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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"This is the reality of the Triple Crown Era, Michael," JBL concluded with a huge smile. "You either bow to the God King, or you get broken by the Undisputed System. There is no middle ground. The Road to WrestleMania runs directly through Sandro Zhang, and it looks like a happy end for the God King." The Royal Rumble was just weeks away, but the message was terrifyingly clear, the God King was truly untouchable.
Inside the ring, the absolute systematic destruction of two of the biggest icons in the history of professional wrestling was underway. It wasn't a fight anscrap, it was an execution.
Wade and Drew held The Rock down against the bottom turnbuckle, pinning his arms behind the ropes, while Big E repeatedly drove his massive, tree trunk thighs into The Great One's ribs.
On the opposite side of the squared circle, Ryback and Kofi were taking turns stomping mercilessly on the spine of Chris Jericho. The Painmaker's black hat was trampled somewhere in the corner, his painted face pressed against the blood stained canvas as the Undisputed System boys worked with terrifying, cold blooded efficiency.
Ziggler and Woods circled the carnage like hyenas, occasionally jumping in to deliver a cheap shot, a vicious kick to the temple, or a rake to the eyes. The Harrisburg crowd was booing so loudly that the sound system was practically clipping. It was an uncomfortable, visceral noise of a fanbase watching their childhood heroes get dismantled.
Standing safely at the absolute summit of the entrance stage, completely removed from the grime and the sweat, Sandro stood tall, his hands resting comfortably on his hips, an expression of sheer, unadulterated relish playing across his handsome features.
The WWE and United States title on his left and right shoulder, the World Heavyweight Championship gleamed around his waist. To his left, AJ Lee leaned her head affectionately against his shoulder. To his right, Nikki Bella and Alexa Bliss laughed openly at the carnage, pointing at the ring and mocking the fallen legends.
Paul Heyman stood slightly in front of them, his hands clasped together as if in prayer, practically weeping tears of joy at the sheer dominance his client was projecting to the world.
"Look at this masterpiece, Michael!" JBL crowed on commentary, his voice booming with sadistic pleasure. "This is exactly what happens when the past refuses to stay in the past! The Rock and Chris Jericho thought they could just waltz into the Triple Crown Era and make demands! Now they are learning the ultimate lesson in respect!"
"It's a mugging! It's an absolute tragedy!" Cole shouted, his voice hoarse. "They are trying to end the careers of The Rock and Chris Jericho! We need officials out here! We need security! Somebody stop this damn match!"
"Nobody can stop it, Cole! The God King has ordered a public execution, and the sentence is being carried out!" JBL yelled back.
But suddenly, the dynamic inside the Giant Center shifted.
It didn't start with a music cue. It didn't start with a blackout. It started with a low, confused murmur originating from the upper decks in the crowd.
The murmur quickly snowballed, rolling down the tiers of seats like an avalanche, transforming into a massive, frantic wave of pointing, screaming, and overwhelming cheers.
The camera wildly jerked away from the slaughter in the ring, desperately trying to locate the source of the commotion in the sea of eighteen thousand people.
Cutting a path straight down the concrete stairs through the frantic audience was the Voice of the Voiceless.
CM Punk had returned.
The crowd's roar reached a deafening crescendo. Punk looked like he had just walked out of a warzone. Thick white medical bandages were wrapped tightly around his ribs, a stark reminder of the massive powerbomb through the announce table he had suffered on Christmas Eve.
Heavy athletic tape reinforced his injured left knee, and a nasty, jagged scar was visible just above his hairline. He moved with a noticeable, agonizing limp, but his eyes were burning with a homicidal, unyielding fire.
And he was not alone.
Flanking him on his left and right were his fiercely loyal Straight Edge Society disciples: Gallows and Mercury. They, too, bore the horrific scars of the Undisputed System's cruelty.
Mercury had a thick bandage across the bridge of his nose from the brutal ladder spot, and Gallows moved stiffly, his back covered in dark, ugly bruises from Wade Barrett's kendo stick assault weeks prior.
But the most important detail was what the three men were carrying. Gripped tightly in the hands of Punk, Gallows, and Mercury were heavy, unforgiving steel folding chairs.
"Listen to this place!" Jerry Lawler shrieked, jumping completely out of his seat at the broadcast desk. "They're here! The Straight Edge Society is here! CM Punk is alive!"
"Oh my God!" Cole screamed, absolute euphoria bleeding into his voice. "CM Punk, Luke Gallows, and Joey Mercury are coming through the crowd! They've got the heavy artillery! They are coming to even the odds!"
JBL practically ripped his headset off in a fit of absolute rage. "What is this?! What business do these straight edge pests have out here?! This doesn't involve them! This is a royal execution! CM Punk lost his title, he lost his dignity, and he needs to turn his broken carcass around and go back to the hospital!"
Punk, Gallows, and Mercury didn't hesitate. They hit the ringside barricade and vaulted over it simultaneously.
Inside the ring, the Undisputed System boys were so focused on destroying The Rock and Jericho that they completely failed to notice the incoming threat until it was entirely too late.
Punk slid under the bottom rope, instantly swinging his steel chair like a baseball bat. CRACK! The steel collided violently with Drew McIntyre's skull, dropping the massive Scotsman to the canvas instantly.
Gallows entered right behind him, bringing his chair down across Wade Barrett's back with a sickening thud, snapping the steel frame in half over the Englishman's spine. Mercury charged Big E, driving the edge of his chair directly into the powerhouse's gut, doubling him over before smashing it across his broad back.
The Harrisburg crowd was going absolutely ballistic, cheering every single chair shot as if their lives depended on it.
Ryback turned around, roaring in anger, looking to take Punk's head off with a clothesline. Punk ducked it beautifully, pivoting on his good knee, and swung the chair upward, catching Ryback directly under the chin.
The Big Guy stumbled backward, entirely disoriented, and tumbled awkwardly over the top rope, crashing heavily to the ringside floor.
"They are clearing the ring!" Cole cheered hysterically. "Punk, Gallows, and Mercury are laying waste to the Undisputed System! It's an absolute massacre!"
Kofi, realizing the tactical disadvantage, immediately bailed out, sliding under the bottom rope to join Big E, Wade, Drew, and Ryback on the outside.
The bruised and battered enforcers wanted no part of three furious men armed with steel. They stumbled backward, clutching their heads and ribs, scrambling up the steel ramp toward the safety of their leader.
But two men didn't make it out in time.
ziggler and Woods were trapped in the center of the ring, surrounded by the three armed members of the Straight Edge Society.
Ziggler threw his hands up, begging for mercy, backing into the corner. Woods looked wildly around for an escape route, but Gallows blocked his path.
Punk dropped his steel chair. He didn't want a weapon for this. He grabbed Ziggler by the hair, dragging the screaming Showoff out of the corner, and hoisted him effortlessly onto his shoulders. Punk looked directly at Sandro Zhang on the stage, his eyes wide and manic, before driving his knee upward into Ziggler's face with a catastrophic Go To Sleep!
Ziggler folded in half, completely unconscious before he even hit the mat.
At the exact same moment, Gallows grabbed Xavier Woods by the throat with both hands. With a primal roar, the massive enforcer lifted Woods high into the air and chokeslammed him straight down to hell with the 12th Step, shaking the entire ring.
"GTS! GTS!" Lawler yelled, throwing his arms in the air. "Ziggler and Woods just paid the price for the sins of the God King!"
On the entrance stage, the smug, aristocratic relish had completely melted off Sandro Zhang's face. He watched his men get systematically dismantled, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like his teeth might shatter. His dark eyes burned with a venomous, unadulterated fury.
The God King took a furious step forward, gripping his black scepter, fully intending to march down that ramp and handle the insolent rebels himself.
But before Sandro could take a second step, Paul Heyman threw his body in front of the Triple Crown Champion.
"No, my God! No!" Heyman pleaded, grabbing Sandro by the lapels of his suit, his eyes wide with panic. Heyman physically pushed Sandro backward. "Do not go down there! Look at them! They have the high ground! They are armed with steel! Punk is unhinged! You have the gold, you have everything to lose, and they have absolutely nothing! We must retreat!"
Sandro violently shoved Heyman away, but he stopped. The cold, calculating side of his brain overrode the anger. He glared down at the ring, his chest heaving, realizing Heyman was right. Walking into an ambush against armed men was a peasant's mistake, not a king's strategy.
Inside the ring, the tide had completely turned.
The Rock and Chris Jericho, battered, bruised, and gasping for air, slowly staggered to their feet. The Rock rubbed his jaw, shaking out the cobwebs, while Jericho wiped a mixture of sweat and black greasepaint from his eyes.
They looked down at the unconscious bodies of Ziggler and Woods. Then, they looked up at the entrance stage, locking eyes with Sandro Zhang.
The Rock smirked. He walked over to the fallen Dolph Ziggler. The crowd immediately recognized the setup, and the noise level in the arena reached a fever pitch. The Rock slowly, deliberately he showed his right elbow high in the air, allowing the frenzied Harrisburg crowd to become even more frenzy.
He crossed his arms, hitting the ropes on one side of the ring, bounded over the motionless Ziggler, hit the opposite ropes, put on the brakes, and dropped the most electrifying move in sports entertainment, the People's Elbow, directly across Ziggler's chest!
The pop was absolutely legendary.
Not to be outdone, Jericho grabbed the legs of Xavier Woods. He stepped through, turned the young superstar over, and sat back deep, locking in a picture perfect, agonizing Walls of Jericho!
"The People's Elbow! The Walls of Jericho!" Cole screamed, practically losing his voice. "The legends are taking their pound of flesh! They are sending a direct, violent message to the God King!"
"This is an absolute outrage!" JBL fumed, slamming his fists on the desk, his face red with fury. "These are unprovoked assaults on the royal court! Sandro Zhang should have them all arrested! This is a dark day for Monday Night RAW!"
In the ring, Jericho finally released the hold, shoving Woods' legs aside in disgust. Punk, Gallows, and Mercury stood tall, holding their steel chairs. The Rock and Jericho flanked them. It was a bizarre, unprecedented alliance of past and present, united entirely by their mutual, burning hatred for the man standing on the stage.
Punk looked around the ring, his chest rising and falling heavily. He pointed at a ringside crew member, demanding a microphone. The terrified worker scrambled up the steel steps and handed it through the ropes.
Punk snatched it, limping to the very edge of the ring apron. He didn't look at The Rock. He didn't look at Jericho. His eyes were locked in a dead, unblinking stare with Sandro Zhang.
"Hey, Sandro!" Punk barked, his voice echoing through the arena, completely lacking any of his usual playful sarcasm. It was pure, raw hostility. "You thought you broke me, didn't you? You thought you could orchestrate a mugging, drop a table on me, hit me in the back of the head, and I would just quietly go away?"
Punk laughed, a dry, humorless sound.
"You don't know a damn thing about me," Punk spat, pacing the apron. "I don't go away. I don't quit. I am the Voice of the Voiceless, and right now, my voice is telling you that you are holding my property. That World Heavyweight Championship belongs to me. You didn't beat me in a fair fight, you organized a gang assault. But I have a piece of paper in my locker room that says I am contractually obligated to a rematch."
The crowd cheered at the mention of the rematch clause.
Punk pointed his finger like a loaded gun directly at Sandro.
"So consider this your official, legal notice, your majesty," Punk growled. "At the Royal Rumble, I am cashing in my rematch clause. I am not entering the thirty man match. I am stepping into the ring with you, one on one, and I am going to take my title back, and I am going to break your jaw in the process!"
Before Sandro could even raise his microphone to respond, another voice cut through the tension.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on just a damn minute."
The Rock stepped forward, grabbing his own microphone from the canvas. He looked at Punk, his legendary eyebrow raised high.
"The Rock appreciates the save, kid. Truly, he does," The Rock said smoothly, keeping his tone measured but firm. "The Rock respects the fact that you marched out here with a bad wheel and a taped up ribs to swing some steel. But let's get one thing straight right now. The Rock was the one standing in this ring holding court. The Rock was the one who called the boy king out here. And The Rock is the one who staked his claim to that title at WrestleMania."
Punk narrowed his eyes, turning to face The Great One. The alliance was already fracturing.
"With all due respect, Dwayne," Punk said, his voice dripping with condescension. "I don't care what you claimed. You've been gone for seven years. You don't get to just parachute in from Hollywood, say a few catchphrases, and decide you're the number one contender. I am the rightful champion. He stole it from me. I am getting my rematch, and you can take a number and wait in line."
The Harrisburg crowd "Ooooh'd" loudly. The tension between the two massive egos was palpable.
"The Rock doesn't wait in line," The Rock fired back, stepping into Punk's personal space. "The Rock is the line. The Rock is the biggest box office draw in the history of this business. The Rock doesn't care about your little rematch clause. You had your shot, and you lost. The Rock is entering the Royal Rumble, and the People's Champion is going to main event WrestleMania. End of story."
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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: 1 - 0