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!)
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When Henry went for a clothesline, Sandro ducked, hit the ropes, and threw a flying forearm directly into Henry's jaw. The World's Strongest Man barely flinched, swatting Sandro out of the air like a pesky fly. Henry scooped Sandro up and locked him in a suffocating bearhug.
"The power of Mark Henry is unmatched!" Cole yelled. "He is squeezing the life out of the United States and WWE Champion!"
Sandro writhed in pain, the air being forced from his lungs. But the God of WWE was nothing if not resourceful. He brought his hands up and clapped them violently over Henry's ears, disorienting the big man and forcing him to break the hold.
Sandro hit the mat, gasping for air, but immediately went to work on Henry's legs. He utilized stiff, Muay Thai style leg kicks, chopping down the foundation of the World's Strongest Man.
"Look at the strategy!" Striker noted. "Sandro is breaking down the vertical base! He knows he can't lift Henry, so he has to bring Henry down to his level!"
"He's a genius!" JBL praised. "A tactical mastermind!"
The match escalated into a breathless back and forth. Henry caught Sandro with a massive powerslam that earned a 2.9 count. Sandro answered with a jaw dropping tornado DDT off the second rope that planted Henry squarely on his head.
The climax arrived in a sequence that left the entire Las Vegas crowd, and the commentary team, utterly speechless.
Henry was staggered, standing near the center of the ring but clearly dazed. Sandro was backed into the corner. He realized that standard strikes weren't going to put the World's Strongest Man away. He needed something new. Something lethal.
Sandro charged forward. He hit the ropes, accelerating to maximum speed. As he rebounded, he didn't run at Henry. Instead, he leaped toward the adjacent ropes.
He sprang off the middle rope with a springboard leap, propelling himself backward into the air. While completely inverted in a mid air backflip, Sandro reached out, caught the stunned Mark Henry around the head and neck, and violently drove him face first into the canvas on the way down.
The arena erupted into a sound that was half cheer, half scream of pure shock.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" Cole screamed, leaping out of his chair. "Did you see that?! What do you even call that?!"
"I have no idea!" Striker yelled, his voice cracking with excitement. "A springboard with backflip turned into a cutter?! That is one of the most complicated, physically demanding, and devastating maneuvers I have ever seen in my life!"
"It's divine intervention!" JBL roared. "The God of WWE is inventing new ways to destroy people!"
Mark Henry was completely out, but his massive frame instinctively pushed up, leaving him kneeling on all fours in the center of the ring, staring blankly at the mat.
Sandro, having rolled smoothly to his feet from the cutter, saw the opening.
He didn't hesitate. He sprinted toward the ropes behind Henry, rebounded with that familiar, terrifying explosive speed, dropped low, and swung his arm.
CRACK.
THE LAST NOTE!
The elbow connected with the back of Henry's head and neck, putting the final nail in the coffin. Henry collapsed flat onto the canvas.
Sandro hooked the massive leg.
One. Two. Three.
DING! DING! DING!
The bell rang, and the crowd was on its feet.
"He did it!" Cole gasped, still trying to process the sequence of moves. "Sandro Zhang has defeated the World's Strongest Man again! The sheer athleticism, tactics, the innovation we just saw... love him or hate him, you cannot deny his greatness."
"Deny it?!" JBL laughed triumphantly. "You have to worship it, Michael! Sandro Zhang has run the gauntlet of two big monsters tonight, and he has survived to advance to the final round of this tournament!"
Sandro stood up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He didn't look exhausted, he looked exhilarated. He pointed a single finger toward the entrance ramp, his eyes burning with focus.
He was advancing to the finals of the King of the Ring tournament. The Celtic Warrior, Sheamus, was waiting. And the God of WWE was one victory away from adding a crown to his already unprecedented empire of gold.
The Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas was still buzzing, a collective hive of adrenaline trying to process the sheer audacity of Sandro Zhang's victory.
The God of WWE had just survived two of the most destructive forces in professional wrestling history, Kane and Mark Henry, in a single night, inventing a breathtaking new maneuver in the process.
The image of the World's Strongest Man collapsing from the Last Note was still replaying on the TitanTron as the ring crew frantically swapped out the mat canvas, preparing for the next bout.
"I need a moment to catch my breath," Michael Cole admitted over the broadcast, loosening his tie. "But the WWE train waits for no man. We have to keep this show rolling, and up next, we have a very intriguing mixed gender tag team match!"
"Awesome!" Matt Striker said, his voice returning to its usual analytical tone. "This is a clash of styles and a clash of attitudes. The self proclaimed 'A-Lister' The Miz teams up with the French Canadian beauty, Maryse, to take on Tyson Kidd and Natalya of the Hart Dynasty!"
"I CAME TO PLAY!"
The arrogant, driving beat of The Miz's theme song hit the arena, immediately drawing a chorus of loud, passionate boos from the Las Vegas crowd.
The Miz stepped out, adjusting his sunglasses, a smug, punchable smirk permanently etched onto his face. Beside him walked Maryse, flipping her blonde hair with a look of utter disdain for the Nevada crowd.
They were met with a chorus of loud, cascading boos. To the vast majority of the casual audience, they were simply two incredibly obnoxious heels paired together for a match.
However, the hardcore fans, the ones who scoured internet dirt sheets and scrutinized blurry paparazzi photos, knew that their connection ran deeper. Rumors of them dating in real life had been circulating for months, adding an extra layer of genuine chemistry to their on screen pairing.
The Miz and Maryse walked down the ramp, exuding a synchronized arrogance. As they reached the ring, Miz theatrically pulled down the middle rope, allowing Maryse to step through gracefully before he vaulted over the top rope himself. They posed together in the center, soaking in the heat.
Suddenly, the heavy guitar wail of the Hart Dynasty's theme cut through the boos, turning them into a massive pop.
Out stepped Tyson Kidd and Natalya, draped in the legendary pink and black of the Hart family dungeon. They were accompanied by the powerhouse David Hart Smith, who walked behind them like a towering bodyguard.
The trio marched down the ramp with purpose. Tyson and Natalya slid into the ring simultaneously, throwing their arms up to the cheers of the crowd, while David Hart Smith took his post at ringside, keeping a watchful eye on The Miz.
The referee separated the teams, sending the women to the apron to start. He made sure both Tyson Kidd and The Miz were ready before signaling the timekeeper.
DING! DING! DING!
The men started the match with a rapid fire sequence of chain wrestling. Tyson Kidd, trained in the legendary Dungeon, immediately went to work, out grappling The Miz with a smooth drop toe hold followed by a floating front facelock. Miz scrambled to the ropes, forcing a break, looking visibly frustrated.
"Tyson Kidd is putting on a clinic early!" Cole noted. "Miz likes to run his mouth, but when it comes to pure mat wrestling, Kidd has the pedigree."
The Miz fired back with a cheap shot to the gut and a stiff running clothesline in the corner. He stomped away at Kidd, playing to the crowd's hatred. But Kidd used his agility to escape a suplex attempt, hitting a beautiful springboard dropkick that sent Miz tumbling toward his own corner. Miz, panicking, desperately tagged in Maryse.
By the rules of the mixed tag match, Natalya instantly had to enter the ring.
The crowd buzzed as the women circled each other. Maryse taunted Natalya, doing her signature hair flip and talking trash in French. Natalya didn't say a word; she just charged. She hit a powerful discus clothesline that nearly took Maryse's head off, followed by a snap suplex that showcased her immense core strength.
The match became a high paced affair, blending high flying maneuvers with grounded, technical submissions. Tags were made frequently.
At one point, Tyson Kidd hit a breathtaking suicide dive through the ropes, wiping out The Miz on the floor.
Inside the ring, Natalya locked Maryse in a sharp surfboard stretch, bending the glamorous superstar in half until Miz had to break it up with a cheap kick behind the referee's back.
"This is exactly why you have to keep your head on a swivel in a mixed tag match!" Striker analyzed. "The rules are strict, but the chaos is inevitable!"
The climax of the match arrived as the action broke down. The Miz and Tyson Kidd were battling fiercely in the ring. Kidd hit a spinning heel kick and went to the top rope, looking for his finishing Blockbuster.
But on the outside, Maryse had recovered. She grabbed Natalya by the hair, driving her face first into the steel ring post. As Natalya stumbled back, groggy and dazed, Maryse hooked her arms and executed a brutal, picture perfect French Kiss DDT right onto the unforgiving ringside floor mats!
The sickening thud echoed around the arena. David Hart Smith rushed over to check on his partner, yelling at the referee.
Up on the top turnbuckle, Tyson Kidd looked down, distracted by the carnage happening to Natalya. "Nattie!" he yelled, losing his focus for just a fraction of a second.
That was all The Awesome One needed. The Miz leaped up, tripping Kidd so he crotched himself on the top turnbuckle. Miz dragged the staggered Kidd down to the mat, kicked his legs out, and hooked his arms from behind.
Skull Crushing Finale!
The Miz drove Kidd face first into the canvas and rolled him over, hooking the leg tightly.
One. Two. Three.
"Here are your winners... The Miz and Maryse!"
"What a cheap victory!" Lawler groaned. "Miz took complete advantage of Maryse's dirty work on the outside! Tyson Kidd was worried about his family!"
"It's called synergy, King!" JBL laughed. "The Miz and Maryse are a cohesive unit! You take your eyes off the prize, you lose the match! Brilliant strategy by the duo!"
Miz and Maryse celebrated in the ring, raising their arms and kissing the camera lens before retreating up the ramp, leaving the Hart Dynasty to tend to a battered Natalya.
The broadcast didn't slow down. As the ring crew cleared the area, a hype package played, highlighting a simmering, violent rivalry that had been boiling over on RAW for weeks.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Cole transitioned. "The animosity between our next two competitors has reached a boiling point. For weeks, Jack Swagger and Ezekiel Jackson have been at each other's throats, trying to prove to the WWE Universe, and to each other, who is the ultimate powerhouse on this roster."
"GET ON YOUR KNEES!"
The aggressive, pulsing rock theme of the All-American American hit the speakers. Jack Swagger marched out, his chest puffed out, doing his signature pushups on the stage as pyrotechnics blasted around him.
He jogged down the ramp, exuding the confidence of a Division I collegiate wrestling champion. He slid into the ring, bouncing on his toes, ready for a fight.
Moments later, the heavy, imposing bass of Ezekiel Jackson's theme reverberated through the Thomas & Mack Center. Ezekiel Jackson stepped out, a mountain of muscle looking like he was carved from absolute granite.
The Personification of Domination didn't do pushups, he just stared a hole through Swagger, marching down the aisle with a terrifying, singular focus.
The referee stood between the two bulls, holding them back until he was absolutely sure they were ready. He signaled the bell.
DING! DING! DING!
Neither man waited for a feeling out process. They charged exactly into the center of the ring, meeting in a massive collision of meat and bone. They began laying heavy, closed fist punches into one another, abandoning technique for pure, unadulterated brawling. The Las Vegas crowd roared, eating up the sheer violence of the exchange.
"This is exactly what we expected!" Striker yelled. "No wrist locks, no arm drags! This is two alpha males trying to knock the other's block off!"
The match was a brutal showcase of power versus power. Ezekiel Jackson used his terrifying upper body strength to hit a massive running shoulder block that actually sent Swagger flying through the air. Jackson followed it up with a series of thunderous body slams, tossing the All-American American around like a cruiserweight.
But Swagger was resilient and highly educated in the ring. When Jackson went for a massive clothesline, Swagger ducked, caught Jackson's waist, and hit a stunning belly to belly suplex that shook the ring.
Swagger went to work on the big man's legs, neutralizing Jackson's vertical base with chop blocks and tactical knee strikes.
"Swagger is using his amateur background perfectly!" Lawler noted. "You can't slam what you can't lift, and if Ezekiel Jackson doesn't have his legs under him, he's just a big target!"
The finish came abruptly. Jackson, fighting on one good leg, managed to hit a massive clothesline in the corner. He backed up, looking to hit his Book of Ezekiel slam. But as he charged, Swagger dropped down, hitting a perfect double-leg takedown.
Swagger immediately transitioned, dragging Jackson toward the corner. Swagger bounced off the ropes, leaped into the air, and crushed Jackson's chest with the Swagger Bomb.
But Swagger didn't go for the pin. He grabbed Jackson's injured ankle, rolled him over, and locked in the Patriot Lock! Swagger wrenched the ankle violently, screaming at Jackson to tap. The big man fought, clawing at the mat, but the pain of his surgically targeted leg was too much. Jackson pounded the mat in submission.
"Swagger wins it!" Cole shouted. "An impressive display of power and submission wrestling from the All-American American!"
The arena lights dimmed slightly, and a regal, instrumental theme began to play softly in the background. A graphic flashed on the TitanTron, a golden crown resting on a velvet pillow.
"Well, gentlemen," Cole said, his voice dropping into a register of extreme gravity. "We have reached the apex of the evening. The main event. The final round of the 2010 King of the Ring tournament. And frankly, I am terrified of what might happen if Sandro Zhang leaves Las Vegas with a crown on his head."
"It would be a disaster for the locker room morale," Lawler agreed, shaking his head. "He already holds two titles. He has extorted a shot at a third. If he becomes King of the Ring, his ego will be completely untethered from reality. We have to hope Sheamus can end this madness tonight."
"He's a tyrant, plain and simple," Striker added, pushing his glasses up his nose. "And historically, tyrants eventually face a rebellion. Let's hope the Celtic Warrior leads the charge."
JBL, completely surrounded by his three detractor colleagues, was absolutely in his element, fighting a one man war of words.
"You three sound like a bunch of nervous peasants whispering about the monarchy!" JBL roared, leaning over the desk to point a finger at Cole. "You're scared because you're witnessing history! You're watching a man rewrite the record books! Sheamus is a great brawler, sure, but he is stepping into the ring with a God! Sandro Zhang is going to put that crown on his head, and you three are going to have to bow whether you like it or not!"
"It's absurd, John!" Striker argued, shaking his head. "Sandro Zhang has wrestled two monsters tonight! His body has to be broken! He has to be running on fumes! Meanwhile, Sheamus has been resting since the semifinals! The Celtic Warrior is fresh, he is angry, and he is looking to take the God's head off with a Brogue Kick!"
"Sandro isn't human, Matt!" JBL fired back, slamming his hand on the table. "You keep trying to apply mortal limits to an immortal being! I don't care if he fought Godzilla and King Kong before this, the Undisputed System leaves Las Vegas with that crown!"
The passionate, fervent debate at the desk was cut short by the blaring, majestic horns of the Celtic Warrior.
"WRITTEN IN MY FACE."
The Las Vegas crowd erupted into massive, overwhelming cheers. Sheamus stepped through the curtain, the bright arena lights reflecting off his pale skin. He wasn't smiling. He looked like a man walking into a warzone.
He marched down the ramp, pounding his chest, completely laser focused. He entered the ring, stepping onto the middle turnbuckle and raising his arms, letting out a primal scream that resonated with every fan who desperately wanted to see the Undisputed System fall.
Sheamus hopped down and went to his corner, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger.
The arena went pitch black.
"SHOCK THE SYSTEM."
The terrifying, digital screech echoed through the darkness. The familiar, gritty guitar riff of "Cult of Personality" hit the speakers.
The boos that cascaded down from the Las Vegas crowd were nuclear. It wasn't just heat, it was pure, unadulterated hatred for the man who was holding their beloved show hostage.
The lights shifted to gold, and out walked Sandro Zhang.
Just like his previous two matches, the visual was jarringly minimalist. He was entirely alone. There were no titles draped over his shoulders. There was no Paul Heyman hovering nearby. There were no queens to flank him, and no muscle to protect him.
He stopped at the top of the ramp. He looked around the arena, a cold, disdainful sneer twisting his features. He didn't pause for his usual pyrotechnic display. He simply began a slow, methodical walk down the ramp. He didn't look exhausted. He didn't look battered. He looked like a machine executing a program.
Sandro walked up the steel steps, wiped his boots on the apron, and stepped through the ropes. He walked straight to the center of the ring, staring dead ahead at the hard camera. He raised his right hand, extending a single index finger high into the air, the signature pose, demanding the world acknowledge their God.
He held the pose for a long five seconds, soaking in the vitriol, before lowering his hand and casually strolling to his corner.
Justin Roberts, dressed in a sharp tuxedo, stepped to the center of the ring, a spotlight hitting him from above. "Ladies and gentlemen," Roberts' voice boomed, full of gravitas. "This is the final match of the 2010 King of the Ring tournament! It is scheduled for one fall!"
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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