If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
________________________________
(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel a Dragon Age Inquisition novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)
...
"But let's make things interesting," Christian added, a sly smile returning to his face. "Since I am going to beat you tomorrow night and expose you in front of the world... maybe next week, I'll go to the General Manager and request a match for that Intercontinental Championship. Because walking around as a double champion sounds pretty good to me."
Barrett threw his head back and laughed loudly, a dry, humorless sound.
"You are delusional, mate," Barrett scoffed, stepping right up into Christian's personal space. "You aren't walking out of New Orleans with that title. You are going to lose it on your very first defense. I am going to break you in half, take that championship, and take my rightful place at the absolute top of this industry. Enjoy holding that gold for the next twenty four hours, Christian. Because you are running on borrowed time that you can't pay back."
Barrett sneered, turning his back on the champion. He waved his hand, signaling for the Nexus to pack it up. The faction slowly began to back away from the ring, marching backward up the steel ramp, looking incredibly satisfied with themselves.
"Hey, Wade!" Christian yelled into the microphone, his voice cutting sharply through the arena.
Barrett stopped halfway up the ramp, turning around with a look of supreme annoyance. "What do you want now?"
"I said I accept your challenge," Christian clarified, leaning casually against the ropes, a knowing glint in his eye. "But I never said it was on your terms. You see, I hold the leverage here. I hold the ultimate prize. And if you want a shot at it, it happens on my conditions."
Barrett's confident smirk faltered slightly. "What conditions?"
"Condition number one," Christian declared, holding up a finger. "Tomorrow night, there will be absolutely no Nexus members at ringside. All of those goons of yours... they stay in the locker room, at backstage. It is just you and me in that ring."
"You can't do that!" Otunga yelled from the ramp, stepping forward. "That is a violation of our contractual working environment!"
"Shut up, Dave," Christian snapped back, drawing a massive laugh from the crowd. "Condition number two. If any member of the Nexus interferes in our match... and I mean anyone... whether they attack me, or whether they attack you to cause a disqualification... you will automatically forfeit the match."
Christian took a step forward, his voice turning deadly serious.
"And furthermore," Christian promised, "if they interfere, you will lose your status as a contender. You will never, ever receive another opportunity to challenge for the WWE Championship as long as I am holding it."
The arena exploded in cheers. It was a brilliant, iron clad stipulation that completely neutralized the faction's biggest advantage.
Wade Barrett's face turned bright red, the veins in his neck bulging with sudden, uncontrollable anger. He looked at Ryback, who was practically foaming at the mouth, ready to charge the ring.
"You think you can dictate terms to me?!" Barrett roared, throwing his microphone down onto the steel ramp. "We are the Nexus! We take what we want! Get him!"
Barrett pointed a furious finger at the ring, and the faction immediately surged forward, sprinting down the ramp, ready to tear the champion apart.
"Step one foot in this ring, and the match is canceled!" Christian bellowed at the top of his lungs, standing his ground, refusing to flinch as the five men rushed him. "I will go to the back right now and tell management the deal is off! Try me, Wade!"
Barrett froze. He threw his arms out, frantically grabbing Ryback by the shoulder, physically holding the massive powerhouse back just inches from the ring apron. The rest of the Nexus stopped dead in their tracks, looking to their leader for guidance.
The tension was incredibly thick. Christian stood in the center of the ring, the WWE Championship held tightly in his grip, calling their bluff. He knew Barrett wanted the world title more than he wanted a cheap beatdown.
Barrett breathed heavily, his eyes locked in a hateful glare with Christian. The British brawler knew he was trapped. If he let his dogs off the leash, his golden ticket was gone.
"Stand down," Barrett growled through gritted teeth, shoving Ryback backward. "I said stand down!"
Ryback pounded his chest, yelling in frustration, but he reluctantly stepped away from the apron.
Barrett pointed a threatening finger at Christian, his voice carrying without the microphone. "You are a dead man tomorrow. You hear me? A dead man."
Christian simply smirked, raising the WWE Championship high into the air as his music hit the speakers once again. The Nexus was forced to slowly back away, retreating up the ramp, thoroughly outsmarted by the veteran champion. The stage was perfectly set for a very volatile, high stakes title defense.
The sun began to set over the vibrant, humid streets of New Orleans, casting long shadows across the massive structure of the Smoothie King Center.
Inside, the atmosphere was nothing short of electric. The arena was packed to the absolute limit, filled with thousands of passionate, vocal fans who had traveled from all over the world to witness one of the most highly anticipated pay per views of the year.
As the clock struck the hour, the broadcast officially went live.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A deafening, spectacular volley of pyrotechnics exploded from the entrance stage. Towers of fire shot into the air, showering the ramp in golden sparks, while the heavy, adrenaline pumping theme song of the event blasted through the PA system. The camera swept dynamically across the sold out crowd, capturing a frantic sea of waving signs and flashing lights.
Looming ominously high above the ring, suspended by thick steel chains, was the unforgiving, twenty foot high steel mesh structure of the Hell in a Cell cage, casting a dark, intimidating shadow over the canvas.
The camera swooped down from the rafters, settling on the expanded, four man commentary desk positioned at ringside.
"Welcome everyone to the Big Easy, the beautiful city of New Orleans, for one of the most dangerous, unpredictable nights on the WWE calendar!" Cole shouted over the roaring crowd, practically having to scream to be heard. "I am Michael Cole, and I am joined tonight by WWE Hall of Famers Jerry 'The King' Lawler, Booker T, and JBL! Gentlemen, the atmosphere in this building is absolutely incredible!"
"I have got goosebumps, Michael!" Lawler cheered, a massive smile on his face as he adjusted his headset. "The history of this event, the brutality of that steel structure hanging above us... anything can happen tonight, and careers are going to be permanently altered!"
"Aww, shucky ducky quack quack!" Booker T laughed, his signature energy bleeding through the microphone. "I am telling you right now, guys, I have been in the back, I have talked to the boys in the locker room, and everybody is on edge! We got championships on the line, we got bad blood, and we got a whole lot of violence on the menu!"
"It is a monumental night for this company!" JBL added, his Texas drawl thick and serious, though he looked incredibly sharp in his tailored suit, fully back in his broadcast persona. "We are going to see true greatness tested tonight. The wheat will be separated from the chaff, and true champions will prove why they hold the gold!"
"We have an absolutely stacked card for you tonight," Cole transitioned smoothly, shifting his notes. "Later on, we will see Christian defend the WWE Championship against Wade Barrett. We will see Alexa Bliss challenge Asuka for the WWE Women's Championship. And in our main event, Bray Wyatt will defend the World Heavyweight Championship inside the demonic Hell in a Cell structure!"
"But before we get to any of that, Michael," Lawler interrupted, his tone turning incredibly serious. "We have to talk about our opening contest. Because I honestly believe we might be about to witness the end of a career."
The graphic for the opening match flashed on the screen, a split image of the cold, bruised face of Sandro Zhang staring down the bloody, sadistic grin of Minoru Suzuki, with the words FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE stamped in bold, gritty text across the bottom.
"You hit the nail on the head, King," Booker T agreed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I gotta tell ya, man, I've been in this business a very, very long time. I have seen guys take risks, I have seen guys put their bodies on the line... but I ain't never seen a man actively ask for a beating like Sandro Zhang is asking for tonight. It makes absolutely no sense."
"It's suicide," Cole stated bluntly. "We all saw what happened on Monday Night RAW. Sandro Zhang tried to fight Minoru Suzuki, and Suzuki absorbed his best shots, dropped him on his head with a Gotch Style Piledriver, and pinned him clean. Sandro suffered a broken nose and cracked ribs. And his response is to demand a rematch six days later, with no rules, where they can fight all over this arena?!"
"He has completely lost his mind," Lawler echoed. "Sandro is a brilliant guy, we all know that. He built an empire. But losing those titles broke him. He is desperately trying to prove that he isn't weak, and it is blinding him to the reality of the situation. Minoru Suzuki isn't a wrestler, guys. He is a weapon. He enjoys inflicting pain. If Sandro couldn't beat him in a standard match, what makes him think he can survive a street fight with a certified killer?"
"He can't!" Booker T added emphatically. "Even if Sandro wanted to redeem himself, you don't do it against the King of Pro Wrestling! If Sandro goes out there tonight and gets embarrassed again, if he gets put to sleep or injured... he is done. The aura of the God King will be permanently destroyed. He should have taken six months off to heal!"
JBL, who had been sitting quietly while his broadcast partners laid out their criticisms, finally snapped. He aggressively adjusted his headset, turning to glare at Booker T and Lawler.
"Are you three finished?!" JBL barked, his voice dripping with absolute disgust. "Are you done questioning the motives of a man who operates on a level of genius that none of you could possibly comprehend?!"
"We are just analyzing the facts, John," Cole defended mildly.
"You aren't analyzing facts, you are projecting your own cowardice!" JBL roared, pointing a firm finger at the desk. "You three goons look at Minoru Suzuki and you see a monster that you would run away from! But Sandro Zhang doesn't run! He is the God King! He is reclaiming his honor, and he is reclaiming his power!"
"He got pinned on Monday, John!" Lawler reminded him loudly. "He was unconscious!"
"It was surely an error!" JBL countered smoothly, refusing to yield an inch. "He was testing a new strategy, and it didn't yield the result he wanted! So what does a billionaire visionary do? He adjusts the playing field! He demanded a Falls Count Anywhere match because he knows that in an environment with no rules, his unmatched intellect becomes his greatest weapon!"
"Intellect doesn't stop a steel chair to the skull, JBL," Booker T argued, waving his hand dismissively.
"You couldn't even hold the God King's shoes, Booker, so don't you dare sit here and tell me what he can and cannot survive!" JBL shouted back, his face flushing red with loyalty. "Sandro Zhang is going to walk down that aisle, he is going to embrace the violence, and he is going to systematically dismantle Minoru Suzuki, proving to the entire world that the empire is far from dead!"
Before the fierce debate at the commentary desk could escalate into a physical altercation, the lights in the Smoothie King Center abruptly cut to pitch black.
The heavy, driving drumbeat of Kaze ni Nare hit the stadium speakers with the force of a physical blow.
The New Orleans crowd erupted into a massive, echoing roar, instantly recognizing the arrival of the legendary Japanese striker. As the soaring guitar riff kicked in, thousands of fans began clapping in perfect, rhythmic synchronization.
"The talking is over, gentlemen," Cole said, his voice dropping an octave as the spotlight hit the entrance stage. "The King of Pro Wrestling has arrived."
Minoru Suzuki stepped out from the curtain. He wore a plain black towel draped over his head, shadowing his face, and his simple black wrestling trunks. He didn't rush. He walked with the slow, deliberate, terrifying swagger of an predator stepping into its hunting grounds. He paused at the top of the ramp, pulling the towel off his head and throwing it to the floor.
The sadistic, wide grin was firmly planted on his face. The cut above his eye from Monday night was closed, but the malicious intent burning in his dark eyes was brighter than ever.
Suzuki walked down the long steel ramp, looking around the massive arena, absorbing the energy of the raucous crowd. He climbed the steel steps, stepping gracefully through the ropes, and walked to the center of the ring. He raised both arms in the air, throwing his head back, and let out a loud, barking laugh, soaking in the cheers of a fanbase that simply loved to watch him inflict violence.
Suzuki retreated to his corner, bouncing lightly on his toes, his eyes fixed on the empty entrance stage.
The music faded. The crowd buzzed with a heavy, nervous anticipation.
KSSSHHH!
The harsh blast of static ripped through the speakers, instantly followed by the heavy, grinding, iconic guitar riff of Cult of Personality.
The cheers instantly vanished, replaced by a deafening, visceral wave of pure hostility. The boos rained down from the rafters, a massive wall of sound signaling the arrival of the most polarizing figure in the industry.
Sandro Zhang stepped out from the curtain.
The New Orleans crowd gasped, a ripple of genuine shock mixing with the boos. Sandro had completely abandoned the expensive, tailored suits. He had abandoned the dark, minimalist maroon trunks from Monday night.
He had returned to his most theatrical, intimidating presentation.
Sandro was wearing a stunning, elaborate entrance a high collared jacket made of dark black leather, intricately stitched with silver accents. But it was the design on the front and back that drew every eye, a massive, stylized white and black skull logo, a symbol that he hadn't worn since the peak of his championship reign.
It was a visual declaration that the cold, detached machine was gone, replaced by the violent, aggressive God King who had conquered the roster.
Underneath the jacket, his ribs were still heavily taped, and the dark bruising around his eyes was visible even from a distance, but he carried himself with an aura of absolute, terrifying confidence.
Sandro walked slowly down the ramp, his dark eyes locked dead ahead on the ring. He didn't look at the fans. He didn't look at the commentary desk.
He reached the end of the ramp, stepping up onto the ring apron. He grabbed the top rope with both hands, pulling himself up, and stood on the middle turnbuckle, looking out over the massive crowd.
Sandro threw both of his arms wide open.
BOOM!
A massive, perfectly timed cascade of golden pyrotechnics exploded from the ring posts, showering the canvas in sparks. The heat radiated through the front rows. The theatricality was flawless, a stark contrast to his robotic entrance on Monday.
"Look at the presentation!" Cole yelled over the noise. "The skull logo is back! The pyro is back! Sandro Zhang is making a statement before the bell even rings!"
"He looks like a man who is ready for a war!" JBL cheered, a massive, proud smile on his face. "The God King has returned in full force!"
Sandro hopped down from the turnbuckle, his eyes locking instantly onto Minoru Suzuki across the ring. Suzuki just smiled wider, lowering his hands, silently inviting the violence.
Sandro didn't break eye contact. He slowly reached up, unzipping the heavy leather jacket. He slipped it off his shoulders, taking his time, ensuring every movement was deliberate and focused. He handed the expensive jacket to a ringside technician standing on the floor.
The referee stepped to the center of the ring, raising his hand toward the timekeeper, preparing to signal for the bell to start the match.
Sandro took two slow, measured steps toward his corner. He looked away from Suzuki for a fraction of a second, as if he was preparing to stretch his arms.
Then, he snapped.
Without warning, without a single sound, Sandro pivoted on his back foot. He exploded across the canvas with terrifying, blinding speed, closing the distance between the corners in a heartbeat.
Suzuki's smile didn't even have time to fade.
Sandro launched himself into the air, driving a catastrophic, full force flying knee strike directly into the side of Suzuki's head!
The sickening CRACK of bone on bone echoed through the massive arena like a gunshot.
Suzuki's eyes rolled back in his head, and the Japanese veteran crumpled backward, crashing heavily into the turnbuckle pads before collapsing into a heap on the canvas.
The New Orleans crowd erupted in absolute, unmitigated shock!
"OH MY GOD!" Cole shrieked at the top of his lungs, leaping out of his chair. "SANDRO JUST TOOK HIS HEAD OFF!"
"What the hell was that?!" Booker T yelled, his voice cracking in panic. "The bell hasn't even rung yet!"
The referee jumped forward, waving his arms frantically, trying to pull Sandro back to establish order.
But Sandro simply shoved the official violently out of the way. His eyes were wide, burning with unhinged, volcanic fury. He wasn't there to wrestle. He was there to destroy.
Sandro dropped to his knees, mounting the dazed Suzuki, and began raining down a relentless, blistering flurry of closed fist punches directly into the veteran's face.
The referee, realizing he had absolutely zero control over the situation, and remembering that the bout was officially a Falls Count Anywhere match with no disqualifications, frantically waved his hand toward the timekeeper's area. DING! DING! DING! The bell rang, officially starting the match, but it was merely a formality. The war had already begun, and the God King was unleashing a level of violence that the WWE Universe had never seen before.
_______________________________
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 US Champion, 1x WWE Champion (364 Days -1st), & 1x World Heavyweight Champion (281 Days - 1st)
Other Achievements: 1x Inaugural 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), Youngest World Heavyweight Champion, Youngest Triple Crown Champion, & Longest US Title reign In WWE History (376 Days - 1st reign)
Wrestlemania Record: 2 - 0 Main Event: 1 - 0