If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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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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The crowd vehemently rejected the excuse, the boos swelling again. "Oh, you don't believe me?" Edge mocked, taking his sunglasses off to stare directly into the hard camera. "Let's be brutally honest for a second. Christian never deserved to climb that ladder. He never deserved to unhook that briefcase. Because Christian is fundamentally incapable of carrying the pressure that comes with holding that contract."
Edge began to slowly pace around the ring, building his twisted narrative.
"When you hold Money in the Bank, you have a target on your back every single second of every single day," Edge explained, pointing a finger at his own temple. "It takes a specific kind of mental fortitude. It takes a killer instinct. And Christian simply doesn't have it. If he held that briefcase, he would have cracked under the expectations. He would have hesitated when it mattered most, and he would have failed. I spared him that humiliation. I stopped him from walking into a situation that would have destroyed him."
At the commentary desk, Cole was shaking his head in absolute disgust.
"This is completely delusional," Cole muttered. "He is trying to justify stabbing his best friend in the back by pretending it was a favor!"
"Christian has won championships all over the world!" Booker T added. "He can handle the pressure just fine! Edge is just jealous!"
"Jealous of what, Booker?" JBL argued, speaking up to defend the Rated-R Superstar. "Edge is an established main eventer! He is a multiple time World Champion! He knows exactly what it takes to survive at the top, and if he thinks Christian is too weak for the job, I'm inclined to believe him!"
Inside the ring, Edge wasn't finished.
"You people seem to forget history," Edge sneered, pointing out at the audience. "Christian is nothing without me. Our entire career as a tag team proved it. I was the star. I was the draw. I was the one making the big moves, and Christian was the weaker half who needed me just to keep his head above water. He has always needed me to reach the next level."
Edge paused, his face hardening as he shifted the blame.
"But you know what the worst part is?" Edge asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, angry register. "The worst part is that Christian and I actually had a plan going into Sunday. We talked about it in the locker room before the match. When we realized we were both in the match, we came to an understanding. We agreed... that I would win the briefcase."
The fans groaned, recognizing the blatant hypocrisy in the claim.
"He knew the plan," Edge insisted, pounding his chest. "He knew that I am the Ultimate Opportunist. He knew that I am the man who created the legacy of that contract. But at the last possible second, Christian let his ego get the better of him. He changed the plan. He climbed that ladder, and he betrayed me first!"
Edge glared out at the booing crowd, genuinely believing his own fabricated victimization.
"I am the man who should be holding that briefcase right now!" Edge yelled, his composure slipping into rage. "That contract belongs to me! Christian stole my moment! He stole my property! And I promise you this... I will not stop until I correct that mistake, and take back exactly what is mine!"
Edge threw the microphone forcefully onto the canvas. The microphone popped loudly over the speakers, followed instantly by his entrance music. Edge rolled out of the ring, soaking in the intense hatred from the Phoenix crowd as he backed up the ramp, his obsession with the Money in the Bank contract driving a massive, destructive wedge through one of the most beloved friendships in WWE history.
Friday Night SmackDown pressed forward, delivering a stellar mid-card showcase that allowed the crowd to catch their breath. The show built a steady rhythm, but as the final segment of the evening approached, the familiar, harsh blare of a warning siren ripped through the arena.
The heavy, methodical rock theme of the Nexus hit the sound system.
The reaction was immediate. A massive chorus of boos washed over the building as Wade Barrett stepped out from behind the curtain. The British brawler wore a sharp, tailored black suit, but the most important accessory was the pristine Intercontinental Championship strapped proudly around his waist.
Walking a half step behind him, wearing their signature black and yellow armbands, were the massive frames of Ryback and David Otunga. Both men had the gold plated WWE Tag Team Championships resting securely over their shoulders. Rounding out the formation were Mason Ryan, Heath Slater, Justin Gabriel, Darren Young, Curtis Axel, and Jinder Mahal.
They didn't look like a chaotic mob of rookies anymore. They walked down the ramp with a unified, measured swagger. The visual was striking, they looked like a highly organized, heavily armed corporate syndicate.
"Look at the power they hold right now," Cole noted, a serious edge to his voice. "The Nexus just altered the power structure of Friday Night SmackDown."
"They hold the gold, they hold the power," JBL stated simply. "It's a numbers game, and they are winning."
The group filed up the steel steps and entered the ring. The non champions formed a protective perimeter along the ropes, crossing their arms and staring down the audience. Barrett stood in the center, flanked by Ryback and Otunga, and calmly accepted a microphone from Slater.
Barrett didn't speak immediately. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, placing his hands on his hips, ensuring the Intercontinental Championship was in perfect view of the hard camera.
"When the Nexus first arrived on Friday Night SmackDown," Barrett began, his crisp English accent cutting through the boos with effortless authority. "I stood in this very ring, and I made a promise to every single person in the locker room, and every single one of you sitting in the audience. I promised that we were not here just to cause chaos. I promised... that we would not leave Chicago without championship gold."
Barrett smiled, a cold, arrogant smirk spreading across his face. He reached down, tapping the center plate of the Intercontinental title. He then gestured to his left and right, highlighting the Tag Team Championships held by Ryback and Otunga.
"Promises made," Barrett declared smoothly, "and promises kept."
The crowd heavily booed the display of dominance.
"We didn't just beat anybody to win these titles," Barrett continued, his voice rising with confidence. "Ryback and Otunga systematically dismantled Cryme Tyme. And I stepped into the ring with the Big Red Monster, a man who has terrorized this company for a decade, and I pinned Kane in the middle of the ring."
Barrett took a slow step forward.
"Take a very good look at the men standing in this ring," Barrett ordered the audience. "We are no longer just a group of rebellious outsiders trying to make a name for ourselves. We are your champions. We are the new establishment on Friday Night SmackDown. We have taken over, and the rest of the roster has two very simple choices, you can accept the new order, or you can get out of our way."
The fans chanted "YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK!" but Barrett completely ignored them, his eyes locked on the camera.
"We control the tag team division," Barrett summarized, checking off his fingers. "We control the Intercontinental division. We have secured our stronghold on Friday nights."
Barrett paused, his expression shifting from arrogant celebration to a dark, calculating focus.
"But we are not blind to the reality of the situation," Barrett noted, lowering his voice slightly. "We are well aware that one major championship still remains outside of our control. A championship currently held by a man who calls himself a God."
The crowd buzzed at the direct reference to Sandro Zhang.
"Sandro Zhang," Barrett said, speaking directly into the lens. "You sit on Monday Night RAW, wrapping yourself in gold, pretending that nobody can touch you. But do not make the mistake of thinking that the Nexus has forgotten about you. We have temporarily shifted our focus to conquer SmackDown. But rest assured, mate... you remain a primary target."
Barrett raised his microphone high in the air.
"Because we will not stop until we control absolutely everything!" Barrett shouted, his voice echoing powerfully through the arena. "The rise of the Nexus has only just begun!"
The heavy, gritty theme music of the Nexus hit the speakers once again.
Barrett lowered the microphone, standing tall in the center of the ring. Ryback and Otunga stepped up beside him, raising the Tag Team Championships high into the air as the rest of the faction stood guard around them.
The broadcast focused on the powerful, dominant image of the Nexus bathed in gold, leaving the audience with a distinct, unsettling realization. The WWE landscape had never been more crowded with dangerous, unpredictable forces.
Sandro remained the injured but undisputed king, the Wyatt Family had brought their psychological warfare to RAW, Randy Orton had reverted to his most ruthless form, Edge was a man possessed, and the Nexus was rapidly consolidating power. The balance of power was shifting, and the collision course between these massive forces was now entirely unavoidable.
The neon lights of the Las Vegas strip flashed across the massive digital screens of the TitanTron, setting the stage for a highly anticipated Monday Night RAW. Inside the Thomas & Mack Center, the energy was electric. Tens of thousands of fans packed the arena, holding up signs and loudly buzzing about the rapidly shifting landscape of the WWE.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The opening pyrotechnics erupted in a blinding display of red and gold sparks, the concussive blasts rattling the barricades as the unmistakable Monday Night RAW theme song pumped through the stadium speakers. The broadcast camera swept over the sea of humanity, capturing the roaring audience before panning down to the ringside announce desk.
"Welcome, everyone, to Monday Night RAW, broadcasting live from the fight capital of the world, Las Vegas, Nevada!" Cole shouted over the deafening crowd noise. "We are coming off an absolutely historic week, and the shockwaves from Money in the Bank are still tearing through this roster!"
"You aren't kidding, Michael," Lawler said, shaking his head. "Last week was one of the most violent, unpredictable episodes of RAW in recent memory. We saw Randy Orton practically end Dolph Ziggler's career with a sickening Punt Kick, and we saw the shocking main roster debut of the Wyatt Family!"
"And let's not forget the man standing at the top of the mountain!" JBL chimed in, adjusting his cowboy hat. "Sandro Zhang walked into Chicago with a dislocated shoulder, and he still stood tall as the Undisputed Champion! He showed the world that he is untouchable!"
"He showed us he is confident, John, but that confidence is bleeding heavily into arrogance," Cole argued, pushing back against JBL's bias. "Sandro stood in this very ring and acted like there was nobody left on the planet who could challenge him. He acted like Bray Wyatt was just some random rookie off the street!"
"Bray Wyatt is a threat, plain and simple," Lawler added, a serious edge to his voice. "He isn't just a newcomer. He has history with Sandro. Back in FCW, Bray Wyatt was the man who pinned Sandro Zhang and took the Florida Heavyweight Championship from him. He has done it before, and he clearly believes he can do it again."
"Ancient history!" JBL scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "FCW was years ago! Sandro was just a kid learning the ropes. Today, he is the God King! He is the Beast Slayer! If Bray Wyatt thinks a couple of parlor tricks and a spooky lantern are going to intimidate the double World Champion, he is sorely mistaken!"
Before the commentary team could escalate their debate, the arena lights shifted to a cold, pale yellow.
The slow, methodical bassline of "Voices" hit the sound system.
The Las Vegas crowd instantly erupted into a massive, hostile chorus of boos.
Randy Orton stepped out onto the entrance stage. The Apex Predator wore his standard black wrestling trunks, his heavily tattooed arms resting casually at his sides. He didn't rush. He walked down the long steel ramp with a chilling, dead eyed focus, completely ignoring the venomous insults being hurled at him from the front rows. He moved with the terrifying composure of a man who felt absolutely no remorse for his actions.
Orton climbed the steel steps, wiping his boots on the apron before stepping smoothly through the ropes. He walked to the center of the ring, holding his hand out. A ringside technician quickly tossed him a microphone.
Orton didn't speak immediately. He stood in the dead center of the squared circle, slowly pacing in a small circle, letting the heavy boos wash over him. He lowered his head, a faint, condescending smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
After nearly a full minute of relentless jeering, Orton finally raised the microphone to his lips.
"Last week," Orton began, his voice smooth, cold, and laced with malice, "I did exactly what I promised I was going to do. I exposed Dolph Ziggler for the weak, overrated fraud that he truly is."
The fans loudly voiced their disapproval, chanting Ziggler's name.
"You can chant for him all you want, but it doesn't change the reality of the situation," Orton stated calmly. "Dolph Ziggler does not belong in the main event. He never has. His entire career is built on the backs of other people. He is a parasite who attaches himself to stronger men, hoping that some of their relevance magically rubs off on him."
Orton stopped pacing, his dark eyes scanning the arena.
"People keep talking about the fact that Sandro Zhang gave Ziggler a World Championship opportunity a while back," Orton sneered, shaking his head in mock amusement. "They point to that match as proof that Ziggler is a top tier competitor. But let's look at the facts. Sandro Zhang didn't give Dolph Ziggler a title shot because Ziggler earned it. He gave him that shot out of pure pity."
The crowd buzzed, unsure of where the Viper was taking this narrative.
"And that is what I find so incredibly fascinating," Orton continued, his tone turning sharp and inquisitive. "Because Sandro Zhang doesn't have a sympathetic bone in his body. He is arrogant. He is self centered. He calls himself a God. So why would a man like that show pity to a bottom feeder like Dolph Ziggler? Did he really think Ziggler was a worthy challenger? Or did Sandro just want a night off? Did he handpick a weak, fragile opponent because he knew he could beat him with his eyes closed?"
Orton looked directly into the hard camera, addressing the champion directly.
"You walk around this company wrapped in gold, Sandro, acting like you are untouchable," Orton challenged, his voice echoing powerfully through the arena. "You talk down to the roster. You talk down to the fans. You think you are the undisputed alpha of this industry. But I see right through you. You are a fraud hiding behind pity projects and lackeys. And I want to make one thing perfectly clear to you right now... I am not Dolph Ziggler. I am not some charity case. And I am certainly not intimidated by you."
The Las Vegas crowd rained boos down on the ring, furious at Orton's blatant disrespect toward both Ziggler and the champion. Orton lowered the microphone, a dark, satisfied smile crossing his face, fully aware that he had just fired a massive shot across the bow of the God King.
Suddenly, the blaring, energetic horns of "My Time is Now" ripped through the soumd system!
The arena absolutely exploded!
The mixed reaction that normally followed John Cena was completely absent, tonight, the fans delivered a massive, unified roar of approval.
Cena sprinted out onto the stage, wearing his signature bright green t-shirt and denim shorts. He didn't stop to salute the crowd. He didn't pause at the top of the ramp. He sprinted down the aisle with intense purpose, sliding rapidly under the bottom rope and popping up to his feet, instantly stepping into Randy Orton's personal space.
The crowd cheered wildly as the two legendary rivals stood nose-to-nose in the center of the ring.
"You talk a big game, Randy!" Cena shouted off mic, his voice carrying through the front rows before a technician handed him his own microphone.
Cena took a step back, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on the Viper.
"You want to stand out here and run your mouth about Dolph Ziggler?" Cena asked, his voice filled with righteous anger. "You want to talk about Sandro Zhang? Let's talk about us, Randy. Because last time I checked, you and I still have a lot of unfinished business."
Orton narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching.
"I haven't forgotten about that RKO you hit me with a few weeks ago," Cena reminded him, pointing a thick finger at Orton's chest. "You love to strike from the shadows. You love to kick guys when they are down. And frankly, Randy, I am sick and tired of watching you stand out here and bully Dolph Ziggler."
"Bully?" Orton scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not bullying him, John. I am educating him. I am putting him in his place."
"No, you are trying to end his career because you are threatened by him!" Cena fired back loudly. "Does Dolph Ziggler have flaws? Yes. Has he made mistakes? Absolutely. But nobody in the back works harder than that kid! He has scratched, and he has clawed, and he has earned the respect of every single person in this building through years of pure grit!"
The fans cheered in agreement, fully supporting Cena's defense of the Showoff.
"So here is the deal, Randy," Cena stated firmly, tossing his hat out of the ring. "If you want to fight someone... if you want to prove how tough you really are... stop going after the guys who are already injured. You have a problem? You can deal with me."
Orton stared at Cena for a long, tense moment. He slowly raised his microphone, his expression completely devoid of emotion.
"Stay out of my business, John," Orton warned, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Or I promise you, I will put you in a hospital bed right next to Ziggler."
"Make me," Cena challenged, dropping his microphone onto the canvas.
Orton didn't hesitate. He swung a heavy, bare knuckle right hook aimed directly at Cena's jaw. Cena ducked the strike perfectly, wrapping his arms around Orton's waist and driving the Viper backward into the turnbuckles The Las Vegas crowd lost their minds as a massive, chaotic brawl broke out in the corner. Cena unleashed a flurry of heavy rights and lefts, backing Orton up. Orton fought back viciously, driving a knee into Cena's gut and throwing a stiff European uppercut that snapped Cena's head back.
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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