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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Roberts' voice boomed over the sound system. "Here is your winner... and STILL World Heavyweight Champion... CM PUNK!"
The crowd reaction was a chaotic mix of cheers for the champion and a sudden, hushed realization of what this meant for the loser.
Punk released the hold immediately, rolling away, gasping for air. He didn't celebrate. He didn't play to the crowd.
He scrambled to the corner, snatching his title from the referee. He looked at Jericho, who was curled in a fetal position in the center of the ring, breathing into the canvas. He then looked at the entrance ramp. He knew.
"He knows what's coming," Striker said. "Punk isn't sticking around."
Punk knew what was coming, so he turned to looked at Luke Gallows and Joey Mercury, signaling them instantly.
"Let's go," Punk mouthed. "We're leaving."
Instead of going up the ramp, the Straight Edge Society hopped the barricade, disappearing into the sea of fans, escaping through the crowd. Punk held his title high among the people, safe from the retribution that was about to arrive.
"Smart move by Punk," Striker noted nervously. "He knows this ring is about to become a slaughterhouse."
Inside the ring, Jericho lay in the center of the ring, clutching his arm. He looked up at the lights. He wasn't moving. He knew.
Heyman meanwhile stood at ringside, staring at him with a look of utter disgust. He didn't check on him. He didn't offer a water bottle. He simply turned his back and walked toward the timekeeper's area, retrieving a microphone.
The music didn't hit immediately. There was a silence. A heavy, suffocating silence that settled over the twenty thousand people in Miami.
The arena went pitch black.
SHOCK THE SYSTEM!
The distorted, heavy bass shook the floorboards. The crowd's cheers died down, replaced by a low, terrified murmur. The lights came up, bathing the stage in gold.
Sandro Zhang walked out from the curtain.
He wasn't wearing his gear anymore. He was back in his tailored black suit, looking every bit the mob boss coming to collect a debt. But he wasn't holding his titles.
To his right walked AJ Lee, clutching the WWE Championship to her chest.
To his left walked Nikki Bella, holding the United States Championship.
Next to her was Alexa Bliss, the Divas Title draped over her shoulder.
Behind them, was the wall of muscles.
Big E and Ryback, the World Tag Team Champions.
Wade Barrett and Drew McIntyre, the WWE Tag Team Champions.
Kofi Kingston, the Intercontinental Champion.
Dolph Ziggler, the NXT Champion.
"Oh no," Cole whispered. "Look at them. They look like a funeral procession."
They marched down the ramp in perfect silence. No taunting. No smiling. It was a funeral procession for a living man. The crowd didn't know whether to boo or watch in horror.
They reached the ringside area and the Undisputed System members split up, surrounding the ring on all four sides. They stood at attention, like soldiers guarding a grave.
"They are surrounding the ring," Lawler noted, his voice trembling. "This is an execution, plain and simple."
Sandro walked up the steel steps, receive the mic that Heyman presented to him. He entered the ring alone. He walked to the center, standing over the broken form of Chris Jericho.
Jericho pushed himself up, his arms shaking, until he was on his knees. He looked up at the man who had proclaimed himself the God of WWE, the man who had now become his judge, jury, and executioner.
He saw no anger in Sandro's eyes. He saw no disappointment. He saw only finality. It was the look of a man putting down a lame horse.
"I tried," Jericho whispered, his voice cracking, barely audible over the ring mics. Tears welled in his eyes, not from pain, but from the realization that his time at the top was done. "Sandro... I tried."
Sandro stared down at him. He slowly reached into the pocket of his trunks.
Sandro sighed, a sound of genuine disappointment. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out the black fabric, the Undisputed System armband. He held it for a moment, letting the crowd see it, before letting it drop, It fluttered through the air, landing softly on the canvas between Jericho's knees.
"I know," Sandro said, his voice cold and calm, projecting to the silent arena without a microphone. "But in my world... trying isn't enough."
Sandro turned his back on Jericho. He looked at the crowd. He looked at the hard camera.
He raised his thumb.
"Don't do it, Sandro!" Lawler pleaded.
Sandro held the pose for a second. Then, swiftly, mercilessly...
THUMBS DOWN.
The signal was given.
"NO!" Cole screamed. "Don't do this! He's a legend! Have some respect!"
Ryback and Big E slid under the bottom rope. Wade Barrett and Drew McIntyre vaulted over the top.
Jericho tried to stand, to fight, but he was exhausted. Ryback grabbed Jericho by the throat.
"FEED! ME! MORE!"
Ryback hoisted Jericho up. He marched him around.
"FINISH IT!"
SHELL SHOCKED.
He slammed Jericho down.
Jericho hit the mat hard. Before he could even register the pain, Big E was next. He scooped up the limp body.
BIG ENDING.
The impact shook the ring. Jericho was limp, staring blankly at the lights. But they weren't done.
Wade Barrett pulled him up by the hair, ripping the elbow pad off.
BULL HAMMER.
The elbow connected with a sickening crack, spinning Jericho inside out.
Drew McIntyre waited in the corner. He slapped his thigh. He charged.
CLAYMORE.
The boot took Jericho's head off and turned him inside out. The crowd was silent, horrified by the systematic dismantling of an icon.
"Stop it! He's dead!" Striker yelled. "He's already finished!"
Jericho lay in a heap in the center of the ring, broken in body and spirit. The crowd was booing, but there was a hush of shock underneath it. This wasn't just a beatdown; it was a systematic dismantling.
Sandro turned back around. He looked at the wreckage. He nodded to Ryback and Big E.
Big E and Ryback grabbed Jericho's arms, dragging him to the center of the ring. They forced him up to his knees one last time. Jericho's head lolled forward, unconscious, barely held up by the sheer strength of the tag champions.
Sandro walked to the corner. He took off his suit jacket, tossing it to AJ. He rolled up his sleeves.
He looked at Jericho. He looked at the hard camera. His eyes were dead. He tapped his temple.
"Erasure," he mouthed.
Sandro took off. He sprinted toward the ropes behind Jericho, hitting them with explosive force. He hit them with explosive force, rebounding back into the ring with terrifying speed like he was in a blur motion.
As he approached the kneeling Jericho, Sandro dropped low, sliding across the canvas like a blade.
His right elbow cocked back. The motion was a violent, inward to outward snap.
CRACK.
THE LAST NOTE.
The elbow smashed into the back of Jericho's neck with terrifying precision. It was the coup de grâce. The final nail in the coffin.
Jericho collapsed face first, motionless.
"My God," Cole whispered. "They just ended his career."
"He executed him," Lawler said, his voice trembling. "He just executed him on live television."
"He did what had to be done," JBL said quietly, though he refused to look at the monitor. "Business is business."
Sandro stood up. He didn't smile. He didn't celebrate. He simply snapped his fingers.
AJ Lee and Nikki Bella entered the ring, handing him his titles. Alexa Bliss followed. The rest of the Undisputed System crowded in, standing over the fallen body of Chris Jericho, some looked down with pity, some with disgust, but all with loyalty to the man standing in front.
Sandro hoisted the WWE and United States Championships high in the air, his foot resting on Jericho's head.
The message was clear. The weak link had been severed. The Undisputed System had been purified. With Sandro's cold, dead stare, the wrestling world knew that the God of WWE wasn't playing a character. He was running a regime. And nobody, legend or rookie, was safe from the judgment.
As Sandro and the Undisputed System turned their backs on the devastation in the ring, a heavy silence settled over the arena, broken only by the frantic murmurs of the crowd and the sharp commands of the medical personnel rushing down the ramp.
They moved with urgency, sliding under the bottom rope to tend to the motionless body of Chris Jericho. WWE officials, referees, and even the usually stoic SmackDown General Manager Teddy Long swarmed the ring, their faces etched with genuine concern.
One of the lead medics leaned over Jericho, checking for a response, before quickly looking up and crossing his arms in an "X", the universal sign for a legitimate injury. The air in the building seemed to leave all at once. Fans who had been booing moments ago now stood in hushed reverence as a backboard and neck brace were brought out.
At the commentary table, the mood was volatile.
"This is sickening," Cole spat, slamming his pen down. "We just watched a career end tonight. That wasn't wrestling; that was an assault. Sandro Zhang is a criminal."
"He's a monster," Lawler added, shaking his head as he watched Jericho being strapped to the stretcher. "I don't care about 'business.' I don't care about ultimatums. You don't do that to a human being. You don't try to paralyze a man just because he lost a match."
Striker looked pale. "We talk about 'sending a message,' but this... this is finality. Jericho is being stretchered out. We might never see him in this ring again."
"Oh, save me the melodrama!" JBL interrupted, though he avoided looking directly at the stretcher being wheeled up the ramp. "Chris Jericho knew the stakes! He signed the contract! He knew that failure meant exile! Sandro Zhang is building an empire, not a retirement home. If you can't cut it, you get cut. It's harsh, but it's business."
"Business?!" Cole shouted. "Is breaking a man's neck business, John? Is ending a legend's livelihood business?"
"In the Undisputed System, yes!" JBL retorted. "Excellence demands sacrifice. Tonight, Jericho was the sacrifice."
Meanwhile, the EMTs carefully loaded Jericho onto a stretcher, placing a neck brace on the legend, the crowd began a somber clap, a sign of respect for a fallen warrior. Teddy Long walked alongside the stretcher, shaking his head, looking like a man who had lost control of his own show.
The image of Jericho being wheeled up the ramp, broken and defeated, was a stark reminder of the new world order. The "Attitude Era" legends were fading. The "Ruthless Aggression" stars were being hunted. The era of the Undisputed System had no room for nostalgia.
But the show, as they say, must go on.
The ring crew frantically cleaned the canvas, removing the debris of the assault, trying to reset the stage for the advertised main event. It felt almost trivial now, but the machinery of the WWE didn't stop for casualties.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Cole said, trying to regain his composure. "It is hard to transition from what we just witnessed. Our thoughts are with Chris Jericho. But we have a main event to get to. A battle for brand supremacy."
The TitanTron lit up, and the familiar trumpet blast of "The Time is Now" hit the speakers.
The crowd reaction was a mix of cheers and relief, a desperate need for a hero to cleanse the palate.
Team RAW emerged.
Leading the charge was the captain, John Cena. He ran out with his usual high energy, saluting the troops, looking determined to bring some honor back to the red brand. Following him were Randy Orton slithering with coiled intensity, Sheamus pounding his chest, The Miz looking arrogant as ever, and the crowd favorite, Zack Ryder, pumping his fist.
They marched to the ring, a united front of RAW's best.
Then, the explosion of hellfire.
Team SmackDown arrived.
The Big Red Machine, Kane, led the blue brand. Beside him walked the high flying Rey Mysterio, the parkour expert John Morrison, the chaotic R-Truth, and the veteran Matt Hardy.
The two teams stood in the ring, ten men staring each other down. The crowd buzzed, the earlier horror slowly replaced by the anticipation of a classic Survivor Series elimination match.
The commentary team tried to pivot, hyping the stakes. "This is what Survivor Series is all about!" Cole said, trying to inject enthusiasm back into his voice. "Raw versus SmackDown! If they win this match, either brand can at least restore some prestige after being decimated by the Undisputed System for months."
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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