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"How much does Sandro have left?" Lawler asked. "Because Sheamus is throwing everything at him!" Sheamus rolled onto his knees, eyes wild, chest heaving. He looked out at the crowd, then down at Sandro, and slowly, deliberately, he backed up into the corner.
The fans knew what was coming.
Sheamus stomped his foot, pounding the mat, firing himself up.
"BROGUE! BROGUE! BROGUE!"
Sandro stirred, rolling onto his hands and knees, trying to push himself up. He grabbed the ropes, pulling himself vertical, turning just in time—
Sheamus charged—
BROGUE KICK!
The impact was thunderous.
Sandro's head snapped back as he crumpled to the mat like he'd been struck by lightning.
The crowd exploded.
Sheamus collapsed on top of him, hooking the leg with everything he had left.
ONE!
TWO!
TH—NO!
Sandro kicked out at the very last second.
The referee's hand hovered inches above the mat as Sandro's shoulder popped up.
The Allstate Arena fell into stunned disbelief for half a heartbeat, then erupted into chaos.
"No way!" Cole shouted. "HOW DID HE KICK OUT?!"
Lawler nearly jumped out of his chair. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! HE HIT HIM DEAD ON!"
Sheamus rolled off Sandro, staring at the lights, chest rising and falling like a bellows. He slowly sat up, disbelief etched across his face, eyes wide, shaking his head as if trying to process what had just happened, staring at the referee like the count had to be wrong.
The referee held up two fingers.
The crowd chanted his name louder than ever, willing him to keep going.
Sheamus' expression shifted from shock to fury. He slammed his fist against the mat, roaring in frustration as the crowd tried to will him back into it.
Sandro lay on his back, chest rising in shallow gasps, eyes blinking rapidly. For the first time in the match, there was fear there. Real fear. He rolled onto his stomach and crawled instinctively toward the ropes, trying to buy himself space.
Sheamus was already moving.
He dragged himself up again, ignoring the screaming pain in his leg, and stalked Sandro like a predator. He grabbed Sandro by the arm, pulling him up, looking to end it one more time.
He was wobbling slightly as he pulled Sandro uo, and when he turned back—
Sheamus was welcomed with the sight of seeing Paul Heyman climb onto the apron.
The boos were instantaneous.
"Get down from there!" the referee shouted, moving toward Heyman.
Heyman threw his hands up, yelling back, pointing at Sheamus, claiming some imagined injustice. The referee's attention was completely diverted.
"Not like this!" Striker yelled. "Don't do it like this!"
Lawler exploded. "Get him down! Get him out of here!"
Sheamus turned toward Heyman, shouting something unintelligible, rage flashing in his eyes.
And that was all Sandro needed.
Sandro surged with momentary energy goes down and drove a brutal low blow straight between Sheamus' legs.
The impact was brutal and unmistakable.
The Celtic Warrior froze, eyes bulging, mouth open in a silent gasp as the pain hit him like a freight train. He staggered forward, dropping to both knees, clutching his groin.
The crowd erupted in fury.
BOOOOOOOOO!
"That's a damn disgrace!" Lawler shouted. "He cheated! He CHEATED!"
Sandro staggered back, breathing hard, pain and desperation etched across his face. He shook out his arm once, then again, steadying himself.
Sheamus was still on his knees, head down, trying to suck in air, completely vulnerable.
Sandro took off.
He hit the ropes at full speed, boots pounding the canvas. He rebounded, arm cocked—
LAST NOTE!
Sandro's right elbow smashed into the back of Sheamus' head and neck, swinging inward then snapping outward with sickening precision. Sheamus' body went limp as he collapsed face first onto the mat.
The arena drowned in boos.
Sandro fell on top of him, hooking the leg tightly, pressing his weight down with everything he had left.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The bell rang.
The damage was done.
Justin Roberts' voice cut through the noise, heavy with the hostility surrounding the ring. "Here is your winner… and STILL the WWE United States Champion… SANNNNDROOOO ZHAAANG!"
The boos were deafening, raining down from every direction.
Sandro rolled off Sheamus and lay on his back for a moment, staring up at the lights, chest heaving, then slowly pushed himself up to a seated position.
Heyman slid into the ring, snatching the United States Championship from the timekeeper and slid i to the ring, dropping to his knees beside Sandro, clutching the belt like a prize.
Sandro slowly sat up as Heyman helped him to his feet. He took the title, stared at it, then raised it high above his head as the crowd continued to rain down venom.
Cole's voice was full of disgust. "I'm sick to my stomach. Sheamus had this match won. He earned it."
Lawler didn't hide his anger. "That was robbery. Absolute robbery. Sandro couldn't beat him straight, so he did what he always does."
Striker added quietly, bitterly, "Another night. Another title retained. And another stain on Night of Champions."
Sheamus remained down in the ring, clutching his neck, frustration and pain written across his face as the referee checked on him. The crowd applauded him anyway, standing, showing respect for the fight he gave.
Sandro never looked back.
He and Heyman backed up the ramp, gold draped over Sandro's shoulder, the Undisputed System's music blaring as loudly as ever.
The boos followed Sandro all the way to the back.
They didn't fade.
They didn't soften.
They stayed sharp, angry, and relentless, clinging to the air like smoke even after he disappeared through the curtain.
In the ring, Sheamus was finally helped to his feet, leaning heavily against the ropes, one arm draped over the referee's shoulder. He didn't look toward the stage. He didn't need to.
The crowd gave him a standing ovation anyway, thunderous applause cutting through the bitterness of what they'd just witnessed. Sheamus nodded once, jaw clenched, eyes burning with frustration, before slowly exiting the ring, knowing he'd been robbed, but also knowing he'd proven something undeniable.
At the commentary table, the tone was heavy.
Cole exhaled audibly as the broadcast shifted. "I don't think anyone in this building is happy with that outcome, but unfortunately… the show must go on."
Lawler shook his head, still visibly irritated. "I hate saying it, Cole, but the Undisputed System just keeps getting away with it. And now we've got to move on, because the stakes somehow just got even higher."
Striker leaned forward. "We're heading into the World Heavyweight Championship match next. And if the night so far has taught us anything… expect the unexpected."
The camera cut back to the ring as officials cleared it, resetting for the next bout. The crowd buzzed, still vocal, still angry, but also buzzing with anticipation. Because Night of Champions wasn't slowing down.
Not now.
Not when the World Heavyweight Championship was next.
Suddenly—
BOOM!
A massive wall of fire erupted across the stage, and the Allstate Arena exploded into cheers.
Kane's music hit.
The Big Red Machine stepped through the flames, World Heavyweight Championship strapped tightly around his waist, his eyes gleaming under the lights. The ovation was deafening. Kane stood tall at the top of the ramp, soaking it in.
"There he is!" Cole shouted over the roar. "The World Heavyweight Champion! And listen to this response!"
Lawler sounded almost relieved. "Finally. A champion people can believe in."
Kane marched down the ramp with that unmistakable, methodical pace, eyes burning, fists clenched. Every step felt heavy, deliberate, like the weight of the title and the responsibility that came with it were etched into his very walk.
The fans cheered louder with each step, some pounding the barricades, others raising their arms, desperate for some form of justice after what they'd just witnessed.
Kane reached the ring, grabbed the top rope, and stepped over it with ease. He moved to the center, unfastened the championship, and raised it high. Then, slowly, he lifted both arms and brought them crashing down.
Fire exploded from the ring posts.
The roar of the crowd was deafening.
Kane turned and stalked to his corner, eyes never leaving the stage.
Then something strange happened.
The lights dimmed.
A digital countdown appeared on the TitanTron.
10…
The crowd immediately erupted into boos.
9…
"What the hell is this?" Cole asked, confused.
8…
Striker's voice sharpened. "Oh no… no, no, no. You've got to be kidding me."
7…
Lawler scoffed. "Who approved this? Teddy Long, what are you THINKING?"
6…
The boos intensified, the realization sinking in.
5…
"This can't be right," Cole said. "You're telling me THIS man is getting a World Heavyweight Championship match?"
4…
Kane stood in the ring, arms crossed, unmoving, staring at the stage.
3…
The countdown felt like a mockery now.
2…
The arena was drowning in hatred.
1…
ZERO.
BREAK THE WALLS DOWN!
The boos were nuclear.
Chris Jericho stepped onto the stage, grinning ear to ear, wearing an Undisputed System jacket with a massive logo emblazoned across the back. He spun slowly, arms outstretched, soaking in the venom like it was applause.
"You've GOT to be kidding me!" Lawler yelled.
Cole was livid. "This is unbelievable. Chris Jericho, of all people, challenging for the World Heavyweight Championship?"
Jericho laughed openly as pyro shot up behind him, then began his arrogant stroll down the ramp, pointing at himself, shouting inaudible trash talk toward the ring. He slid under the bottom rope and popped to his feet, smirking at Kane, mocking applause dripping with sarcasm.
"This is wrong," Lawler snapped. "This is absolutely wrong. How does Chris Jericho get a World Heavyweight Title shot tonight?"
Striker answered bitterly. "That's the question everyone's asking, King. And I don't like the answer."
The referee took the World Heavyweight Championship from Kane, showed it to Jericho, who leaned in and kissed the faceplate, then raised it high in the center of the ring. The gold gleamed under the lights as the fans continued to voice their displeasure.
The referee handed it off, checked both men, and called for the bell.
DING DING DING!
And the match was on.
Jericho wasted no time darting around the ring, refusing to engage, forcing Kane to turn again and again. Kane finally lunged—
Jericho slipped away.
"Classic Jericho," Cole said. "Anything to avoid Kane's power."
Kane cornered him moments later and unleashed a flurry of heavy strikes, backing Jericho into the turnbuckles. Jericho covered up, absorbing the blows, then slipped out under the ropes to regroup.
The match unfolded as a clash of styles. Kane dominated whenever he got his hands on Jericho, big slams, thunderous clotheslines, crushing sidewalk slams that shook the ring.
Jericho, meanwhile, survived by being smart, crafty, slippery, slipping out of holds at the last second, using the ropes, rolling to the floor, buying time whenever he could.
"Kane is in complete control when he connects," Striker noted. "But Jericho's ring IQ is keeping him alive."
Jericho managed to chop Kane down with repeated kicks to the knee, targeting the base, chopping the big man down little by little. He locked in a Walls of Jericho attempt, but Kane powered to his feet and hurled Jericho halfway across the ring.
The crowd roared every time Kane surged back.
Late in the match, Kane lined Jericho up for the Chokeslam. He grabbed Jericho by the throat,
Jericho panicked.
He shoved Kane forward, right into the referee.
The official went down hard.
The crowd erupted in furious boos.
"Oh no," Cole warned. "Don't tell me this is how it ends."
Jericho wasted no time. He reached into his tights and pulled out a pair of brass knuckles, glinting under the lights. The boos turned vicious.
"That's illegal!" Lawler shouted. "Somebody stop this!"
Jericho smashed the knuckles into Kane's skull once.
Then again.
Kane dropped to one knee.
Jericho threw the knuckles aside just as the referee began to stir. He grabbed Kane, whipped him into the ropes, and as Kane rebounded—
CODEBREAKER!
Kane folded in half.
Jericho covered.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The bell rang.
The arena was furious.
Tony Chimel's voice rang out, almost drowned by boos. "Here is your winner… AND NEWWWW… WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… CHRISSS JERICHOOOO!"
Jericho rolled off Kane, laughing hysterically as the referee handed him the title. He clutched it to his chest, then raised it high, screaming in triumph.
Cole sounded stunned. "I don't believe this… I just don't believe this."
Lawler was disgusted. "The Undisputed System just got even stronger."
Striker said quietly, "They've nearly got everything."
But then—
Kane sat up.
The crowd roared.
Jericho didn't see it.
He turned—
And Kane's hand wrapped around his throat.
The building exploded.
Kane hauled Jericho up—
CHOKESLAM!
Jericho crashed to the mat as the crowd lost their minds.
"Yes!" Lawler shouted. "YES!"
Striker smiled for the first time in minutes. "At least there's that."
Kane stood tall, staring down at the fallen champion, fire blazing in his eyes. Jericho lay there clutching the title, victory hollow, body wrecked. Kane left the ring to a massive ovation as officials checked on Jericho. The image of the fallen champion lingered for a moment before the cameras cut away.
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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
Other Achievements: 1x Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royale Winner & 1x Mr. Money In The Bank
Wrestlemania Record: 1 - 0