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(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)
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"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.
As the final hour of Monday Night RAW began, the anticipation in the Chicago arena reached a boiling point.
The digital graphics on the massive TitanTron glitched, flashing bright crimson red. The familiar, highly intimidating black and red skull and blade logo slowly faded onto the screen.
KSSSHHH!
The static hit, and the heavy, driving guitar riff of Cult of Personality absolutely rocked the Allstate Arena!
The Chicago crowd erupted. The reaction was massive, but it wasn't the universally beloved cheer from the night before. This time, a noticeable layer of boos was woven through the applause. The fans respected his toughness, but they were beginning to grow wary of his absolute dominance.
Sandro Zhang walked out onto the entrance stage.
The God King looked like he had just survived a war. He was dressed in a pristine white suit, but beneath the tailored fabric, the bulky outline of heavy medical bandages was clearly visible around his ribs.
He didn't wear both titles around his waist. The World Heavyweight Championship was strapped securely around his midsection, gleaming under the lights. But the WWE Championship was draped carefully over his left shoulder. His right arm was tucked tightly against his chest, immobilized in a sleek, black medical sling to protect the shoulder he had dislocated twenty-four hours prior.
Despite the injuries, Sandro's posture was flawless. He walked down the ramp with a slow, deeply arrogant swagger, flanked by AJ Lee, Nikki Bella, and Alexa Bliss, all three women looking incredibly sharp and protective of their champion.
BOOM!
The golden pyro exploded behind them, signaling the arrival of the undisputed alpha of the industry.
Sandro walked up the steel steps, ducking under the ropes and stepping into the ring. AJ Lee quickly grabbed a microphone from the ringside technician, handing it gently to Sandro's good hand.
Sandro stood in the center of the ring. He didn't speak right away. He looked out at the Chicago crowd, a slow, highly confident smirk spreading across his face as he listened to the mixed reaction.
"Listen to this crowd, guys," Cole noted at the desk. "They respect the hell out of him for what he did last night, but you can feel a slight shift. They don't like how comfortable he looks."
Sandro raised the microphone to his lips.
"Last night," Sandro began, his smooth voice echoing powerfully through the arena, "Brock Lesnar walked into this building. He brought his advocate. He brought his brute strength. He brought a reputation as the most terrifying, dangerous monster in the history of combat sports."
Sandro took a slow step forward, looking directly into the hard camera.
"And I beat him," Sandro stated simply, letting the undeniable fact hang in the air.
A mixture of cheers and boos responded.
"Brock Lesnar threw everything he had at me," Sandro continued, his voice dripping with supreme confidence. "He threw me off a stage. He broke my ribs. He dislocated my shoulder in the middle of this very ring. He pushed me to the absolute physical limit... and I STILL pinned his shoulders to the mat."
Sandro patted the World Heavyweight Championship around his waist.
"I proved exactly what I have been saying for months," Sandro declared, his tone shifting from confident to distinctly arrogant. "I am the most dominant force in the WWE today. I am the Undisputed Champion of this industry. And there is not a single man walking the face of this earth who can dethrone me from my position."
The boos grew significantly louder. The fans were beginning to turn on the sheer size of the God King's ego.
"Look at the list of men who have tried," Sandro challenged, his dark eyes scanning the audience. "Veterans. Legends. Established main eventers. Men who believed they had the right to take my place. John Cena? I beat him. The Nexus? I dismantled them. Edge? I exposed him. Bobby Lashley? I broke him. And Brock Lesnar? I slayed him."
Sandro let out a dry, condescending laugh.
"None of them succeeded," Sandro said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "None of them were good enough. None of them were powerful enough. I sit on a throne that nobody can reach. I am running out of challengers, because there is no one left who can even lace my boots."
At the broadcast desk, the commentary team was divided.
"He is crossing the line from confident to outright arrogant!" Cole pointed out. "He is starting to sound like the dictator he was in the past!"
"Can you blame him, Michael?!" JBL argued passionately. "He just beat Brock Lesnar with one arm! If you do the impossible, you have every right to brag about it! He is stating facts!"
"Facts or not, John, you don't talk down to the WWE Universe like this," Lawler warned. "He is getting way too comfortable at the top of the mountain. He is begging for someone to knock him off."
Sandro raised the microphone, preparing to issue another boast.
Suddenly, the arena lights flickered violently.
A loud, deeply unsettling, distorted sound ripped through the sound system, like a television losing its signal.
BZZZZT!
The lights in the Allstate Arena completely cut out, plunging the massive stadium into pitch-black darkness.
The Chicago crowd instantly erupted into a massive wave of shock, confusion, and raw excitement. The boos for Sandro vanished, replaced by a deafening buzz of sheer anticipation.
Inside the ring, Sandro's arrogant smile disappeared. He instinctively pushed AJ, Nikki, and Alexa behind him, keeping his good arm raised, his eyes scanning the darkness.
A strange, heavy, suffocating atmosphere settled over the building.
Then, a single, eerie small light light up the entrance stage.
The haunting, slow, acoustic twang of Live in Fear began to play over the speakers.
The reaction from the crowd was instantaneous, a massive, ground shaking roar of pure, unfiltered joy. Thousands of cell phone flashlights illuminated the dark arena, creating a sea of digital "fireflies."
"We're here."
The whispered, chilling voice echoed through the dark.
"Wait a minute!" Cole shrieked, completely losing his mind at the desk. "No! It can't be!"
"What are they doing here?!" Lawler yelled in genuine shock.
Stepping out onto the entrance stage, illuminated only by the flickering, amber glow of an old fashioned oil lantern, was Bray Wyatt.
The Eater of Worlds walked slowly, a terrifying, manic smile hidden behind his thick beard. He wore a simple Hawaiian shirt and fedora, carrying himself with a dark, magnetic charisma.
Walking heavily behind him, their massive frames casting long, menacing shadows across the steel ramp, were Luke Harper and Erick Rowan. Harper stared blankly ahead, his eyes wide and unblinking, while Rowan wore his horrifying, expressionless sheep mask.
"This is the Wyatt Family!" JBL yelled, completely baffled. "They are supposed to be in NXT! They aren't on the main roster! Why are they on Monday Night RAW?!"
"Sandro asked for fresh blood!" Cole realized, his voice trembling slightly. "Could this be what he meant? But why would he bring them here?!"
Bray Wyatt stopped at the top of the entrance stage. He didn't walk down the ramp. He simply stood there, slowly raising the glowing lantern into the air, the flickering flame illuminating the terrifying, cult-like presence of his family.
Inside the ring, Sandro didn't flinch. The God King stood his ground, his eyes locked dead onto Bray Wyatt. AJ, Nikki, and Alexa peered out from behind Sandro, looking genuinely unsettled by the bizarre, haunting display.
Bray blowed the lantern, causing the light to turn on, and he lowered the lantern slightly, tilting his head as he stared down at the heavily bandaged champion in the ring. The smile on Bray's face widened into something dark and deeply unpredictable.
He didn't speak a word. He didn't make a challenge. He didn't threaten. He simply watched the God King, letting the heavy, terrifying silence speak for itself.
The heavy, suffocating silence hanging over the Allstate Arena was broken only by the low, haunting crackle of the oil lantern swinging gently in Bray Wyatt's hand.
In the center of the ring, Sandro stood perfectly still. The God King didn't flinch. Despite his dislocated shoulder resting heavily in its sleek black sling, his posture remained rigidly straight. He stared up the long steel ramp, his dark eyes locking onto the eerie, smiling face of the Eater of Worlds.
Behind Sandro, AJ Lee narrowed her eyes, Nikki Bella clenched her fists, and Alexa Bliss crossed her arms, all three women looking visibly unsettled by the massive, menacing figures of Luke Harper and Erick Rowan lurking in the shadows.
Sandro studied the strange trio for a long, quiet moment. Then, the tension broke.
A slow, deeply arrogant smirk curled the corner of Sandro's mouth. He raised the microphone to his lips, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and absolute condescension.
"Well, well, well," Sandro's smooth voice echoed through the stadium, dripping with sarcasm. "Look what finally crawled out of the swamp. Welcome to the main roster, boys."
The Chicago crowd immediately responded with a heavy chorus of boos, rejecting the champion's dismissive, elitist tone.
"I have to say, congratulations," Sandro mocked, giving them a slow, sarcastic round of applause with his one good hand against his chest. "You finally made it to the big leagues. This is where the absolute best athletes in the world compete. But let me give you a little piece of advice right now, Bray. I just survived a war with Brock Lesnar. I am standing here as the Undisputed Champion of this industry. So, I am going to teach you a very quick, very painful lesson about how things work up here."
Sandro took a step forward, his voice dropping into a cold, sharp warning.
"When I am speaking in my ring... you do not ever interrupt me again."
The boos swelled louder. The sheer size of Sandro's ego had officially crossed the line for the fans in attendance. Defeating the Beast had convinced the God King that he was genuinely untouchable.
At the broadcast desk, the commentary team immediately exploded into a heated debate.
"You tell them, Sandro!" JBL cheered loudly, slamming his hand on the desk. "I know exactly where the champion is coming from, Michael! When I was in my absolute prime, when I was the Wrestling God holding that WWE Championship, I demanded respect! Sandro just slayed Brock Lesnar! He is the king of the mountain! These backwoods freaks have no right to come out here and interrupt his time!"
"John, you are letting your bias completely blind you to the reality of this situation!" Cole fired back, his voice rising in disbelief. "Sandro Zhang is acting like Bray Wyatt is just some random rookie off the street. Are you forgetting the history?!"
"What history?" JBL scoffed. "He's a guy in a Hawaiian shirt!"
"Down in Florida Championship Wrestling!" Cole corrected sharply. "Before the God King took over Monday Night RAW, Bray Wyatt was the man who beat him! Bray Wyatt defeated Sandro Zhang and ended his reign as the FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion! Sandro is standing in that ring, nursing a dislocated shoulder, completely underestimating one of the few men on this planet who actually knows how to beat him!"
"Cole is absolutely right," Jerry Lawler added, sounding genuinely concerned. "Sandro is letting his ego write checks his body can't cash right now. Bray Wyatt doesn't play by the normal rules. He uses psychological warfare, and right now, Sandro is playing right into his hands."
At the top of the stage, Bray Wyatt didn't look offended by Sandro's arrogant warning. In fact, he looked delighted.
A low, rumbling chuckle escaped Bray's lips. The chuckle slowly grew, escalating into a rich, eerie, deeply unsettling laugh that echoed through the dark arena without the need for a microphone.
Bray slowly turned his head to the side. Luke Harper, his unblinking eyes staring a hole straight through the champion, stepped forward and gently handed a WWE microphone to his leader.
Bray raised the microphone, his chilling smile glowing in the amber light of the lantern.
The atmosphere in the building instantly changed the second he spoke.
"It has been a very... very long time, Sandro," Bray began, his voice a smooth, captivating Southern drawl that commanded immediate attention. "Look at you. Look at the man you have become. You stand in that ring, wrapped in white, draped in shiny gold. You surround yourself with money, with influence, with absolute power."
Bray took a slow step forward, the lantern swaying gently.
"But I know you," Bray whispered, the words carrying an intimate, terrifying weight. "I can see right through the tailored suits and the pretty little crowns. Underneath it all, underneath the arrogance and the pride... you are the exact same shallow, empty man you were back in Florida."
Sandro's arrogant smirk faltered slightly, his jaw tightening.
"In fact," Bray chuckled, tilting his fedora up slightly, "I think sitting on that throne has only made the rot spread faster. You've become corrupted, man. Your whole life, this whole 'God King' persona... it's a charade. It's a mask you wear because you are terrified of the dark. And tonight? Walking out here, bragging about your conquests? You just cracked the mask."
Bray extended his free hand, pointing a thick finger directly at the champion.
"I am going to help you, Sandro," Bray promised, his voice rising with a dark, fanatical passion. "I am going to cleanse your soul. I am going to strip away the lies, and I am going to take one of those beautiful world championships right off your shoulder."
The Chicago crowd erupted into massive cheers, fully throwing their support behind the Eater of Worlds and his challenge.
"Listen to these fans!" Cole shouted. "Bray Wyatt is speaking hard truths, and the WWE Universe is eating it out of the palm of his hand!"
"He is playing mind games, Cole!" Lawler noted. "He is picking apart Sandro's ego piece by piece!"
"He is a dangerous, delusional opportunist!" JBL roared in disgust. "He hasn't wrestled a single match on Monday Night RAW, and he thinks he can just walk out here and demand a World title match?! He hasn't earned the right to even look at Sandro Zhang!"
Inside the ring, Sandro was visibly irritated. The cold, unbothered facade slipped. He narrowed his dark eyes, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in clear annoyance.
Sandro raised his microphone, taking a step forward.
"You are completely blind, Bray, if you honestly believe history is just going to repeat itself," Sandro shot back, his voice losing the arrogant drawl and adopting a much sharper, serious edge. "I'm not going to stand here and deny the past. Yes, you beat me in FCW. You took a title from me. But you are looking at a ghost. The kid you beat in Florida is dead and buried. The man standing in this ring right now is a completely different animal."
Sandro gestured to his good shoulder with his microphone.
"And let's talk about the logic of your little crusade," Sandro continued, systematically shutting down the challenge. "You want to 'cleanse my soul' by taking my championship? That's a great catchphrase. But what have you actually done on this roster to deserve a shot? Nothing. You haven't beaten anyone. You haven't earned your place in the line. I am the Undisputed Champion, and I do not hand out world title opportunities just because we happen to share a little bit of history in developmental."
Sandro lowered his microphone, staring defiantly at the cult leader, making it absolutely clear that the door was closed.
Bray Wyatt didn't look disappointed. He simply let out another eerie, rumbling laugh.
"You are absolutely right, man," Bray nodded slowly, his smile widening. "I haven't earned a position at the top of the mountain. I haven't proven myself to be one of the elite... yet."
Bray lowered the lantern, the shadows dancing violently across his face.
"But I will."
The promise hung heavily in the air.
"I don't need you to hand me an opportunity, Sandro," Bray spoke softly, his tone laced with absolute certainty. "I am going to prove it. I am going to carve my way through this roster. I am going to earn my way up to your shiny little throne. And every step of the way, I am going to remind you exactly why our history matters."
Bray took one final step forward, his eyes burning with a dark, fanatical intensity.
"Because what happened in the past, Sandro..." Bray whispered cryptically. "Can happen again. Run."
Sandro's face twisted in genuine anger. He raised his microphone, opening his mouth to fire back a final, definitive warning.
Before a single word could escape his lips, the arena lights violently cut out.
The stadium was plunged back into pitch-black darkness.
The Chicago audience exploded into a massive, chaotic cheer, loving the theatricality of the confrontation.
BZZZZT!
The bright, white arena lights snapped back on.
The entrance stage was completely empty.
Bray Wyatt, Luke Harper, and Erick Rowan had vanished without a trace. The only thing left behind was a faint trail of smoke from the extinguished oil lantern drifting toward the ceiling.
Inside the ring, Sandro looked around, his chest heaving with sheer frustration. He hated not having the last word. He hated the psychological games.
AJ, Nikki, and Alexa looked equally irritated, scanning the ringside area, realizing they had been completely outmaneuvered without a single punch being thrown. Sandro dropped the microphone. It hit the canvas with a dull thud. He turned on his heel, motioning for the girls to follow him, and slipped through the ropes. The crowd rained boos down on the God King as he marched up the steel ramp, his jaw clenched, his dislocated shoulder safely tucked in the sling.
_______________________________
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