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Sandro nodded, a hint of humility in his eyes. "After the most brutal match of my career, I can say this, that I a more immense respect for Kurt Angle. We've had our disagreements, our tensions, but after that match, what's left is respect. At least from me."
He stopped at the ropes, looking out at the crowd, scanning the sea of faces.
"But then, as the dust settled, Bray Wyatt and his family, alongside Abyss, ambushed us. They didn't just target me, they attacked Kurt as well. That moment of shared respect and celebration was shattered." He said, voice lowering.
The crowd began to murmur. Boos started to rise as the footage played on the big screen, the moment Bray Wyatt, cloaked in eerie silence, walked down to the ring with his Wyatt Family entered the ring family. The words from Bray. The attack. The image of Sandro and Kurt being put down by Harper and Rowan. Abyss blindsiding Big E.
After the footage ended, the crowd booed even louder, expressing their disdain for the post match attack.
"Abyss, following Bray's orders? It doesn't surprise me. A monster like Abyss and a freak like Bray Wyatt and his family, they're a perfect match. But Bray, you claim I'll crack under the pressure of holding these two championships? Let me make this clear, I won't crack. I'll shine even brighter. And there is no chance you'll take the FCW Florida Heavyweight Title from me."
The audience roared in approval.
"Tonight, I'll prove it. I'm resuming my weekly FCW Florida Heavyweight Title defense, and it will be defended against the opponent chosen for me."
Suddenly, the arena lights dimmed, and a familiar entrance theme blared through the speakers. Tyler Black emerged, met with a chorus of boos. The fans remembered all too well his actions at Forbidden Door, where he had cost Jon Moxley his match against Mick Foley by attacking him with a steel chair and placing Foley on top of Moxley for the pin.
Black stood at the entrance ramp, a smirk on his face, eyes locked on Sandro. The tension in the arena was palpable, the anticipation of their impending clash electrifying the atmosphere.
As the two stared each other down, the stage was set for a confrontation that would further define Sandro's reign as a double champion and test his resolve against yet another formidable adversary.
The referee soon joined the two of them in the ring. Tension radiated from the center of the squared circle as Sandro handed over his two championships, one gleaming gold in each hand. The official held the TNA World Heavyweight Championship high for a moment, acknowledging its significance before handing it off to the ringside crew.
Then, raising the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship, the referee turned slowly to each side of the arena, letting the fans drink in the gravity of what was about to unfold.
Tyler Black stood in his corner, bouncing lightly on his heels, arms loose, eyes laser focused on his opponent. That smirk never left his face. Across from him, Sandro shook out his limbs, exhaled deeply, and rolled his shoulders, the aura of a fighting champion emanating from him.
The bell rang.
Right from the opening second, the two circled each other cautiously, drawing cheers from the crowd who sensed something special was about to unfold. They locked up collar and elbow in the center of the ring, jockeying for position with fluid intensity.
Black tried to pivot into a wristlock, but Sandro countered with a standing switch, slipping behind and applying a waistlock. Black grabbed Sandro's wrist and twisted out, sweeping him down to the mat, but Sandro flipped through and landed on his feet, staring back at Black with a quiet smirk of his own.
The fans clapped in appreciation of the crisp technical exchange.
They tied up again. This time, Sandro took control with a side headlock, grinding it in tight. Black pushed him toward the ropes, looking for an Irish whip, but Sandro planted his feet and held on.
When Black finally managed to break free, he whipped Sandro across the ring, only for Sandro to bounce back and deliver a shoulder block that sent Black to the mat.
Sandro hit the ropes again, leapt over the grounded Black, and rebounded, only to get caught with a deep arm drag. Sandro popped up, and Black followed up with another. The pace quickened.
Sandro responded with a high arm drag of his own, flipping Black across the ring and then transitioning into an armbar. The crowd roared with appreciation. It was a wrestling clinic early on.
Black scrambled to his feet and used the ropes to force a break. Sandro let go cleanly and backed away, nodding as if acknowledging Black's resilience. Black smirked again but this time with a touch of respect.
The tempo gradually increased.
Black went for a dropkick, but Sandro swatted it away and delivered a quick basement dropkick to Black's ribs as he tried to recover.
He followed with a series of stiff forearms that backed Black into the corner. Whipping Black across the ring, Sandro charged in but Black leapt over him, landed on the apron, and caught Sandro with a springboard knee strike to the temple.
The shot stunned Sandro, sending him staggering backward. Black immediately seized the momentum, climbing to the top rope and delivering a flying crossbody that earned him a close two count.
Black maintained pressure, working Sandro over with quick strikes, snapmares, and a perfectly executed standing moonsault. Another two-count. But Sandro wouldn't stay down. He absorbed the damage, drawing strength from the crowd, feeding off their energy like fuel to his fire.
Ten minutes in, both men were sweating and breathing heavily, but neither slowed.
Sandro rallied with a slingblade, then popped up and hit a standing shooting star press. The crowd erupted but Black kicked out at two and a half. Sandro didn't waste time, he goes to the top rope, taunted Black to stood up so he could hit the Downfall DDT.
But when Black stood up he suddenly run and nailed an enziguri out of nowhere that left Sandro reeling and fall into the ring, while Black after the burst of energy also fall down.
Then the two competitors staggered to their feet and charged at each other, Black ducked a lariat and hit a Pele kick to the back of Sandro's head. Sandro dropped to one knee. Black hit the ropes and connected with a jumping knee strike to the side of the champion's head. Cover.
One… Two… Sandro kicked out again!
Now Black looked slightly frustrated. He dragged Sandro to the corner and set him up on the top turnbuckle. A high risk maneuver. He climbed, looking for a superplex, but Sandro blocked it. The two exchanged shots high above the ring, each trying to knock the other off balance.
Then Sandro, summoning a sudden burst of energy, headbutted Black hard enough to daze him. Black fell to the mat. Wasting no time, Sandro stood on the top rope, pointed to the sky, and launched a breathtaking phoenix splash.
He landed flush.
One… Two… Black got his foot on the rope!
The match had become an instant classic.
The crowd was standing now, chanting, "This is awesome! This is awesome!"
Both men slowly rose. Sandro signaled for his Top System Cutter. When he went for it, Black countered mid air with a superkick onto the back of Sandro's head. Sandro spun around and hit the mat hard, and he walk right into Black's setup for Paroxysm. The arena held its breath.
But just as Black went to lift Sandro—
CRACK!
A figure flew into the ring and clubbed Black in the back with a steel chair.
It was Jon Moxley.
The fans screamed in surprise and chaos erupted as Moxley began hammering away at Black, throwing wild fists and yelling obscenities. Black rolled to the floor, trying to defend himself, but Moxley leapt after him and the two began brawling violently up the ramp.
The referee had no choice.
Ding ding ding!
Winner by disqualification, Tyler Black.
Boos rained from every side of the arena. Sandro sat up slowly, confused at first, and then realization dawned across his face.
His long undefeated streak in FCW Florida Heavyweight Title defenses and his win loss record since winning the title, was over. He still held the title, but the loss stung. It stung worse because it wasn't clean. It wasn't fair.
It was Moxley.
Moxley had just cost him his match. Cost him his pride.
His face twisted, not in pain, but in fury. The camera zoomed in as his eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. He rolled out of the ring and stalked over to the timekeeper's area. There, leaning against the barricade, was the steel chair Moxley had used.
Sandro picked it up.
With purpose in his stride, he stormed up the ramp. Neither Moxley nor Black saw him coming. They were too busy tearing each other apart.
WHACK!
Sandro slammed the chair across Moxley's back. Moxley cried out in pain and fell to the floor.
CRACK!
The chair came down on Black's spine next.
Sandro, breathing hard, didn't stop.
WHACK! CRACK! WHACK!
He drove the steel chair down again and again, each blow fueled by betrayal and fury. The crowd gasped, some booing, some stunned into silence. Security began to rush toward the stage, but before they could intervene—
Out came Kofi Kingston, sprinting to the scene.
He was followed by Taylor Rotunda and Big E, who all tried to wrestle the chair from Sandro's hands. Kofi got in front of him, arms out.
"Yo! Sandro! Chill! CHILL, man!"
Taylor shouted, "It's over, bro, you got the title still, don't lose yourself."
Big E put a hand on Sandro's shoulder. "You're better than this."
Sandro stood there, panting, the chair shaking in his grip.
Then, with a sudden yell, he hurled the chair down the steel ramp with a loud clang. The arena echoed with the sound.
He ripped a microphone from the stage hand and turned toward the ring, staring down the hard camera. His face was red, his chest heaving, eyes wild.
"You wanna screw with my match?" he shouted. "You wanna ruin my streak?"
He jabbed a finger toward the unconscious Black and Moxley.
"Next week, it's gonna be the three of us! Triple threat! I'm defending this title against both of you!_
The crowd exploded.
He dropped the mic with a loud thud as his music hit. Sandro stormed off the stage after taking both of his title, his allies trailing behind, trying to calm him down. Behind him, referees checked on Moxley and Black, who laid writhing in pain amidst the wreckage.
In the midst of chaos, the stage had been set, Sandro Zhang, Tyler Black, Jon Moxley. Next week. At the main event. Triple Threat. For the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship.
The echoes of the steel chair clanging against the ramp still reverberated through the arena, a stark punctuation mark on the chaotic ending to Sandro's title defense.
The crowd, a swirling mix of shock and excitement, buzzed with the aftermath. Sandro's sudden, brutal outburst had left a palpable tension hanging in the air, a stark contrast to the electric energy that had filled the arena just moments before during the incredible match.
Many in the audience were visibly taken aback by the champion's uncharacteristic violence. Sandro, the composed and calculated warrior, had seemingly snapped. The methodical dismantling of Tyler Black in the ring, the respectful exchange with Kurt Angle at Forbidden Door, all of it felt like a distant memory in the face of this raw, untamed fury.
Whispers rippled through the stands. Was this the pressure Bray Wyatt had spoken of? Was the weight of two championships finally beginning to crack the seemingly impenetrable resolve of Sandro Zhang?
The undefeated streak in his FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship defenses, a source of immense pride, had been tainted, not by a legitimate loss, but by the interference of Jon Moxley. For a champion who valued honor and dominance, this felt like a profound violation.
Just as the live broadcast seemed to be fading to black, the giant titantron flickered back to life. The arena, still buzzing with bewildered chatter, fell silent once more, every eye glued to the screen.
The image that filled the screen was raw and unfiltered, Sandro Zhang, backstage, still radiating a palpable fury. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship and the TNA World Heavyweight Championship rested precariously on his broad shoulders, the gold gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights of the backstage corridor.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 19 (2009)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida USA
Brand: FCW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Style
Faction: Dragon Boom (Tag Team)
Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, & 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion