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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Sandro slowly adjusted his suit jacket, his eyes gleaming with absolute, terrifying malice. The true, definitive destruction of the golden empire was not a tragedy that had happened to Sandro Zhang, it was a completely new, horrific psychological game that he had entirely, masterfully orchestrated. And the entire WWE Universe was about to find out exactly what happens when the God King decides that he no longer needs an army to maintain his absolute control over the sports entertainment industry.
Inside the squared circle, Drew lowered his microphone slightly, his chest still heaving from the adrenaline of his own impassioned speech. He stared down the incredibly long entrance ramp at the billionaire prodigy standing before him. The Scottish Psychopath did not look intimidated by the pristine suit, the three gleaming championships, or the three beautiful Queens flanking the God King.
Instead, McIntyre let out a deep, booming, entirely mocking laugh.
McIntyre raised his thick, muscular arm and pointed a heavy finger directly up the ramp.
"Is this some kind of a joke to you, Sandro?" McIntyre's thick Scottish accent echoed through the Tingley Coliseum, dripping with sheer, unadulterated contempt. "Are you really out here trying to play the untouchable emperor? Look around you, mate! Where are they? Where is your army? Where are the rest of the boys who bled for you every single night while you cowered and hid behind their backs?!"
The twenty thousand fans in Albuquerque cheered wildly, entirely supporting the massive superstar's brutal interrogation.
"You promised absolute judgement!" McIntyre roared, pacing the ring like a caged lion. "But all I see is a terrified little boy hiding behind his girlfriends because his heavy artillery finally realized they were fighting for a fraud! You have absolutely nothing left!"
Standing at the bottom of the ramp, Sandro did not flinch. He did not show a single ounce of anger or frustration at the public mockery.
Instead, a chilling, incredibly detached, entirely sociopathic smile slowly crept across his bruised, flawless face. He raised the microphone to his lips, his voice cutting through the deafening noise of the arena like a scalpel.
"You understand absolutely nothing about power, Drew," Sandro whispered into the microphone, his voice echoing with a terrifying serenity. "You think like a grunt. You think like a foot soldier who only understands the blunt force of a swinging fist. But I am an architect. I am the creator of this universe."
Sandro slowly shook his head, looking at McIntyre with eyes entirely devoid of human empathy.
"A true, undeniable visionary does not waste his time trying to fix broken cogs," Sandro stated, his tone incredibly soft, yet carrying an immense, suffocating weight. "When the machinery of my empire begins to fail... when the gears begin to rust with incompetence and failure... I don't fix them. I melt them down. I completely, utterly break them down to their base elements, so I can forge them into something entirely new."
Without another word, Sandro slowly raised his left hand, the hand clutching the prestigious United States Championship, and pointed a single finger up toward the massive, high definition Titantron suspended above the entrance stage.
The live feed of the arena abruptly cut out.
The screen flickered for a fraction of a second before displaying a live, closed circuit camera feed from somewhere deep within the bowels of the Albuquerque arena.
The entire WWE Universe gasped in absolute, unmitigated horror.
The feed showed a stark, incredibly dark, concrete room. There were no windows. A single, harsh, fluorescent bulb flickered ominously from the ceiling, casting long, terrifying shadows across the floor.
Sitting in a tight, uniform circle in the dead center of the cold concrete were the remaining six boys of the Undisputed System. Wade Barrett, Big E, Kofi Kingston, Ryback, Dolph Ziggler, and Xavier Woods.
They were not bloody. They were not unconscious. There were no visible signs of physical trauma whatsoever. But they were entirely, fundamentally broken.
The six massive, elite athletes were sitting cross legged on the floor, their shoulders completely slumped, their heads bowed. Their eyes were entirely wide, staring blankly, vacantly at the concrete between their boots. They were rocking slightly back and forth, entirely unresponsive to their surroundings.
"Oh my God," Cole whispered on commentary, his voice trembling with genuine, unfiltered disgust. "What are we looking at? What has he done to them?"
"They look like zombies, Michael," Lawler gasped, entirely astounded by the horrific visual. "They look completely catatonic!"
Sandro's voice echoed through the arena once again, providing the chilling narration to the nightmare unfolding on the massive screen.
"I know what you all thought," Sandro said, his voice dropping into a soft, melodic, incredibly sinister cadence. "You thought that after they failed me at WrestleMania, after they failed me against Brock Lesnar, and after Ziggler and Woods embarrassed me down in NXT... you thought I was going to physically destroy them. You thought I was going to beat them within an inch of their lives."
Sandro let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
"But physical pain heals, Drew," Sandro explained, his eyes entirely locked on the Titantron. "Bruises fade. Bones knit back together. Physical violence is such a temporary, primitive form of punishment. I didn't lay a single finger on them. I didn't have to."
The camera zoomed in on the terrifyingly blank face of the three-hundred-pound powerhouse, Big E. The usually charismatic, booming superstar was completely silent, his lip quivering slightly as he stared into the void.
"Instead," Sandro continued, "I locked them in that room. And I spent hours... long, quiet, uninterrupted hours... entirely, systematically dismantling their pathetic sense of self worth. I stripped away every single delusion of grandeur they had ever possessed."
"This is psychological torture!" Cole shrieked, completely appalled by the billionaire's admission. "He has brainwashed his own faction!"
"It's reconditioning, Cole!" JBL argued frantically, desperately trying to justify the horror. "They failed the God King! They needed to be broken down so they could be rebuilt! This is elite leadership!"
"I made them confess their deepest, darkest insecurities to me," Sandro's voice slithered through the PA system, dripping with venomous pride. "I made them list every single one of their failures. I made them look at each other and realize that without my money, without my political influence, and without the protective shield of the Undisputed System... they are absolutely nothing. They are just replaceable meat."
Suddenly, the audio feed from the dark room was turned on.
A low, haunting, terrifyingly synchronized whisper echoed through the Tingley Coliseum. The six massive men sitting in the circle were chanting. They were repeating a single phrase, over and over again, in a mindless, broken drone.
"Without the System, we are nobodies. Without the God King, we are nothing. Without the System, we are nobodies..."
The sound was absolutely chilling. It sent an incredibly profound shiver down the spine of every single person watching around the globe.
"I didn't cast them out, Drew," Sandro declared, pulling his gaze away from the screen and locking his cold, dead eyes back onto the Scottish Psychopath inside the ring. "I didn't fire them. I simply reminded them of their place in the hierarchy of my universe. They are my hounds. And right now, they are sitting in the dark, begging the concrete walls for my forgiveness, waiting entirely for me to walk back into that room and pull on their leashes."
Sandro slowly raised the WWE microphone, his sociopathic smile entirely vanishing, replaced by a look of cold, unadulterated, terrifying arrogance.
"Their bodies might be in that room, McIntyre," Sandro whispered. "But their minds... their minds belong entirely to me."
Inside the ring, Drew McIntyre did not look terrified. He did not look intimidated by the psychological horror show he had just witnessed. If anything, the absolute disgust on his face only deepened his resolve.
Sandro took a single, deliberate step closer to the ring, leaving the three Queens slightly behind him. The serene, detached demeanor entirely dropped. His eyes darkened with a cold, incredibly vindictive fury.
"And as for you, Drew," Sandro spat, his voice laced with absolute venom. "Do you really think this little mutiny makes you a hero? Do you really think that kicking me in the jaw makes you a free man?!"
Sandro scoffed, adjusting the heavy World Heavyweight Championship on his shoulder.
"You are not free," Sandro promised, his voice rising in volume and intensity. "You just moved yourself to the absolute front of the line. You are next, McIntyre. But understand this... I won't just step into this ring and beat you. A physical beating is far too good for a traitor like you."
Sandro leaned forward, his eyes burning with absolute, terrifying malice.
"I am going to humiliate you so profoundly," Sandro vowed, entirely captivated by his own dark promises. "I am going to put a beating on you so unimaginably harsh, so entirely catastrophic and career altering, that your own psychological trauma will forcefully overwrite your little rebellion! I will beat you until your own mind forces you to fall right back in line just to survive the pain! You will crawl to me on your hands and knees, bleeding on my boots, and you will beg me to let you back into my System!"
The threat was absolute. It was a promise of complete, systematic destruction.
But Drew McIntyre didn't even flinch.
The Scottish Psychopath continued to pace the ring like a caged, starving lion. He didn't look at the Titantron anymore. He didn't care about the broken cogs in the back. He only cared about the arrogant billionaire standing at the bottom of the ramp.
McIntyre abruptly stopped pacing. He raised his microphone to his lips, sneering down at the God King.
"Are you finished?" McIntyre asked, his incredibly thick accent cutting entirely through Sandro's psychological warfare. "Are you done playing the supervillain, Sandro?"
McIntyre let out a heavy, incredibly confident laugh.
"You can break Wade Barrett," McIntyre roared, his voice booming through the coliseum. "You can brainwash Ziggler and Woods! You can lock them in a dark room and play your little mind games all you want! But you are looking at a completely different breed of animal right now!"
McIntyre violently slapped his own chest, the sound echoing loudly into the microphone.
"The only thing I am going to be falling into is a pinning combination!" McIntyre bellowed, completely rejecting Sandro's terrifying narrative. "Right after I cave your arrogant, pretty little face in and hit you with another catastrophic Claymore!"
The crowd absolutely erupted!
The sheer defiance of the Scottish warrior was exactly what they needed to hear after the horrific backstage segment.
"You can make all the empty threats you want, Sandro," McIntyre continued, stepping aggressively toward the ropes, entirely closing the distance as much as the squared circle would allow. "But you better keep those three girls incredibly close to you tonight. Because when I finally get my massive hands on you... there is absolutely no psychological trick, no corporate lawyer, and no brainwashing technique that is going to save your fragile jaw!"
The arena went completely, utterly dead silent.
The sheer intensity of McIntyre's threat hung in the air, creating a suffocating vacuum of tension. For three incredibly long seconds, no one moved. Sandro Zhang simply stared up at McIntyre, his eyes narrowed, calculating his next move.
But the silence was not broken by Sandro. It was not broken by Drew.
It was broken by the sheer, unmitigated panic of Paul Heyman.
Standing on the opposite side of the ring apron, Paul Heyman's eyes went entirely, impossibly wide with absolute, unadulterated terror. He looked past Sandro. He looked at the heavy black curtains on the entrance stage. The Advocate, a man who possessed an incredibly sharp, unparalleled instinct for professional wrestling danger, suddenly realized exactly what was happening.
The entire confrontation... the psychological video package... the distraction of the three Queens... it was all a perfectly orchestrated distraction.
Heyman violently dropped his microphone. It clattered uselessly onto the ring apron.
"No!" Heyman shrieked, his voice hitting a frantic, high pitched octave of pure panic. He desperately lunged forward, grabbing Brock Lesnar's massive, tree trunk arm with both of his trembling hands. "No, Brock! Not now! Brock, stop! It's a trap! Stop!"
But it was entirely too late.
Brock Lesnar completely and utterly snapped.
The Beast Incarnate, entirely fed up with the talking, entirely fed up with the psychological games, and completely consumed by his own sociopathic instinct for violence, violently shook Paul Heyman off his arm. Heyman went flying backward like a ragdoll, crashing painfully onto the ringside floor.
Lesnar let out a terrifying, guttural roar that shook the stadium microphones!
The Beast leaped entirely off the ring apron, his massive boots slamming into the ringside mats. He didn't walk. He didn't stalk.
Brock Lesnar sprinted up the long entrance ramp with absolutely terrifying, impossible speed!
The visual of a 280 pound, elite heavyweight moving with the sheer velocity of an Olympic sprinter was enough to send a cold chill down the spine of every single person watching. Lesnar was an unstoppable, biological missile, and his target was locked entirely on Sandro Zhang.
"Look at the Beast!" Cole screamed, entirely coming out of his chair! "Brock Lesnar has completely lost his mind! He is going to murder the God King right on the entrance stage!"
But as the terrifying behemoth charged directly toward him, Sandro Zhang did not retreat. He did not flinch. He didn't even take a single step backward.
Sandro stood perfectly still.
A sick, incredibly dark, triumphant smile slowly crept across the Triple Crown Champion's face. He didn't raise his hands to defend himself. He simply gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.
Instantly, the three Queens of the Undisputed System, AJ Lee, Nikki Bella, and Alexa Bliss, moved with perfectly synchronized, military precision. They completely stepped aside, violently parting like the Red Sea, clearing an absolute, direct path for the charging Beast.
Brock Lesnar was incredibly close. He was merely inches away from getting his massive, heavy hands entirely around Sandro Zhang's exposed throat. The fans in the front rows were already standing, ready to witness an absolute execution.
Suddenly, the heavy black curtains at the top of the entrance stage violently exploded outward!
A massive, terrifying blur of pure, unadulterated muscle erupted from behind the curtain, completely hijacking the entire segment!
BOOM!
The collision was absolutely catastrophic! The sheer, concussive impact echoed through the Tingley Coliseum like a thunderclap!
"OH MY GOD!" Lawler shrieked, clutching his headset as if his life depended on it! "WHERE DID HE COME FROM?!"
The man had just hit Brock Lesnar with a devastating, earth shattering Spear that nearly broke the Beast entirely in half!
The sheer force of the man's momentum, combined with Lesnar's own forward velocity, created a spectacular car crash of human bodies. Lesnar was violently lifted entirely off his feet, his massive frame folding backward in mid air, before crashing completely unconscious onto the unforgiving steel grating of the entrance stage!
The Albuquerque crowd absolutely erupted! The pop was a massive, sustained roar of sheer, unmitigated shock and awe! Absolutely no one had seen this coming!
"IT'S THE DOMINATOR!" Michael Cole yelled, entirely losing his voice in the absolute chaos of the moment! "BOBBY LASHLEY! BOBBY LASHLEY IS HERE! BOBBY LASHLEY HAS JUST RETURNED TO MONDAY NIGHT RAW, AND HE HAS JUST DESTROYED THE BEAST INCARNATE!"
"This is absolute genius!" JBL bellowed, throwing his hands high into the air, completely vindicated and ecstatic. "This is exactly what I was talking about, Cole! The God King is always five steps ahead of everyone else! He didn't come out here alone! He melted down the broken cogs, and he bought himself a brand new, absolute juggernaut!"
Bobby Lashley, making his shocking, monumental return to the WWE, slowly pushed himself up to a vertical base. He looked like a literal superhero carved out of black marble. He was wearing a highly expensive, custom tailored grey suit, but the sheer, monstrous size of his deltoids and back muscles were actively ripping the seams of the jacket at the shoulders.
Lashley stood over the gasping, completely incapacitated body of Brock Lesnar. He looked down at the Beast with a look of cold, professional detachment.
Then, slowly, Bobby Lashley turned around. He took two massive steps forward and stood entirely shoulder to shoulder with Sandro. The visual was absolutely terrifying. The billionaire prodigy, holding his three massive championships, standing alongside a completely fresh, utterly dominant powerhouse who had just successfully taken out the most dangerous man in the company with a single move.
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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, 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