outside of the ring, a pale, terrified Paul Heyman scrambled to help a semi conscious Brock Lesnar up from the floor, leading the broken Beast slowly up the ramp in absolute defeat.
The cameras flashed continuously, capturing the iconic, unforgettable image of Sandro Zhang, battered but unbroken, standing tall in the center of the ring, flanked by his family and his gold.
The celebration was perfect.
And then, the music suddenly stopped.
The arena fell into a confused silence for a fraction of a second, before an upbeat, energetic rock theme blasted through the stadium speakers.
The Chicago crowd froze. Then, a massive, deafening roar of pure excitement shook the building.
"Wait a minute!" Cole shrieked, his voice cracking. "That's Christian's music!"
"He's cashing in!" Lawler yelled, jumping out of his chair. "Captain Charisma is cashing in the Money in the Bank contract!"
"Are you kidding me?!" JBL panicked, his triumphant smile vanishing instantly. "He was nearly broken in half by Edge two hours ago! He has no business being out here!"
Stepping out from behind the curtain, looking bruised, battered, and moving with a noticeable, heavy limp, was Christian. He clutched his ribs with one hand, but in his other hand, he held the glowing green Money in the Bank briefcase.
The fans cheered wildly as Christian slowly began to jog down the long steel ramp, his eyes locked on the vulnerable, one armed God King in the ring.
Sandro didn't panic. He gently pushed his girls behind him, standing in the center of the ring, raising his good left fist, fully prepared to fight a second war to protect his titles.
Christian made it halfway down the ramp, the crowd urging him on.
But suddenly, the cheers morphed into a loud, frantic wave of confused boos.
A figure clad in black darted out from the front row of the audience, leaping over the security barricade with terrifying speed.
It was Edge.
The Rated-R Superstar didn't hesitate. He sprinted up the steel ramp behind Christian, dropping his center of gravity.
Just as Christian raised the briefcase, preparing to slide into the ring, Edge launched himself forward, driving his shoulder directly into Christian's spine with a catastrophic, sickening Spear on the solid steel ramp!
The impact echoed through the arena like a car crash.
Christian folded in half, the green briefcase flying out of his hands and clattering down the steel grating. Captain Charisma hit the floor, completely knocked unconscious.
The Allstate Arena erupted into a deafening, unified chorus of pure, unadulterated hatred and massive boos.
"NO!" Cole screamed in absolute horror. "Edge just attacked him again! He just speared Christian on the steel ramp!"
"What is wrong with him?!" Booker T yelled, thoroughly disgusted. "That is his best friend! He just ruined Christian's moment for a second time tonight!"
"Edge is a sick, twisted individual!" Lawler agreed, shaking his head. "He couldn't stand the thought of Christian cashing in that contract and winning the World Championship!"
On the ramp, Edge slowly pushed himself up to his knees. He didn't look at the broken body of Christian. He didn't look at the furious crowd. He looked down the ramp, locking eyes with Sandro Zhang in the center of the ring.
Edge picked up the green briefcase, clutching it to his chest, kissing it, before then throw it to the ground. He slowly backed up the ramp, a dark, manic, unhinged smile spreading across his face as he stared at the God King.
The pay per view faded to black on that deeply unsettling, chaotic cliffhanger, leaving the WWE Universe breathless, the reign of the God King secure for now, but a terrifying new, unpredictable threat looming on the horizon.
The moment the Money in the Bank broadcast faded to black, the WWE Universe erupted.
The digital wrestling landscape, spanning Twitter, Reddit, podcasts, and dedicated wrestling forums, was instantly flooded with a tidal wave of passionate, conflicting, and chaotic opinions. It was the mark of a truly great pay per view: fans weren't just discussing one match, they were arguing over three distinct, massive shifts in the WWE storyline.
The first major topic dominating the timelines was the opening ladder match, specifically the heartbreaking climax.
For the first thirty minutes after the show, the internet was a chorus of celebration. "Christian finally did it!" a top post on a wrestling subreddit read. "He's been the workhorse for years, constantly living in Edge's shadow. Winning the briefcase gives Captain Charisma a legitimate, guaranteed path to a World Championship! It's about damn time!"
But that joy was violently overshadowed by the actions of the Rated-R Superstar.
Fans were absolutely stunned. The betrayal felt deeply personal. Edge and Christian weren't just a tag team; they were childhood friends, brothers who had bled together to revolutionize the industry.
"I can't believe he actually speared him," a popular wrestling podcaster noted during a live post show review. "But honestly? It makes perfect sense. Edge is the Ultimate Opportunist. He created the legacy of the Money in the Bank briefcase. He watched his best friend climb that ladder and take the power that Edge believes belongs to him. The jealousy just snapped him. This rivalry is going to be incredibly bitter."
The second massive talking point was the rapid, undeniable ascension of the Nexus.
The internet was heavily divided on their tactics. "Teddy Long is a completely useless General Manager," a frustrated fan tweeted. "He just stood there and let eight guys surround the ring during two championship matches. Of course Kane and Cryme Tyme lost! It was basically a nine on one handicap match!"
"They didn't break any rules," another fan countered in the replies. "They didn't interfere, they just stood there. It's brilliant psychological warfare. The Nexus just proved they aren't just thugs looking for a fight. They are a coordinated army, and now they hold the Intercontinental and WWE Tag Team Championships."
The comparisons to the old Undisputed System were inevitable. Fans began speculating if Wade Barrett was trying to recreate Sandro's former empire.
"The Nexus is looking dominant," a wrestling journalist wrote on their blog. "But let's be real. If they want to truly control the WWE like the Undisputed System did, they have to expand. They need to conquer NXT. And more importantly, they have to get the World Heavyweight Championship. And right now, that title is sitting on the shoulders of a man who just beat Brock Lesnar with one arm."
Which led directly to the third, and most heavily debated, topic of the night, the main event.
The brutal war between Sandro Zhang and Brock Lesnar was immediately hailed as an instant classic. Fans praised the sheer physicality, noting that neither man was made to look weak. Lesnar had thrown Sandro around like a ragdoll, applying a legitimate Kimura Lock, but Sandro had survived through pure, unbreakable resilience.
"The fact that Sandro won with a dislocated shoulder is insane," a fan tweeted. "He is officially the Beast Slayer. Bobby Lashley might have beat Brock first, but Lashley had to use a low blow. Sandro just pinned Brock Lesnar clean in the middle of the ring."
Analysts debated what the victory meant for Sandro's legacy. Defeating Lesnar cleanly elevated the God King to a completely different stratosphere. He wasn't just a great wrestler anymore, he was a living legend, the undisputed alpha of the entire industry.
Deep in the bowels of the Allstate Arena, far away from the screaming fans and the flashing cameras, the atmosphere was much quieter, but no less intense.
Sandro was sitting on a padded examination table in the backstage trainer's room. His pristine white gear was stained with sweat, canvas dirt, and small streaks of Lesnar's blood. He was shirtless, his heavily bruised torso exposed.
A senior EMT stood beside him, gripping Sandro's right arm firmly.
"Alright, Sandro. On three," the EMT instructed, bracing himself. "One. Two. Three."
With a sharp, sickening pop, the EMT forced the dislocated shoulder joint back into its socket.
Sandro barely flinched. He let out a slow, controlled exhale through his nose, rolling the shoulder slightly to test the mobility. Maybe it should have throbbed with a dull, heavy ache, but he of course doesn't feel anything GBU thabe to act like it, happy that the structural integrity was back.
"You are absolutely insane," AJ Lee muttered, standing a few feet away with her arms crossed.
"I second that," Nikki Bella added, looking equal parts relieved and furious. "Do you have a death wish? Brock had you in a Kimura just like planned but you have to move to much like that! You're supposed to not move that much and just act like your arm gets ripped off, not wait for the joint to pop out!"
Alexa Bliss nodded in agreement, handing Sandro a fresh ice pack. "You take way too many risks. You have two world titles. You don't need to prove anything to anybody."
Sandro chuckled, pressing the ice pack against his shoulder. He looked at the three women, an amused glint in his eye.
"Relax," Sandro reassured them, his voice calm. "I've been doing this for almost three years now. I've been thrown off cages, hit with sledgehammers, and jumped by entire factions. Compared to all of that? This was relatively minor. It's actually the first time I've fully dislocated a shoulder since I started."
AJ rolled her eyes, throwing her hands in the air. "Only you would call a dislocated shoulder 'minor'."
Before the women could nag him any further, the heavy wooden door to the trainer's room swung open.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.
Brock Lesnar walked in, a white towel draped over his massive neck. He had a deep, angry red welt on his jaw from the jumping knee strike, and he was walking with a noticeable limp. Walking closely behind him was Paul Heyman, holding a clipboard and looking surprisingly calm.
The kayfabe hatred that had fueled their rivalry for the past month was completely gone.
Lesnar walked over to the examination table, extending his massive, taped right hand.
Sandro stood up, ignoring the ache in his ribs, and shook Lesnar's hand firmly.
"Hell of a fight, kid," Lesnar said, his deep voice carrying a genuine tone of respect. "You took everything I had. You earned it."
"You didn't make it easy, Brock," Sandro replied, a rare, genuine smile crossing his face. "I think I'm going to be feeling those German suplexes for the next month."
Lesnar let out a booming laugh, patting Sandro on the good shoulder. "I told you before, and I'm going to tell you again. You have the mindset. You have the physical tools. When you get tired of this circus, you really need to think about stepping into the Octagon. You could make a massive wave in the UFC."
Sandro laughed, shaking his head. "That's the third time you've pitched that to me, Brock. I appreciate it. I'll think about it. But right now, I have two very heavy belts to carry around here."
Lesnar nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Fair enough. Heal up."
As Lesnar turned to talk to one of the trainers about ice for his knee, Paul Heyman stepped forward. The advocate adjusted his glasses, slipping back into his role as a corporate executive.
"Sandro," Heyman began, his tone strictly professional. "I just got off the phone with Vince. He wanted me to extend his congratulations on a highly successful main event."
"Tell him I said thanks," Sandro replied, sitting back down on the edge of the table.
"I will," Heyman nodded. "But Vince also has a request. As you know, the main roster has become increasingly thin lately. We have a lot of guys sidelined with injuries, and the Nexus is currently locking down a significant portion of the SmackDown roster."
Heyman looked down at his clipboard. "Vince wants to inject some fresh blood into Monday Night RAW to shake things up," Heyman explained. "And given your... unique eye for talent, and your substantial influence behind the scenes, he wants your input. He wants you to select a few names from NXT to be called up immediately."
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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