Becoming A Wrestler

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Inside the ring, Lashley didn't let go of Sandro, but his eyes were on the wolves circling. His grip wavered, not from lack of strength but sheer calculation. He was outnumbered. Drew and Ryback were already climbing the cage like demons scaling a fortress. The crowd booed louder, some hurling garbage toward the ring.

Lashley snarled, finally letting go of Sandro's leg. He popped up to his feet and started swinging at the cage walls, trying to shake the steel, trying to shake them off. Drew reached the top first, but Lashley lunged, slamming the cage wall with enough force to rattle it. Ryback tried another side, but Lashley chased him off too.

And behind him, twisted and limping—

Sandro stood.

His left leg trembled like a leaf in a hurricane, but he smiled, a sick, crooked smile filled with malice and defiance. He hobbled forward, then—

LOW BLOW.

A kick right between Lashley's legs. The crowd erupted in boos so loud the floor seemed to vibrate.

"DAMMIT, NOT LIKE THIS!" Tenay shouted.

Lashley dropped to his knees, eyes glassy in pain.

Sandro wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, climbed to the top turnbuckle, slowly, agonizingly, but with purpose. He balanced, perched, pointing at Lashley like a man sentencing his enemy to death.

Downfall DDT incoming.

And then—

"Wreck" by Mick Foley hit.

The arena exploded.

The boos flipped instantly into earth shaking cheers.

Mick Foley emerged, unmistakable in flannel and fire. But he wasn't alone. With him were Kurt Angle, Sting, Kofi Kingston, and Taylor Rotunda, all storming down the ramp like a cavalry of justice.

Sandro's face twisted in rage atop the turnbuckle. "NO! NO!" he shouted, pointing, teeth bared like an animal.

On the floor, Drew and Ryback dropped from the cage, regrouping with Stu and Big E. The four stood firm, blocking the ramp.

But they didn't stand long.

Foley and his team didn't hesitate.

Fists flew.

Kurt Angle tackled Drew McIntyre. Kofi leapt onto Ryback. Sting went after Stu Bennett, and Taylor charged Big E. It was a full blown war on the ramp, and the crowd went berserk.

"This is absolute chaos! This is a brawl!" Don West shouted over the roar of the audience.

Sandro was still yelling from the top rope, pointing and cursing, his attention stolen by the carnage. He forgot where he was. He forgot who was below him.

And Lashley remembered everything.

In a flash, Lashley pulled himself up, grabbed Sandro by the leg, and yanked him off the top turnbuckle. Then he positioned himself and when Sandro git up, he ran with a full speed onto Sandro.

WHAM.

SPEAR.

RIGHT TO THE GUT.

Sandro folded like a paper doll, and the impact shook the ring.

"OH MY GOD!" Mike Tenay screamed, voice cracking. "HE BROKE HIM IN HALF!"

The crowd blew the roof off. Every person was on their feet.

Lashley hooked the leg.

The referee inside the ring immediately goes for the count.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

DING DING DING.

The bell rang.

The ring announcer immediately announce the result with loud voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner! AND NEW TNA World Heavyweight Champion!! BOBBY LASHLEY!!!"

Lashley collapsed beside Sandro, too spent to even raise a fist. His chest heaved, blood streaming from a gash over his eye. Sandro didn't move at all, his body was sprawled out like a crime scene, one leg twitching, face blank.

"LASHLEY WINS! LASHLEY WINS!" Tenay shouted, standing with his headset half off his head. "This is what justice looks like!"

"After all the odds, all the interference, all the damn schemes, Bobby Lashley stood tall!" Don West added. "He earned this!"

Outside the ring, the war on the ramp continued, bodies crashing into barricades and fists flying. Foley clotheslined Ryback over the barricade. Sting bashed Big E with a steel chair. Kurt had Drew in an Ankle Lock of his own, while Kofi and Taylor double teamed Stu into the LED screen.

The Undisputed System was being driven back, beaten down and humiliated.

Back in the ring, Lashley sat up slowly. The referee had retrieved the TNA World Heavyweight title, gave it to Lashley, and raised his hand, causing the crowd roared again.

Lashley didn't smile. He didn't celebrate. He just nodded, war worn and weary. He had fought through hell and emerged bloodied but victorious.

Sandro, meanwhile, was being checked on by medical personnel. He refused help at first, tried to shove them away, but his ankle wouldn't support him. His body betrayed him. Even in defeat, he cursed and spat, refusing to look at Lashley, refusing to acknowledge the moment.

Mike Tenay's voice softened, reverent, as the camera zoomed in on the wreckage of bodies in the ring and around the arena.

"This wasn't just a wrestling match. This was a war. This was pride versus power. Perseverance versus ego. And in the end… the better man won."

Don West chimed in, "We may never see anything like this again. This was brutality. This was heart. This was history."

The final shot lingered on Lashley, on his knees in the center of the ring, eyes closed, soaking in the noise.

The crowd chanted his name. Loud. Raw. Unfiltered.

"LASH-LEY! LASH-LEY! LASH-LEY!"

He raised one fist slowly, blood staining his forearm.

And as the camera panned to the outside, where the Undisputed System was being dragged backstage by security, battered, beaten, but not broken, you could feel it in the air.

The result of TNA Against All Odds was a shockwave that tore through the wrestling world like a thunderclap in a quiet chapel.

No one expected it. No one truly saw it coming.

Sure, some had dared to whisper that Bobby Lashley could beat Sandro Zhang. They pointed to Lashley's strength, his momentum, his discipline. But even those voices, in the corners of internet forums and late night podcasts, hedged their bets.

Sandro wasn't just a champion, he was a presence. His reign, backed by the ruthless Undisputed System, had become something mythic. Dominant. Inevitable. Like a storm rolling over the land, leaving scorched earth behind.

So when that bell rang, when Lashley's hand was raised, when the words "NEW TNA World Heavyweight Champion" boomed through the arena, something fundamental cracked.

Twitter imploded within seconds.

TNA's official forum servers stuttered under the flood of traffic. Fans posted in every emotional register imaginable, elation, disbelief, fury, confusion. Threads popped up with titles like:

"THE UNTHINKABLE JUST HAPPENED"

"Sandro SCREWED or BEATEN FAIR?"

"LASHLEY – THE HERO WE NEEDED"

"Is the Undisputed System Finished?"

Some were in tears of joy. Others accused TNA of betrayal. Some fans wrote long essays praising Sandro's storytelling, how even in defeat he preserved the aura of someone too dangerous to forget. One viral post simply read, "We saw God bleed. Now what?"

Amidst all the noise, one universal truth settled in, which is that the reign of Sandro Zhang had ended. And no one knew what came next.

Backstage, the tone was very different.

The air in the medical bay was sterile, humming with fluorescent lights. Sandro sat on a folding steel chair, his shirt torn open, chest wrapped in a bruised tapestry of red and purple.

Trainers carefully dabbed antiseptic along his busted lip, taped up his wrist, and tended to a swelling ankle. His expression never cracked. He winced here and there, had to sell it a bit, but the truth was, he didn't feel a damn thing.

Not from the pain.

The gift he received from God, had dulled his nerves to agony. A divine mutation. Pain became information, not suffering. But appearances mattered. So he grimaced. He grunted. He clutched his ribs and hissed air through his teeth when they pressed too hard. It was all part of the image. Tough. Gritty. Human.

A few feet away sat Lashley.

He looked no better. His right eye was swollen, a gash taped just above his brow. Blood had dried into a dark smear on his temple, and his shoulder was covered in bruises so deep they looked black in the light. The TNA World Heavyweight Championship sat on the bench beside him like a crown resting after a long coronation.

Silence lingered for a while. Just the beeping of a monitor, the murmur of trainers.

Then Sandro broke it.

"You really speared the soul outta me," he muttered, voice hoarse but steady.

Lashley glanced over. His face didn't smile, but his eyes did. "Had to dig deep for that one. You made me earn it."

Sandro scoffed, then leaned back, acting wincing like he was moving with effort. "You're damn right I did."

For a brief moment, there was no heel and face. No villain and hero. Just two warriors who had gone to hell and back.

"Gotta say," Lashley added after a beat, "didn't think you'd stand after that powerbomb into the cage. You freaked me out, man."

Sandro chuckled. "Pain's overrated."

A beat.

"Still hate your guts," he said with a sideways glance.

Lashley chuckled back. "Yeah. Me too."

That quiet moment between them, a rare break in kayfabe, felt like the aftermath of a battlefield. No cheers. No camera flashes. Just mutual respect under all the blood and storylines.

Then a week passed by in the blink of an eye, and the arena lights dimmed and the buzz reached a fever pitch. Everyone watching, those in the crowd, those at home, held their breath.

It was monday a week after Againts All Odds and for the entire week before, Sandro Zhang and the Undisputed System had vanished like shadows into fog. No tweets. No backstage leaks. No cryptic messages. Just silence.

And that silence had driven the fanbase mad.

Speculation ran rampant. Some thought Sandro was hurt. Others believed he had walked out of TNA and FCW in protest. A few dramatic voices declared him finished, "The tyrant is dead," they posted on fan forums. But there was always that louder, persistent voice, the one that said, He's not done. Not by a long shot.

Then, right as the show started—no intro video, no commentary, no pyro—

"SHOCK. THE. SYSTEM."

The lights snapped to blood red. The distorted bass of the Undisputed System's entrance music flooded the arena.

The crowd erupted, but not with cheers.

Booing. Deafening. Raw.

It was like someone had unleashed the gates of hell.

Out stepped Sandro, looking like a mob boss walking away from an explosion. He wore a pitch black tailored suit with gold threading glinting in the lights, his aviator sunglasses hiding the storm in his eyes.

Behind him, the rest of the Undisputed System followed suit, literally. Stu Bennett, Big E, Drew McIntyre, and Ryback all in black suits, expressions like carved stone.

The boos didn't faze them. They didn't even glance at the audience.

They walked with calculated arrogance, soaking in the vitriol like it was applause.

Into the ring they went, Sandro at the center. Stu Bennett stepped to the ropes, snatched a mic from the timekeeper, and handed it to the man of the hour.

Sandro didn't speak at first.

He stood there, head slightly bowed, one hand clutching the microphone so tight his knuckles turned white. The crowd chanted "YOU LOST! YOU LOST!" but he didn't flinch.

When he finally spoke, it was quiet. Controlled. Too controlled.

"…Travesty."

A pause.

He looked up, slowly, raising the mic to his lips again, voice louder now.

"What happened last Sunday… was a goddamn TRAVESTY!"

The crowd booed louder, but Sandro wasn't done.

"You all watched it! You saw the injustice! You saw the conspiracy unfold right in front of your drooling, slack jawed little faces!"

He ripped off his sunglasses, revealing eyes bloodshot and furious.

"That match… That moment… That was supposed to be the ultimate coronation. The apex of my reign. I was going to end Lashley. Drive him into the dirt and raise MY belt, MY kingdom, over his broken body. But no… oh no… that's not what happened, is it?"

He paced like a caged animal, the rest of the System watching silently.

"No, because someone made sure that didn't happen. Someone pulled the strings! Someone opened the gates and sent the cavalry to destroy me, not just as a wrestler, but as a symbol! Mick Foley, Kurt Angle, Sting, Kofi Kingston, Taylor Rotunda, five ghosts of their own pasts who couldn't bear to watch me succeed!"

He pointed wildly at the entrance ramp.

"They had NO BUSINESS being there! NONE! That was MY moment! That was MY match! But the cowards in the back, the 'management' of FCW and TNA, they knew! They knew I was unstoppable! They knew there wasn't a damn soul left who could beat me fair and square! So they STACKED THE DECK! Just like they've always done to men like me!"

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Name: Alessandro Zhang

Age: 20 (2010)

Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA

Brand: FCW

Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles

Faction: The Undisputed System

Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, & 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion