If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
____________________________
(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
"Oh, I'm not done," Vince said. "Because you're right, Sandro. You are sturdy. You are dominant. One opponent isn't enough." Vince paused for maximum effect. "So, at TLC... it won't just be you versus one man. It will be a Fatal Six Way TLC Match!"
The arena exploded. The noise was deafening. A Fatal Six-Way TLC Match for both titles? The odds were catastrophic for the champion.
"Oh my God!" Cole screamed. "A Fatal Six way?! For both titles?! Tables, Ladders, and Chairs! Sandro has a 16% chance of winning mathematically, and that's before you add the weapons!"
"This is a conspiracy!" JBL roared, kicking his chair. "This is an assassination attempt! You cannot put the God in a match like that! It's barbaric! You can't put the Golden Goose in a blender like that!"
On the ramp, the Undisputed System looked ready to riot. Ziggler was yelling. Ryback was pacing. Wade and Drew were shouting. Big E looked ready to charge the ring. Even the girls looked worried. Heyman was screaming into his phone.
Only Sandro remained still. But it was a terrifying stillness. His eyes burned with a cold, lethal fury that seemed to cut through the distance to the ring. The calm facade was cracking. The God was angry.
Only Sandro remained calm. But it was a terrifying calm. His eyes were wide, staring holes through Vince McMahon. The vein in his neck bulged. The mask of the "cool, collected God" was slipping, revealing the volatile tyrant underneath.
"Six men," Vince said, enjoying every second of it. "Two titles. One match. Good luck, God."
Vince stood in the ring, arms wide, soaking in the chaos he had created. He had finally poked the bear hard enough to make it flinch.
Sandro watched the Chairman preen in the center of the ring, soaking in the chaos he had created like a man wandering through a desert finally finding water. Vince's arms were wide, his chest puffed out, basking in the terrified energy radiating from the Undisputed System at the top of the ramp. It was a masterstroke of booking, a trap designed to break the unbreakable.
But as the noise in the arena reached a fever pitch, Sandro didn't scream. He didn't throw a tantrum like Ziggler or pace like a caged animal like Ryback.
He slowly brought the microphone to his lips.
And he chuckled.
It wasn't a nervous laugh. It wasn't a maniacal, villainous cackle. It was a low, rich, genuinely amused sound that rumbled through the sound system, cutting through the crowd noise like a knife through silk. It was the sound of a man who knew a secret that no one else in the building understood.
The unexpected sound caused the arena to falter. The cheers for the TLC announcement died down into confused murmurs. Why was he laughing? He had just been sentenced to a 16% chance of survival.
"Look at him!" JBL shouted, pointing at the monitor. "I told you! I told you not to doubt the God! That is not the laugh of a worried man, Michael. That is the laugh of a man holding a royal flush!"
"He's lost his mind," Cole muttered, shaking his head. " The pressure has finally cracked him. He knows he can't win a Fatal Six Way TLC match."
In the ring, Vince's smile faltered. He lowered his arms, his eyes narrowing as he stared up the ramp. This wasn't the reaction he wanted. He wanted fear. He wanted begging.
Sandro stepped forward, silencing his own faction with a subtle wave of his hand. He looked down at Vince with a pitying expression, the way a parent looks at a toddler trying to explain quantum physics.
"Oh, Vince," Sandro sighed, his voice dripping with condescension. "You really thought you had me, didn't you? You thought you could corner a God with tables, ladders, and chairs."
He shook his head, walking slowly to the edge of the stage.
"You forgot something very important, old man. You were so busy counting your ticket sales for TLC that you forgot to read the fine print of the contract my father's lawyers drafted for me."
The crowd quieted down, sensing a pivot.
"You see," Sandro continued, tapping his temple. "There is a clause. Paragraph 4, Section B. The 'Right of Refusal.' It stipulates, quite clearly, that as the premiere asset of this company, I have the right to reject any match stipulation that I deem... unsafe, unnecessary, or beneath my station."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
"I have never used it," Sandro said, shrugging. "Because I usually enjoy beating people up. But a Fatal Six Way? For both my titles? In a TLC match? Mmmm... I don't think so."
"What?!" Cole screamed. "He can't do that! That's a cop out!"
"It's a contract, Cole!" JBL cackled, clapping his hands. "It's legally binding! The Zhang family has better lawyers than the McMahons! It's checkmate!"
Sandro smiled, a shark like baring of teeth. "So, thank you for the offer, Vince. But I decline. Maybe find five other guys to play with your furniture."
Vince McMahon looked like he had been slapped. His face turned a deep, violent shade of crimson. He snatched his microphone back up, stepping toward the ropes, his veins bulging in his neck.
"You listen to me!" Vince roared, spit flying. "You think you can hide behind legal mumbo jumbo? You think you can stand there, draped in my gold, and tell me 'no'?"
Vince pointed a trembling finger at Sandro.
"If you use that clause... if you back out of this match... then you aren't a God. You aren't a General. You are nothing but a coward! You are a spineless, yellow bellied coward who talks a big game but runs away the moment the odds aren't stacked in his favor!"
The crowd roared in agreement, sensing blood.
"You act tough!" Vince screamed, his voice shredding. "You act like you run this place! But right now, you look like a frightened little bitch!"
The word hung in the air for a split second before the Miami crowd latched onto it with ferocious delight. It started in the nosebleeds and washed down to ringside like a tidal wave.
"BITCH!" "BITCH!" "BITCH!" "BITCH!"
The chant was deafening. It was thousands of people pouring their hatred onto the man on the stage.
Sandro didn't flinch. He didn't look hurt. He simply stood there, checking his fingernails, letting the chant wash over him. To him, the opinions of the sheep meant nothing to the wolf.
After a solid minute of the chant rocking the building, Sandro raised the microphone again.
"Are you done?" he asked, his voice bored.
The chant continued.
"I said... are you done?" Sandro's voice boomed, silencing the front row.
"You can call me names all night," Sandro said, his tone icy. "You can chant whatever you want. It doesn't change the facts. I am not backing down because I am scared, Vince. I have beaten the Undertaker in Hell in a Cell. I have beaten legends and future hall of famers. Fear is an emotion for mortals, not for me."
He took a step closer to the edge of the ramp.
"I am rejecting this match because there is no benefit for me. Why should I put my body on the line against five desperate men? What do I gain? Nothing. It's a bad business transaction."
Sandro chuckled again, darker this time.
"But... it is actually a funny coincidence that you came out here to make this announcement, Vince. Because it connects rather perfectly to the reason I came out here in the first place."
Vince stared at him, his chest heaving. The bait was dangling. He knew he shouldn't take it. He knew Sandro was spinning a web. But Vince was a gambler, and he couldn't resist the flop.
"What are you talking about?" Vince growled. "What announcement? What connection?"
Sandro smiled. It was the smile of a man who had just led his enemy into a minefield.
"I'm glad you asked."
Sandro signaled to Paul Heyman. Heyman reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded document. He handed it to Sandro with a bow.
"You see, Vince," Sandro said, unfolding the paper. "I am not afraid of your five mortals. I am not afraid of tables, ladders, or chairs. I will never lose these titles to the likes of the people in that locker room."
He paused, looking directly into the hard camera.
"But I am a businessman. And if I am going to put my assets, my WWE and United States Championships, at such high risk... I expect a high reward. I expect an opportunity to expand my portfolio."
The arena went silent. Even the commentary team stopped bickering. Everyone leaned in.
"My announcement," Sandro said, his voice ringing with absolute clarity, "is that the Undisputed System has unfinished business. Last night, Chris Jericho failed us. He can't reclaim the World Heavyweight Championship. He allowed a gap to form in our armor."
Sandro looked at Vince.
"So, I have decided to fix it myself."
"No," Cole whispered. "He can't mean..."
"I am officially declaring my intent," Sandro shouted, "to challenge CM Punk for the World Heavyweight Championship!"
The uproar was instantaneous. It wasn't just a cheer or a boo, it was a sound of pure shock.
"I am coming for the Big Gold Belt!" Sandro roared over the noise. "I am going to bring it back home to the Undisputed System! I have the paperwork right here. The contract is drawn up. The lawyers have vetted it. Everything is ready for a Champion vs. Champion unification match... or perhaps just a collection."
"Three titles?!" Lawler shrieked. "He wants three titles?! He wants the WWE, the U.S., and the World Heavyweight Championship? That's insane! That's never been done!"
"It's brilliance!" JBL was practically hyperventilating. "Imagine the poster! The God of WWE draped in all the gold! It's a money cloning machine, Mr. McMahon! Sign the paper! Give him the match!"
In the ring, Vince's eyes went wide. He shook his head violently.
"No!" Vince shouted into his mic. "Absolutely not! You must be out of your mind if you think I'm going to authorize that! I am not going to let you hold my company hostage! I am not going to let your faction get any stronger than it already is! You want the World Title? Over my dead body!"
"He said no!" Cole yelled. "Thank God! Mr. McMahon is being the voice of reason!"
Sandro didn't look surprised. He looked disappointed.
"I thought you might say that," Sandro said, sighing. He held up the document Heyman had given him. "This contract... it just needs your signature, Vince. It's a license to print money. Champion versus Champion. The God versus the Voice of the Voiceless. It sells itself."
"I said NO!" Vince bellowed.
Sandro shrugged his shoulders. "Very well."
He turned to Heyman. "Paul, call the lawyers. Invoke the clause."
Sandro looked back at Vince.
"Then I guess there will be no Fatal Six Way at TLC," Sandro said casually. "In fact, I think I'll take a vacation that month. I hear the Alps are nice in December."
Vince froze.
"Think about it, Vince," Sandro said, his voice turning hard. "You have already announced the match, literally advertising it. You have opened tickets price based on my appearance. The sponsors... Snickers, Mattel, NBC Universal... they are expecting the God of WWE to be in the main event. If I pull out... if I use my clause... you lose millions. The refunds alone will be a nightmare."
The color drained from Vince's face. He knew Sandro was right. The fallout from canceling the main event of a "Big Four" adjacent pay per view would be catastrophic. The shareholders would revolt.
"This is blackmail!" Vince screamed, pointing at the ramp. "You are blackmailing me!"
"It's negotiation!" Sandro countered smoothly. "It's leverage! You taught me this, Vince! Everyone has a price!"
Sandro took a step forward, his eyes burning.
"So here is the deal. You want your Fatal Six Way TLC match? You want your spectacle? You want your blood money? Fine. I will enter that ring. I will defend both of these titles against five other men. I will put my reign at risk."
He pointed the contract at Vince.
"But in exchange... you give me CM Punk. You give me the World Heavyweight Championship match at Tribute To The Troops."
The crowd was buzzing. Tribute To The Troops. Champion vs. Champion.
"No TLC match unless I get my shot," Sandro said firmly. "That is the price of admission. Take it... or I walk."
On commentary, the team was stunned.
"He's got him," JBL whispered, sounding almost frightened by the audacity. "He's actually got him. Vince can't afford to lose the TLC main event."
"But if he gives Sandro a shot at the World Title..." Lawler trailed off. "If Sandro wins... he controls everything. He becomes the most powerful superstar in the history of the business."
In the ring, Vince McMahon looked like he was about to explode. The veins in his neck were throbbing so hard they looked like they might burst through the skin. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He hated being cornered. He hated losing control.
But he loved money. And he loved big matches.
Sandro stood on the ramp, that infuriating, arrogant smirk plastered on his face. He have AJ who hold the WWE Championship for him, and Nikki who hold the United States Championship, step to stand beside him, and he have the contract in his hand. He was the devil making a deal at the crossroads.
"Tick tock, Vince," Sandro whispered. "The stove is getting hot."
Vince glared at him, his chest heaving. He looked at the fans, who were screaming for the match, desperate to see if Sandro could survive the Six Way, but equally desperate to see the train wreck of a triple champion.
"Fine!" Vince roared, throwing his hands up in defeat.
The crowd erupted.
"You want it?!" Vince screamed, his voice raw. "You want Punk?! You got him! At Tribute To The Troops! If... and only IF... you walk out of TLC with those titles still around your waist!"
Sandro's smirk widened into a genuine grin.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Boss."
Sandro handed the paper to Heyman, who tucked it away safely.
"You better hope you survive TLC, Sandro!" Vince shouted, his voice shaking with rage. "Because I am going to stack that deck so high you'll need an oxygen mask to see the top! I'm going to find the five most dangerous men in this company, and I'm going to unleash them on you!"
"Bring them all," Sandro said, turning his back on the Chairman. "I'll just add them to the collection."
"SHOCK THE SYSTEM!"
The music hit again. Sandro threw his arms up, fireworks exploding behind him. The image was iconic, The God of WWE, holding the industry hostage, standing tall while the Chairman of the board fumed impotently in the ring.
"He did it," Cole said, in disbelief. "He actually did it. He bullied Vince McMahon into giving him a World Title shot."
"We are witnessing history, boys!" JBL cheered. "The era of the Triple Crown King is upon us! All hail Sandro Zhang!"
_______________________________
Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
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, & 1x WWE 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)
Wrestlemania Record: 1 - 0