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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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But Cena found a reserve of strength. He blocked Orton's arm, threw two heavy right hands to Orton's jaw, and pushed the Viper away. With one final, desperate burst of energy, Cena lunged across the ring and slapped Ziggler's hand, The crowd erupted into a massive cheer as Ziggler vaulted over the top rope, fresh and firing on all cylinders. Orton swung a wild clothesline, but Ziggler ducked it, bounded off the ropes, and connected with a beautiful flying forearm smash!
Orton popped up, and Ziggler dropped him again with a high angle dropkick. Ziggler was moving like a blur. He hit the ropes, waited for Orton to rise, and hit a spectacular leaping clothesline that sent the Viper crashing to the mat.
"The Showoff is on fire!" Cole yelled, barely able to stay in his seat.
Ziggler backed into the corner, his eyes burning with intensity. He waited for Orton to slowly push himself up. As Orton turned around, Ziggler leaped into the air, driving Orton's face into the canvas with a breathtaking Fameasser!
Ziggler scrambled to hook the leg!
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THRE—NO!"
Orton managed to get his shoulder up just a fraction of a second before the three count.
Ziggler ran his hands through his sweat soaked blonde hair, a look of frustration crossing his face. But he didn't stop to complain. He grabbed Orton by the arm, dragging him toward the corner. He tagged Cena back into the match.
The two men functioned with surprising cohesion. Ziggler delivered a stiff kick to Orton's midsection, doubling him over, and Cena followed up immediately with a massive running bulldog!
Cena hooked the leg.
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"NO!"
Orton kicked out again, his survival instincts kicking into overdrive.
Cena dragged Orton to his feet, lifting him onto his shoulders, looking to end the match with the Attitude Adjustment.
But Orton fought out of it with desperate elbows to the side of Cena's head. Orton slid down Cena's back, grabbed him by the hair, and executed his patented inverted headlock backbreaker! Cena's spine cracked over Orton's knee, and both men collapsed to the canvas, completely exhausted.
"This match has taken a massive physical toll on all three competitors!" Lawler noted, his voice filled with awe. "This is an absolute war!"
The referee began the ten count. Orton and Cena slowly began to crawl toward their respective corners. Cena was closer. He reached out, his fingertips grazing Ziggler's hand.
Tag!
Ziggler entered the ring, but Orton had reached the ropes, using them to pull himself up. Ziggler charged forward, looking for a splash in the corner. Orton moved at the last possible millisecond. Ziggler crashed chest first into the turnbuckles.
Orton grabbed Ziggler from behind, dragging his limp body through the middle ropes. He trapped Ziggler's legs inside the ring, while his upper body hung dangerously over the apron. Orton locked his arms around Ziggler's head.
"Oh no, we know what this is!" Cole panicked. "This is the move that tenderizes the neck for the RKO!"
Orton leaned back and spiked Ziggler's head directly into the canvas with a devastating hanging draping DDT!
The impact was sickening. Ziggler's body folded awkwardly before going completely limp.
Orton pushed himself up. He didn't go for the pin. The sadistic, empty look returned to his eyes. He retreated to the corner of the ring, dropping down to the canvas, pounding his fists into the mat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The crowd realized what was happening and began to buzz with a mixture of fear and excitement. The Viper was coiling.
Ziggler slowly pushed himself up to his hands and knees, completely unaware of the danger lurking behind him. He staggered to his feet, turning around blindly.
Orton exploded from the corner, launching himself into the air for the RKO!
But before Orton could connect, John Cena slid into the ring like a freight train, catching Orton in mid air and driving him into the mat with a thunderous spin out powerbomb!
The arena absolutely exploded!
"Cena makes the save!" Lawler cheered. "He caught him out of thin air!"
Cena didn't stop there. He dropped to the mat, grabbing Orton's leg, and locked in the STF!
He wrenched back with maximum pressure, trapping the Viper in the center of the ring.
Orton screamed in agony, his face turning a deep shade of crimson as Cena pulled back on his neck. Orton clawed at the canvas, desperately dragging his body inch by inch toward the bottom rope. The crowd was on their feet, screaming for Orton to tap out.
With agonizing effort, Orton finally managed to extend his long arm, wrapping his fingers around the bottom rope.
The referee instantly stepped in, forcing Cena to break the hold.
Cena backed away, holding his hands up, breathing heavily. He looked at Ziggler, who had managed to pull himself up in the corner. Cena nodded, stepping out onto the apron to give Ziggler the floor as the legal man.
Ziggler began stomping his boot rhythmically against the canvas, tuning up the band. He was going for the Superkick.
Orton, clutching his neck, slowly staggered to his feet. He was dazed, completely vulnerable.
Ziggler charged forward, launching his leg into the air with maximum velocity, aiming directly for Orton's jaw.
But Randy Orton was not just a predator, he was a master manipulator.
In a split second of his ring awareness, Orton didn't just duck. He sidestepped, reached out, and grabbed the referee's shirt, pulling the official forcefully into his path to block the kick.
Ziggler saw the official in his crosshairs and desperately halted his momentum, pulling his leg back to avoid a disqualification.
The hesitation cost him everything.
As Ziggler stumbled, trying to regain his balance, Orton reached out and violently grabbed John Cena, who was leaning over the top rope, trying to warn Ziggler, and yanked Cena directly into the ring.
Orton forcefully shoved Cena straight into Ziggler's path!
CRACK!
Ziggler, unable to stop his second swinging motion, accidentally connected with a picture perfect, bone shattering Superkick directly to John Cena's jaw!
The crowd shrieked in absolute shock. Cena's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the canvas like he had been shot, completely knocked unconscious by his own partner.
Ziggler froze. His eyes went wide with sheer horror, realizing exactly what he had just done. He dropped to his knees, reaching out toward Cena, trying to check on him.
"Miscommunication!" Cole screamed in panic. "Ziggler just knocked Cena out cold!"
"That wasn't miscommunication, Michael, that was a masterpiece!" JBL roared with cruel laughter. "Orton just used their own momentum against them!"
Orton didn't waste a single second. While Ziggler was distracted, paralyzed by guilt, Orton grabbed Ziggler by his tights and forcefully threw him through the middle ropes, sending the Showoff crashing hard onto the outside floor.
Orton turned his attention back to John Cena.
Cena was on his hands and knees, completely dazed, struggling blindly to push himself up.
Orton's eyes narrowed into dark, murderous slits. He backed up into the opposite corner, his breathing heavy and rhythmic. He wasn't going for a wrestling move. He was going for an execution.
"No!" Lawler yelled, realizing what was happening. "Not the Punt! Cena isn't even the legal man!"
Orton ignored the unwritten rules of the match. He exploded out of the corner, sprinting across the ring with terrifying, unholy speed. He swung his heavy wrestling boot forward with bone crushing velocity.
CRACK!
The sickening sound of Orton's boot connecting flush with John Cena's skull echoed through the silent arena.
Cena's body contorted violently from the sheer force of the impact before collapsing into a crumpled, unresponsive heap on the canvas.
A collective shriek of genuine horror rose from the Oklahoma City crowd, followed instantly by a wave of deafening, venomous boos.
On the outside, Ziggler heard the impact. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ribs, and slid frantically under the bottom rope, charging at Orton with tears of pure rage in his eyes.
Ziggler lunged forward, throwing a wild, desperate right hand.
Orton spun with blinding, impossible speed. He ducked the punch, caught Ziggler out of thin air, wrapped his arm securely around the Showoff's neck, and violently drove him face first into the canvas with a catastrophic, match ending RKO OUT OF NOWHERE!
The impact was definitive. Ziggler went completely, terrifyingly limp.
Orton rolled over, casually draping a single arm across Ziggler's chest, his eyes locked dead on the hard camera with a look of cold, emotionless satisfaction.
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
DING! DING! DING!
The slow, haunting theme of the Viper filled the arena, completely drowned out by the intense, hostile reaction from the fans.
"He did it," Cole said quietly, his voice tight with anger and sheer disbelief. "Randy Orton just beat two of the best superstars on this roster by himself. He manipulated the situation, he caused the misstep, and he executed them both."
"It was an absolute slaughter," Lawler added, running a hand over his face. "He took Cena out permanently with that Punt, and he caught Ziggler when he was most vulnerable. It's despicable."
"It is beautiful!" JBL stated firmly, watching Orton stand tall in the center of the ring. "You can call it whatever you want, Cole, but the history books will say that Randy Orton survived a handicap match against John Cena and Dolph Ziggler! He is an unstoppable monster! If Foley wanted to test him, he just got his answer!"
WWE medical personnel rushed down the ramp, sliding into the ring to immediately tend to the unconscious body of John Cena, checking his pupils and calling for a stretcher.
Randy Orton didn't step aside to give them room. He simply stood there, a cold, unfeeling predator, staring down at the medics as they frantically worked on the fallen franchise player. He slowly raised his arms in his signature pose, bathing in the absolute hatred of the crowd.
The broadcast faded to black on the terrifying image of the emotionless Viper standing tall amidst the chaos, leaving the audience believing they had just witnessed a legendary, unforgettable war that had firmly re established Randy Orton as the most dangerous, calculating force in the WWE.
Then after that, the scene changed from the violent, unscripted chaos of the wrestling ring to the polished, multi billion dollar corporate environment of Marvel Studios was a jarring shift, but Sandro Zhang navigated it with effortless ease.
Several days had passed since the explosive handicap main event in Oklahoma City. Sandro was now sitting at the head of a massive, sleek conference table inside Marvel's sprawling creative headquarters in Burbank, California. His right shoulder was fully healed according to the doctors, and he wore a sharp, tailored charcoal suit, projecting the undeniable aura of a man accustomed to wielding significant influence.
Surrounding the table were the heavy hitters of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stan Lee, several key members of the Marvel board of directors, and the elite creative team Stan had personally assembled to develop the concept and screenplay for Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.
The atmosphere in the room was not a standard celebrity pitch meeting. It was a high level creative session. Sandro was not being treated simply as an actor, his previous huge input into Marvel's long term overarching timeline meant his voice carried significant structural weight.
"Alright, let's lay the foundation," the lead writer began, standing near a massive digital whiteboard. "The primary goal here is integration without disruption. Sandro, we know you helped map out the broader MCU timeline, particularly the Avengers initiative. We've structured Shang-Chi's introduction so that it runs parallel to those events, eventually allowing him to cross paths with the wider universe without contradicting the established lore."
Sandro nodded, satisfied that they were prioritizing the integrity of the universe over rushing a new property.
"Now, regarding Wenwu," the lead conceptual artist stepped forward, bringing up several highly detailed character sketches on the monitors. "We took your concerns about the age dynamic very seriously. The beauty of Wenwu is that his comic history is relatively flexible compared to a Captain America or an Iron Man."
"We are leaning heavily into the mythology of the Ten Rings," the writer explained. "The rings grant him immense power, but they also halt his physical aging. He is an ancient, immortal conqueror trapped in the physical prime of his youth. The rings can even be explained as allowing him to subtly manipulate his appearance, which perfectly justifies casting a twenty year old in the role of a centuries old warlord."
Sandro looked at the concept art. The visual aesthetic was striking, a perfect blend of ancient warlord and modern, sophisticated menace.
Stan Lee slid a thick, bound screenplay across the polished table.
"That is the working draft," Stan said, his eyes crinkling warmly. "It contains all of Wenwu's major beats. Take your time, Sandro. Tell us what you think."
Sandro opened the script. The room fell into a quiet, respectful silence for the next forty five minutes as his dark eyes rapidly scanned the pages.
The script established Wenwu beautifully. It chronicled his early history, detailing how he discovered the mysterious rings and spent centuries building the Ten Rings organization, conquering territories, and establishing himself as a mythological terror. The narrative then shifted, bringing Wenwu face to face with the woman who would change his life, a warrior from Ta Lo named Ying Li who defeated him not with brute strength, but with fluid discipline, compassion, and a completely different philosophy of existence.
The script detailed his fall into love, his decision to relinquish the rings, and his attempt to build a peaceful family life, before tragedy inevitably struck, pulling him back into the darkness and setting the stage for the main conflict with his son, Shang-Chi.
Sandro closed the script, resting his hands flat on the cover.
He remained quiet for a long moment, organizing his thoughts. The Marvel executives watched him closely, a faint tension in the air.
"The quality is undeniable," Sandro finally said, his voice calm and measured. "The foundation is incredibly strong, and the romance angle provides a necessary emotional anchor."
A collective, silent sigh of relief rippled through the board of directors.
"But," Sandro continued, holding up a single finger, "it doesn't fully resonate with me yet. It feels a little too traditional. I want the story to feel more adventurous, and I want the tragedy of Wenwu to hit much harder."
Sandro leaned forward, locking eyes with the lead writer.
"Let's look at the ending," Sandro proposed. "Currently, he sacrifices himself. He dies, passing the torch. I think that is a mistake. I suggest that Wenwu survives."
The writers exchanged surprised glances. Stan Lee simply stroked his chin, intrigued.
"This isn't about me wanting franchise security for sequels," Sandro clarified quickly, understanding the business implications. "This is about the narrative potential. Shang-Chi will eventually cross paths with the Avengers, yes. But he doesn't necessarily need to be a formal, founding member of the core team we already designed. He can function as an independent hero, someone they call upon when the threat scales up."
Sandro tapped the script.
"If Shang-Chi operates independently, then Wenwu doesn't need to be removed from the board to give him space," Sandro explained, his creative vision taking shape. "Wenwu can become a highly valuable and deeply complex father/mentor figure. Instead of dying, imagine this: after losing the Ten Rings and facing the reality of his failures, Wenwu retreats to Ta Lo."
The conceptual artist began rapidly sketching notes on a legal pad.
"He spends some time meditating," Sandro continued, building the arc. "He lives with the heavy consequences of his past actions. He studies Chi manipulation, the healing herbs, and defensive spiritual practices. Instead of remaining a broken villain, he spends decades learning how to use his immense experience for something constructive."
Sandro looked at Stan Lee, who was leaning forward, hanging on every word.
"He eventually regains a control over the Ten Rings, but in a completely different capacity. He uses them to protect, rather than dominate," Sandro envisioned. "He becomes a teacher to Shang-Chi and his daughter. He teaches them the 'hard' style he learned from centuries of warfare, and the 'soft' style he learned in Ta Lo. He teaches them Chi manipulation, strategy, and survival."
"It makes him a much deeper character," Stan Lee murmured, a massive smile breaking across his face.
"Exactly," Sandro nodded. "We don't need to jam his entire redemption arc into this first movie. The main film focuses on Shang-Chi's journey. Wenwu's expanded evolution can be referenced or explored later, in future Avengers movies. He has lived for thousands of years. He should remain a formidable, highly capable figure even after he give his rings to his son."
"Write all of that down!" Stan ordered, pointing excitedly at the writers. "Every word of it! Sandro, that is brilliant! It gives him an emotional arc that doesn't erase his crimes, but allows him to grow beyond them!"
"And it keeps a highly dangerous, unpredictable wildcard in our back pocket for future phases," one of the board members noted, clearly thrilled with the long term franchise potential.
The meeting instantly transformed into a highly collaborative, energetic session. Sandro didn't try to dictate every line of dialogue, he simply offered structural adjustments that strengthened the character and wove him more seamlessly into the universe.
As the meeting finally drew to a close, Sandro stood up, buttoning his suit jacket.
"I appreciate the flexibility, everyone," Sandro said, shaking hands with the writers. "But let's be clear on the priority. Continue focusing primarily on Phase One. Treat Shang-Chi as a carefully integrated piece of the larger puzzle. I do not want this movie rushed into a central position just because my name is attached to it. The timeline we built takes precedence."
"Agreed," Stan Lee nodded firmly, shaking Sandro's hand. "We do it right, or we don't do it at all. Wenwu just became a much more interesting man, Sandro. I can't wait to see you bring him to life."
Sandro left the Marvel compound feeling a genuine sense of creative satisfaction, fully prepared to embark on a cinematic journey that would permanently alter his cultural footprint.
Several days later, the glitz and glamour of Hollywood was replaced by the intense, gritty atmosphere of the Nutter Center in Dayton, Ohio.
It was Friday night, and the arena was packed to absolute capacity. The fans were buzzing with a restless energy, eager to witness the fallout from the increasingly volatile state of the blue brand.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The opening pyrotechnics exploded around the massive SmackDown fist on the stage, the bright lights sweeping over the roaring crowd as the heavy rock theme song pumped through the stadium speakers. "Welcome, everyone, to Friday Night SmackDown!" Cole shouted over the deafening noise. "We are live in Dayton, Ohio, and the tension on this brand has never been higher!"
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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