If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!
Also everyone I have a new novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and I also could say that my Fallout 4 novel have ended (in the P-Tang12))
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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."
Sandro raised an eyebrow. It was a massive request. Giving a superstar the power to handpick call ups was probably unheard of, but it proved exactly how much Vince McMahon had realized that he can't move Nexum Core and Sandro's vision for the company, he have to integrate them.
Sandro remained quiet for a moment, his mind rapidly sorting through the current landscape of the developmental brand. He knew exactly who was down there, and more importantly, he knew exactly who had the potential to make a massive impact on the main roster.
A slow, calculating smile spread across Sandro's face.
"Alright," Sandro said softly. "I have a few names in mind."
Sandro leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly as he listed off a select group of NXT talents.
He didn't list them all at once. He paused after each name, explaining his reasoning. Heyman listened intently, his eyes widening slightly as the list went on. A few of the names were expected, but a couple of Sandro's choices clearly caught the advocate by surprise.
Heyman didn't argue. He knew better than to question the God King's business acumen. He quickly jotted the names down on his clipboard.
"Those are... very interesting choices," Heyman admitted, tapping his pen against the paper. "They will certainly shake up the dynamic on RAW. I'll relay this list to Vince immediately. We should have them on planes by tomorrow morning."
"Make it happen, Paul," Sandro ordered smoothly.
Heyman nodded respectfully, turning and leaving the trainer's room to make the calls. Sandro watched him go, fully aware that the pieces he had just set in motion were going to completely alter the landscape of the WWE. He turned his attention back to AJ, Nikki, and Alexa, letting the adrenaline finally fade as he began the process of recovering from a legendary war.
Twenty four hours later.
The WWE production trucks had barely moved. Monday Night RAW was broadcasting live from the exact same city, the Allstate Arena in Chicago, Illinois.
The fans were already flooding into the building hours before the doors officially opened. The energy was palpable. The crowd was still buzzing from the sheer chaos of the pay per view. Homemade signs dotted the arena, reading: BEAST SLAYER, CAPTAIN CASH-IN, WHY EDGE WHY?, and NEXUS TAKEOVER.
The digital clocks hit 8:00 PM EST.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A spectacular barrage of red pyrotechnics exploded from the entrance stage, the concussive blasts echoing loudly as the classic Monday Night RAW theme song pumped through the stadium speakers. The broadcast camera swept across a sea of wildly enthusiastic fans, capturing the electric atmosphere before panning over to the commentary desk.
"Welcome, everyone, to Monday Night RAW!" Cole shouted, his voice practically vibrating with energy. "We are coming to you live from Chicago, Illinois, and we are dealing with the massive, earth shattering fallout from Money in the Bank!"
"What an unbelievable night it was, Michael!" Lawler added, shaking his head. "I don't think I have ever seen a pay per view with so many shocking moments! The landscape of the WWE has been completely turned upside down!"
"It was a night of kings and cowards!" JBL roared, adjusting his headset. "Let's talk about the main event! Brock Lesnar walked into this building thinking he could bully the champion! He locked in a Kimura! He threw everything he had at Sandro Zhang, and the God King STILL pinned him in the middle of the ring! Sandro Zhang is the undisputed Beast Slayer!"
"You have to give Sandro all the credit in the world," Cole agreed. "He proved his resilience. But JBL, you have to admit, the God King is physically battered. He suffered a dislocated shoulder last night. He is walking around with a massive target on his back, and the sharks are going to start circling."
"Let them circle!" JBL argued passionately. "Sandro thrives in the deep water!"
"We also have to address the absolute tragedy that opened the pay per view," Lawler transitioned, his tone dropping into a serious register. "Christian fought through hell. He climbed that ladder, he grabbed the Money in the Bank briefcase, and he secured his future. And what did Edge do? He speared his best friend on the steel ramp!"
"It was a sickening betrayal," Cole noted. "We have reached out to Christian's side, and we are told he is suffering from severe bruised ribs and minor whiplash. The ultimate question tonight is, will Edge attempt to explain his actions, or is this the beginning of a bitter, personal war?"
"And what about SmackDown?" Lawler asked. "Teddy Long has lost complete control! The Nexus walked out of Chicago holding the Intercontinental Championship and the WWE Tag Team Championships! They are dominating the blue brand, and you have to wonder if they are going to set their sights on RAW next!"
"The consequences of Money in the Bank are only just beginning to unfold, gentlemen," Cole stated as the camera focused back on the ring. "The balance of power has shifted, and we are about to find out exactly what the new era of Monday Night RAW looks like!"
After that, immediately the packed Chicago arena was instantly filled with the slow, methodically creeping bassline of "Voices."
A massive wave of heat, a heavy chorus of boos and jeers, immediately washed over the Allstate Arena.
Randy Orton stepped out from behind the curtain. The Viper didn't move with any urgency. He walked with a cold, terrifyingly calm stride, his eyes locked straight ahead, completely ignoring the venomous reaction from the fans. He wore his standard black wrestling trunks and a simple t-shirt, his heavily tattooed arms hanging loosely at his sides.
"Here comes the Apex Predator," Michael Cole announced, a serious, uneasy tone in his voice. "And gentlemen, I think we are all hoping that tonight is the night we finally get some answers."
"He snapped, Michael. It's as simple as that," Jerry Lawler noted, shaking his head as Orton slowly climbed the steel ring steps. "Dolph Ziggler wrestled a grueling, twenty minute classic against Alberto Del Rio last week, and Randy Orton ruined it. He hit Ziggler with two Punt Kicks for absolutely no reason. It was one of the most vicious, unprovoked assaults I have ever seen."
"Unprovoked?" JBL argued, leaning forward. "King, you know as well as I do that nothing in this ring is unprovoked. Randy Orton is a calculating machine. He doesn't just attack people randomly. There is a motive here, and I guarantee you it has something to do with the fact that Dolph Ziggler has been walking around acting like he belongs in the main event just because Sandro Zhang gave him a pat on the back!"
Orton stepped through the ropes, wiping his boots on the mat. He walked over to the ringside crew, calmly extending his hand. A technician scrambled to hand him a microphone.
Orton stood in the dead center of the ring. He didn't speak immediately. He lowered the microphone to his side, tilting his head slightly as he listened to the relentless boos raining down from the Chicago crowd. He let the hostility wash over him, a faint, condescending smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Slowly, Orton raised the microphone to his lips.
"For the last seven days," Orton began, his voice soft, smooth, and laced with absolute malice, "all I have heard is the same question. In the locker room, in the airports, from management... everyone wants to know why."
Orton took a slow, deliberate pace around the ring.
"They want to know why I decided to kick Dolph Ziggler's skull into the third row," Orton continued, his eyes scanning the crowd. "People keep pointing out that Dolph and I don't really have a history. We don't have a personal rivalry. I didn't have a reason to do what I did. But that right there... that is exactly the problem."
Orton stopped, staring directly into the hard camera.
"I am thoroughly disgusted," Orton stated coldly. "I am disgusted that a guy like Dolph Ziggler is walking around this locker room, acting like he is a top tier athlete. I am disgusted that people actually believe he belongs in the main event scene."
The crowd booed louder, rejecting Orton's elitist attitude.
"Let's look at the facts," Orton said, raising his hand to silence the audience. "Dolph Ziggler is weak. He is a glorified stuntman who has done absolutely nothing to justify breathing the same air as the Double World Champion. Who is Dolph Ziggler, really? Do you people actually remember where he came from?"
Orton let out a dry, mocking chuckle.
"He started his career as a male cheerleader," Orton spat, the disdain practically dripping from his tongue. "He was Vince McMahon's little lackey. A 'Pow Pow Boy' bouncing around the ring in a green sweater, getting beaten up by D-Generation X every single week. He was a joke. And when that failed, what did he do? He found someone stronger. He attached himself to Sandro Zhang. He became the God King's lackey, carrying Sandro's bags in WWE just so he could hold NXT tag team title and pretend he was relevant."
Orton shook his head, his face hardening into a mask of pure arrogance.
"Ziggler has spent his whole career clinging to more powerful men because he doesn't have the spine to be one himself," Orton declared. "He is a parasite. And when you compare a parasite to the Legend Killer... the discrepancy is honestly insulting."
Orton tapped his chest with the microphone.
"I am the standard," Orton boasted, his voice rising in intensity. "I have beaten legends. I have won world championships. I was born into this business, and I have defined it for a decade. When you talk about the WWE Championship, there is only one credible challenger, and he is standing right here in this ring! I punted Dolph Ziggler because I wanted to remind him, and remind every single person in the back, that there are levels to this industry. And Dolph Ziggler? He is at the absolute bottom."
The Chicago crowd showered Orton with a deafening chorus of hatred, refusing to buy into his arrogant narrative.
Before Orton could continue his self praise, the upbeat, electric guitar riff of Here to Show the World suddenly blared through the sound system!
The arena exploded into a massive, genuine pop.
"Wait a minute!" Cole shouted in surprise. "Ziggler is here?!"
Stepping out onto the entrance stage, looking battered but fiercely determined, was Dolph Ziggler. The Showoff was not dressed to wrestle. He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, and a thick, white medical bandage was wrapped securely around his forehead, a stark reminder of the brutal attack he had suffered just a week prior.
Despite his injuries, Ziggler walked down the ramp with unmistakable purpose. He didn't look intimidated. He looked angry.
"I cannot believe he is out here, Michael!" Lawler said, genuine concern in his voice. "He was kicked in the skull twice! He was carried out on a stretcher! He has no business being anywhere near Randy Orton right now!"
Ziggler grabbed a microphone from the steel steps and marched straight into the ring. He stopped a few feet away from the Viper, staring Orton down without an ounce of hesitation.
The crowd buzzed with anticipation, completely behind the resilient superstar.
Ziggler raised his microphone, his chest heaving slightly as he collected his thoughts.
"You want to talk about facts, Randy?" Ziggler started, his voice raspy but steady. "Let's talk about facts. You stand out here and you talk about your legacy. You talk about your experience, your prestige, and your list of accomplishments. And you know what? You're right."
Orton raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the concession.
"You are a multi time world champion," Ziggler admitted openly, nodding his head. "You are a surefire Hall of Famer. You have a better resume than I do. I am not going to stand out here and pretend that I have achieved half the things you have."
Ziggler took a slow step forward.
"And you're right about my past, too," Ziggler continued, a fiery passion beginning to bleed into his words. "I was a cheerleader. I wore the green sweater. I was a punchline for DX. I spent months getting humiliated on national television. And yeah, I went back to WWE and I teamed with Sandro Zhang. Call me a lackey if you want, but joining Undisputed System with him gave me my first real taste of championship gold here in WWE. It proved to me that I could actually hold a title in this company."
The crowd cheered, appreciating Ziggler's brutal honesty. He wasn't running from his flaws, he was owning them.
"Those things happened," Ziggler stated, pointing a finger at his own chest. "But those labels? A jobber? A cheerleader? A lackey? They do not define the man standing in this ring today."
Ziggler's voice rose, echoing with genuine, raw emotion.
"Because what you didn't mention, Randy, is what happened between all of those moments!" Ziggler practically shouted. "For years, I trained! I wrestled! I lost, I got back up, I suffered setbacks, I made sacrifices, and I kept going! Every single time someone in a suit told me to quit... every time someone told me I was never going to be more than a supporting character, I refused to listen!"
The Chicago fans roared, completely captivated by the Showoff's fire.
"Wrestling is my life, Randy!" Ziggler declared, stepping right into Orton's personal space. "I can accept criticism. I can accept that I've made mistakes. But what I absolutely refuse to accept... is some arrogant, entitled snake kicking me in the head and telling me that I am unworthy of stepping inside this ring!"
Ziggler threw his free hand out, pointing toward the canvas.
"If you truly believe I don't belong here," Ziggler challenged, his eyes burning with intensity. "If you really think I am just a parasite... then prove it. Prove it to me tonight. Me and you, Randy. One on one."
The arena erupted into a massive, deafening cheer!
"He challenged him!" Cole yelled, completely shocked. "Dolph Ziggler is demanding a match tonight!"
"The kid has heart, I'll give him that!" JBL admitted, shaking his head. "But he is walking right into the slaughterhouse!"
Orton stood perfectly still, his cold, dead eyes locked onto Ziggler's bandaged forehead. For a long, tense moment, the Viper didn't say a word.
Then, Orton let out a slow, cruel laugh.
"You are delusional," Orton chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You are completely out of your mind. But if you want to play the hero... I will happily oblige."
Orton leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a sinister whisper.
"I accept your challenge, Dolph," Orton promised. "And I promise you this... tonight, I am going to beat you so badly, I am going to break you so completely, that you will gladly crawl back to the irrelevant, pathetic little hole where you have always belonged."
Orton stared unblinkingly at Ziggler for one final second, before casually tossing his microphone over his shoulder. The plastic casing shattered against the mat.
The Viper turned on his heel and slowly walked toward the ropes. He stepped onto the apron, dropping to the floor, and began his long walk up the ramp.
Ziggler didn't move. He stood in the center of the ring, his jaw set, maintaining an intense, fiery stare down with the Apex Predator. Neither man broke eye contact as Orton backed up the ramp, cementing a deeply personal, violent rivalry that was destined to explode later in the night.
As the broadcast transitioned into a commercial break, the camera feed cut to a highly tense scene playing out deep in the backstage area.
Inside the lavish, leather bound office of the WWE Chairman, the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. Vince McMahon sat behind his massive mahogany desk, adjusting his suit jacket with a look of absolute calm.
Standing on the opposite side of the desk, his face flushed bright red with sheer panic and fury, was Paul Heyman.
"You cannot do this, Vince!" Heyman pleaded, his hands planted firmly on the edge of the desk. "I have done my job! I have overseen the highest ratings this brand has seen in years! You put me in power to manage the chaos, and I have delivered! On what grounds are you removing me?!"
Vince McMahon picked up a heavy, gold fountain pen, casually flipping it between his fingers.
"Take a breath, Paul," Vince said smoothly, his gravelly voice carrying an undeniable finality. "This isn't a negotiation. The decision is already finalized."
Vince pushed a thick stack of legal documents across the polished wood.
Heyman looked down at the paperwork. Stamped at the bottom of the page, in bold, black ink, was the official seal of the WWE Board of Directors. But what caught Heyman's eye, making his stomach completely drop, was the second signature on the document.
A sharp, elegant, unmistakable scrawl. Sandro Zhang.
"As you are well aware, Paul," Vince explained, leaning back in his leather chair, "Sandro holds a rather unique contractual clause regarding your employment. He brought it to my attention last night. And quite frankly, I found his argument compelling."
"He manipulated you!" Heyman shouted, his voice cracking. "He is trying to consolidate power! You are letting a twenty two year old kid dictate the corporate structure of your company!"
"What I am doing, Paul," Vince corrected sharply, his eyes narrowing, "is saving myself a massive headache and an exorbitant amount of money. If I fired you normally, I'd have to pay out a ridiculous severance package. But because Sandro activated his ironclad termination clause... this company doesn't owe you a single dime for relieving you of your General Manager duties."
Heyman was completely stunned. The blood drained from his face as he realized he had been expertly outmaneuvered on a corporate level. The smug, untouchable armor he had worn for months shattered into a million pieces.
"You are officially relieved of your position on Monday Night RAW," Vince finalized, tossing the gold pen onto the desk. "We will begin the process of looking for a new General Manager immediately. Now, if you'll excuse me, Paul, I have a show to run." Heyman stood there, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly, before finally turning around and storming out of the office, the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind him. The Advocate had lost his power, and his influence over the flagship brand had been permanently severed.
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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