King of the Ring 2004
Date: June 6, 2004 Location: ARCO Arena, Sacramento, CA
The screen is plunged into absolute darkness. For three seconds, there is only the sound of a heavy, metallic heartbeat—THUD-THUD... THUD-THUD... THUD-THUD.
Suddenly, a golden ember sparks in the center of the void, igniting a trail of fire that races across the screen, forming the intricate, metallic outline of a crown. As the crown completes, the screen explodes into a sepia-toned, high-contrast montage. A regal, orchestral score swells—violins screaming in high staccato over a bed of thundering timpani drums.
Narrator (Deep, gravelly voice, echoing): "Since the dawn of time... history has been written by the victors. Empires rise on the backs of the conquered. To sit upon the throne... is to hold destiny itself in your hands."
Fast, rhythmic cuts flash across the screen, synchronized with the pounding drums. We see the grainy, legendary moments of past Kings: Bret Hart kissing the scepter in 1993, his face a mask of exhaustion and pride. Stone Cold Steve Austin in 1996, bloodied and defiant, shouting the words that birthed an era. Kurt Angle in 2000, drenched in milk and glory. Brock Lesnar in 2002, a monster roaring at the heavens with the trophy held high.
The music shifts abruptly. The orchestral elegance is shattered by a grinding, industrial guitar riff. The sepia tone burns away, replaced by the stark, high-definition reality of 2004.
Narrator: "But tonight... the kingdom is at war. And the crown... is forged in blood."
The screen shatters into four distinct quadrants, each pulsating with the energy of a specific conflict.
Quadrant 1: The Civil War. The image zooms in on Randy Orton, his face a mask of cold betrayal as he hits the RKO on Ric Flair. It cuts to Triple H, sitting on his leather throne, sledgehammer in hand, eyes burning with paranoia. Narrator: "The Future... seeks to bury the Past." Triple H (Audio clip): "I made you... and I will destroy you." Randy Orton (Audio clip): "The student... becomes the Master."
Quadrant 2: The Soul of Raw. The screen fills with fire and smoke. The Undertaker’s eyes roll back into his head, white and terrifying. Brock Lesnar, the WWE Champion, screams in frustration as lightning strikes the ring posts. Narrator: "A Beast... hunted by a Phenom." Paul Heyman (Audio clip): "You cannot kill what you cannot catch!" The Undertaker (Audio clip): "Your soul... is mine."
Quadrant 3: Blood Feud. The image turns a sickly green and red. We see the unmasking of Rey Mysterio at WrestleMania, the shame etched on his face. Cut to Eddie Guerrero laughing manically, holding the mask like a trophy. Then, the Con-Chair-To. The sound of steel on bone rings out. Narrator: "Brother... against Monster." Rey Mysterio (Audio clip): "This isn't about titles... it's about venganza."
Quadrant 4: The Grudge. John Cena is shown clutching his taped ribs, his face grimacing in agony as Christian drives brass knuckles into his side. Christian stands tall, mocking the fallen champion with a sadistic grin. Narrator: "Envy... against Resilience." Christian (Audio clip): "You're damaged goods, John!" John Cena (Audio clip): "You can break my ribs... but you can't break my will!"
The quadrants merge into a chaotic swirl of violence—tables breaking, bodies flying, finishers hitting. The screen goes black for a heartbeat.
Then, a single spotlight illuminates the King of the Ring crown, resting on a velvet pillow in the center of an empty ring. The narrator's voice returns, low and menacing.
Narrator: "Heavy lies the head that wears the crown... but heavier is the hand that takes it. Welcome... to King of the Ring."
BOOM! The darkness of the ARCO Arena is instantly annihilated by a deafening concussion of pyro that erupts from the stage, sending a shockwave of heat and light washing over the sold-out crowd. Brilliant red and gold comets streak from the stage floor to the rafters, crisscrossing in the air to form a majestic, fiery archway. As the smoke from the initial blast begins to swirl, a second wave of explosions detonates from the ring posts, sending pillars of white sparks shooting thirty feet into the air. The official theme song, "Summertime Blues" by Rush, kicks into high gear, the driving bassline thumping in sync with the strobe lights that now dance frantically across the sea of humanity. The Sacramento crowd is already on its feet, a deafening roar of 17,000 voices merging with the pyrotechnics to create a wall of sound that shakes the very foundations of the building. Signs wave in a chaotic frenzy—"KING ORTON," "EDDIE SUCKS," "DEADMAN RISING"—creating a vibrant mosaic of passion and allegiance.
The camera swoops down from the rafters in a dizzying arc, capturing the sheer scale of the spectacle before settling on the grand stage setup. A massive, ornate throne sits atop the entrance ramp, bathed in a spotlight of royal purple, flanked by two oversized, golden scepters. The camera then cuts sharply to ringside, where the Raw commentary team is already standing, feeding off the electric energy. Jim Ross adjusts his black cowboy hat, his face flushed with excitement as he shouts over the din. "HELLO EVERYONE AND WELCOME!" JR bellows, his voice booming with signature intensity. "We are LIVE from the sold-out ARCO Arena in Sacramento, California! The wait is finally over! Tonight, we don't just crown a King... we settle blood feuds that have torn families apart, and we fight for the very soul of this company!" Beside him, Jerry "The King" Lawler is grinning ear-to-ear, gesturing wildly toward the stage. "Look at that throne, JR! It’s magnificent! It’s waiting for royalty! Tonight, either Triple H or Randy Orton will sit there, and frankly, I think it’s going to be the King of Kings reclaiming his birthright!"
The shot whips to the SmackDown announce table, where Michael Cole and Tazz are practically vibrating with anticipation. Cole leans into his microphone, eyes wide. "Welcome to King of the Ring! I’m Michael Cole alongside Tazz, and partner, the tension in this building is thick enough to cut with a knife. We’ve got an Unsanctioned Match later tonight that frankly scares me to death." Tazz shakes his head, looking grave behind his sunglasses. "You should be scared, Cole! Rey Mysterio and Eddie Guerrero are gonna tear each other apart! No rules means no mercy! But first, we’re kickin’ things off with a battle of Goliath versus... well, Y2J! It's gonna be a long, violent night, baby!"
WEEEEEELLLLL... IT'S THE BIG SHOW!
The iconic, deep growl rumbles through the arena PA, instantly eliciting a wave of boos that washes over the stage. Green and yellow spotlights sweep the entrance ramp as the 500-pound behemoth, The Big Show, emerges from behind the curtain. He doesn't pose; he doesn't play to the crowd. He marches forward with a scowl etched deep into his face, his massive frame creating a shadow that seems to swallow the ramp whole. Show is dressed in his black singlet, but his demeanor is purely destructive. He stares directly at the ring, ignoring the fans leaning over the barricade to jeer him. Halfway down the ramp, he stops, raises one gargantuan fist into the air, and lets out a primal roar that echoes without a microphone. He reaches ringside, steps over the top rope as if it were a garden fence, and stands in the center of the ring, raising his arms to a crescendo of heat. He glares at the hard camera, mouthing, "Jericho is dead," making his intentions crystal clear.
5... 4... 3... 2... 1... BREAK THE WALLS DOWN!
The explosion of energy is instantaneous as Chris Jericho’s music hits. Strobe lights flash in a blinding white rhythm, and pyrotechnics burst from the stage floor. Out spins the Intercontinental Champion, but the usual flamboyance is tempered by focus. Jericho pauses at the top of the ramp, back to the crowd, arms outstretched in his signature crucifix pose, soaking in the thunderous pop from the Sacramento faithful. He turns slowly, the Intercontinental Championship gleaming around his waist, his eyes narrowed and intense. He walks down the ramp with a brisk pace, slapping a few hands but keeping his gaze locked on the giant waiting in the ring. Jericho is not here to be a rockstar tonight; he’s here to survive. He slides into the ring under the bottom rope, pops to his feet, and immediately climbs the turnbuckle, raising his title high above his head to a massive ovation. He jumps down, hands the belt to the referee, and backs into his corner, never taking his eyes off the monster across the ring.
Match #1: Intercontinental Championship
Chris Jericho (c) vs. The Big Show
The Match:
The bell rings, and the immense size difference between the champion and challenger is immediately the story. Big Show stands in the center of the ring, a monolithic presence, staring down at Jericho with a look of pure disdain. Jericho, ever the strategist, circles the giant cautiously, keeping his distance and using his speed to evade Show’s initial, lumbering grasp. Jericho tests the waters with a quick kick to the thigh, but Show barely registers it, merely brushing his leg as if swatting a fly. Jericho darts in for a chop, landing a stiff blow to Show's massive chest, but the sound echoes harmlessly. Show grins, absorbing the impact, and responds by shoving Jericho backward with a single hand. The force sends Jericho tumbling across the ring and into the corner, highlighting the terrifying power disparity.
Undeterred, Jericho charges back in, attempting to use his agility to confuse the giant. He ducks a clothesline and bounces off the ropes, leaping for a flying forearm. However, he bounces off Show’s chest like he hit a brick wall, collapsing to the mat. Show doesn't even leave his feet. The giant picks Jericho up by his hair with one hand and whips him violently into the turnbuckle. The impact is so severe that Jericho bounces off the pads and face-first onto the canvas. Show stalks his prey, stepping on Jericho’s midsection with one massive boot, putting his full weight down as the champion gasps for air. The crowd winces as Show taunts them, raising his arms to a chorus of boos. He drags Jericho up and delivers a chopping blow to the chest—THWACK!—that leaves a bright red handprint instantly.
The beatdown continues for several minutes, with Show dominating every exchange. He utilizes his mass effectively, trapping Jericho in the corner and crushing him with a running hip attack. Show then locks in a bearhug, squeezing the breath out of the champion. Jericho’s face turns crimson as he fights to break the hold, clapping his hands over Show’s ears to disorient him. The tactic works momentarily; Show releases the grip to check his hearing. Jericho seizes the opening, delivering a series of rapid-fire kicks to Show’s left knee, trying to chop the redwood down. He hits the ropes and connects with a low dropkick to the knee, finally bringing the giant down to one knee.
Sensing vulnerability, Jericho explodes with offense. He bounces off the ropes and hits a running bulldog, driving Show’s face into the canvas. The giant is down! Jericho goes for the Lionsault, springing off the middle rope, but Show catches him by the throat mid-air! The crowd gasps. Show stands up, holding Jericho for the Chokeslam. He lifts him high, but Jericho thinks fast, countering mid-air by grabbing Show’s head and dropping into a DDT! It’s a messy but effective counter that spikes the giant. Jericho scrambles for the cover: 1... 2... Kickout! Show powers out with such force that Jericho is launched into the ropes.
Both men are slow to rise. Show gets up first, fueled by rage. He charges at Jericho, who is resting in the corner. Jericho drops to the mat at the last second, and Show runs chest-first into the turnbuckle. Jericho notices the turnbuckle pad is loose from the earlier impact. While the referee checks on Show, Jericho sneakily unties the pad completely, exposing the steel ring. He waits. As Show turns around, dazed, Jericho springs off the second rope with a missile dropkick, knocking the giant back into the ropes. Show gets tangled for a moment, and Jericho hits a clothesline to send him over the top rope to the floor!
The action spills to the outside. Jericho attempts a baseball slide, but Show sidesteps and grabs Jericho by the legs, dragging him out. Show looks to powerbomb Jericho onto the steel steps, but Jericho rains down punches on Show’s head, wiggling free. He lands behind the giant and shoves him forward. Show collides with the ring post with a sickening metallic clang. Jericho rolls back into the ring, hoping for a count-out victory. The referee begins the count. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... Show climbs onto the apron. Jericho tries to springboard dropkick him off, but Show catches him with a massive open-hand chop to the chest that swats Jericho out of the air. Show steps back into the ring, stepping over the top rope like a monster entering a city.
Show signals for the end, clenching his massive fist for the KO Punch. He stalks Jericho, who is groggy in the center of the ring. Show swings with lethal intent, but Jericho ducks under the massive arm! Jericho bounces off the ropes and hits a Running Enziguri to the back of Show’s head. The giant staggers forward but doesn't fall. Jericho hits the ropes again, rebounding with maximum velocity, and connects with a second Enziguri, this time to the side of the head. Show drops to his knees, dazed.
Jericho sees his golden opportunity. He sprints to the ropes, leaps to the middle turnbuckle, and executes a picture-perfect Lionsault! He lands flush on the giant's chest and hooks the massive leg. The crowd counts along: 1... 2... NO! Show powers out at 2.9, throwing Jericho off him with an explosion of strength. The champion looks frustrated, running his hands through his hair. He waits for Show to rise, signaling for the Walls of Jericho. He tries to turn the 500-pounder over, straining with every muscle, but Show simply kicks him away, sending Jericho flying into the corner.
Show gets to his feet, eyes wild with fury. He charges Jericho in the corner with a full head of steam, looking for a splash to crush him. Jericho drops to the floor just in time, and Show’s face collides directly with the exposed steel turnbuckle that Jericho loosened earlier! The metallic thud echoes through the arena. The giant stumbles backward, clutching his face, blinded by pain. He turns around, staggering blindly into the center of the ring. Jericho is ready. He leaps onto the second rope and lunges at the standing giant, connecting with a Codebreaker (double knees to the face)! The impact on the already-damaged face is too much. Show collapses backward like a felled tree.
Jericho crawls on top for the cover. He hooks the leg, but sensing Show’s power, he slides his own feet onto the bottom rope for illegal leverage, pressing down with everything he has. The referee, positioned on the other side, doesn't see the feet on the ropes.
1... 2... 3!
Winner and STILL Intercontinental Champion: Chris Jericho
Post-Match: The bell rings, and Jericho immediately snatches his title belt and rolls out of the ring, clutching it to his chest as he retreats up the ramp, a sly smirk on his face. He knows he stole one. In the ring, The Big Show recovers slowly, rubbing his jaw. He looks up at the TitanTron, which shows the replay of Jericho’s feet on the ropes. Realizing he’s been cheated, Show erupts in a tantrum, ripping the remaining turnbuckle pad completely off the buckle with his bare hands and screaming threats at the departing champion. Jericho backs through the curtain, raising the title high, having survived the giant by any means necessary.
Backstage Segment: Evolution
The camera cuts backstage to a dimly lit locker room, the air thick with tension. Triple H sits on a bench, methodically taping his wrists, his eyes focused on the floor. He is shirtless, his physique glistening with baby oil, ready for war. Ric Flair, dressed in an immaculate suit, paces back and forth in front of him, his energy manic.
Ric Flair: "This is it, Hunter! This is the night! You heard what that punk Orton said? He thinks he's the future? He thinks he's surpassed you? HA!" Flair laughs, a sharp, barking sound. "He's forgotten who made him! He's forgotten March! He thinks hitting an RKO on us makes him a man? He thinks beating Batista at WrestleMania makes him a King? That was luck, Hunter! Pure, dumb luck!"
Triple H finishes taping his left wrist and slowly looks up. His expression is a mix of intense focus and a flicker of paranoia.
Triple H: "I know what he did, Naitch. I remember the betrayal. I remember the RKOs. I remember him spitting in our faces and calling it 'evolution.'" Triple H stands up, towering over Flair, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Randy Orton thinks he broke the mold when he turned his back on us. But he didn't break anything. He just proved he was a flawed prototype. I gave him the world, and he tried to steal it. Tonight... I take it back. Tonight, the 'Legend Killer' finds out that you can't kill a legend who refuses to die. Randy Orton is a project I started, and tonight... I'm shutting it down."
Triple H grabs a bottle of water and takes a swig, spitting it out aggressively as Flair woos in approval. The camera zooms in on Triple H's cold, calculating stare as he grabs his sledgehammer, weighing it in his hand before setting it back down. He looks dead into the camera lens, eyes burning with obsession. "Randy Orton may be the Legend Killer... but tonight, I will become the King of the Ring."
The Entrances:
The lights in the arena dim to a deep, moody yellow as the slow, haunting piano notes of Christian’s theme, "Just Close Your Eyes," begin to play. A single spotlight hits the top of the ramp, and out walks "Captain Charisma." He’s wearing his signature hooded jumpsuit, the hood pulled low over his face to obscure his expression. As the guitar riff kicks in, he stops at the top of the ramp and slowly lowers the hood, revealing a smirk that radiates pure, unadulterated arrogance. The crowd’s reaction is a potent mix of heat and begrudging respect, but Christian pays them no mind. He unzips the jumpsuit with a slow, deliberate motion, revealing his sleek ring gear underneath. He points a finger to his temple, tapping it rhythmically as he struts down the ramp—a signal of his perceived intellectual superiority over the "thug" he’s about to face. He pauses halfway down the aisle to mock a young fan wearing a Cena jersey, laughing in the kid's face before continuing his march. He slides into the ring, climbs the turnbuckle, and spreads his arms wide, soaking in the jeers as if they were applause. He hops down and leans casually against the corner, eyes locked on the entranceway, looking every bit the predator waiting for wounded prey.
"WORD LIFE!" The static scratch of the turntable hits, and the ARCO Arena explodes. The reaction is deafening, a wall of sound that shakes the cameras. John Cena bursts through the curtain, but the usual high-octane sprint is absent. He walks with a determined, pained gait, his left arm pressed tight against his ribs. He’s wearing a Sacramento Kings throwback jersey—a nod to the local crowd—but beneath it, the thick white band of medical tape is clearly visible. The United States Championship spins around his neck like a medallion of honor. He stops at the top of the ramp and throws up the "Word Life" hand sign, but a grimace flashes across his face as he extends his arm. He marches down the ramp, slapping hands with the fans, feeding off their energy to mask his pain. He slides into the ring, but the movement is labored. He struggles to his feet, clutching his side, and raises the title high with his good arm. He stares daggers at Christian, his eyes burning with a mixture of hatred and resolve. He hands the title to the referee and rips off his jersey, revealing the full extent of the taping around his midsection. He squares up, ready to fight through the agony.
Match #2: United States Championship
John Cena (c) vs. Christian
The Match:
The bell rings, and the animosity explodes instantly. Cena, fueled by adrenaline and weeks of torment, charges out of his corner with a wild right hand. He catches Christian flush on the jaw, knocking him back into the turnbuckles. Cena unleashes a flurry of lefts and rights, burying his fist into Christian’s midsection, but every swing clearly sends a jolt of pain through his own ribs. He whips Christian across the ring and attempts a back body drop, but Christian anticipates it. As Cena bends over, Christian kicks him squarely in the chest. Cena gasps, stumbling backward, clutching his tape. Christian grins, sensing blood in the water. He lunges forward, driving his shoulder into Cena’s midsection, pinning him against the turnbuckles. Christian delivers a series of stiff shoulder blocks, each one driving the air from the champion’s lungs. The referee counts to four, forcing Christian to break. He backs off with his hands up, only to spin around and deliver a cheap shot to Cena’s gut. Cena doubles over, and Christian grabs him by the hair, dragging him to the center of the ring. Christian executes a snapmare takeover and immediately drops a knee onto Cena’s exposed ribs. He covers for a one-count. Christian pulls Cena up and applies a standing abdominal stretch, locking his hands and twisting Cena’s torso. The crowd rallies behind Cena as he screams in agony, his face turning red. Cena fights for breath, his hand hovering over the mat, teasing a tap out, but his will to fight keeps him in it. He powers out with a hip toss, but collapses to the mat immediately after, unable to follow up.
Christian, smelling blood, takes complete control, systematically dismantling the champion with surgical precision. He grabs Cena by the hair and snaps him over with a crisp snapmare takeover, positioning him perfectly in the center of the ring. Christian leaps into the air and drives his knee directly into Cena’s exposed, taped ribs with sickening force. He immediately hooks the leg for a cover—ONE! Cena kicks out, but his face is twisted in pain. Christian wastes no time; he pulls Cena to his feet, hooks his arm, and locks in a standing abdominal stretch. He leans back, maximizing the torque on Cena’s injured midsection, digging his elbow into the ribs while mocking the crowd. "Where's your hero now?!" Christian shouts. The Sacramento crowd rallies behind Cena with a "Let's Go Cena!" chant as the champion's face turns crimson. Cena fights through the agony, powering out with a desperate hip toss that sends Christian flying across the ring. But the effort costs him—Cena collapses to the mat immediately after, clutching his side, unable to follow up. Christian pounces like a jackal, dragging Cena by the arm to the ring post. He exits the ring, grabs Cena’s legs, and with a vicious yank, pulls him groin-first into the steel post. The ring shakes from the impact. Cena writhes on the mat, gasping for air as Christian slides back in, taunting the crowd with a slow clap. He drags Cena to the center and locks in a body scissors, wrapping his legs tight around Cena’s torso and squeezing the life out of the injured ribs. Cena fights for every breath, his hand hovering over the mat, teasing a tap out, but his will to fight keeps him in it.
Cena begins a desperate rally. He powers out of the body scissors, lifting Christian up into an electric chair position, but his legs wobble. He drops Christian throat-first onto the top rope. Both men are down. They get to their feet at the count of seven. They trade punches in the center of the ring—Cena’s blows are heavy but slow; Christian’s are sharp and targeted at the body. Cena ducks a clothesline and hits a flying shoulder tackle! The crowd erupts. He hits a second shoulder tackle, ignoring the pain. He goes for the Protoplex (spin-out powerbomb), lifting Christian high. But the weight is too much for his damaged core. Cena buckles, his knees giving out, and he drops Christian. Christian lands on his feet, spins Cena around, and hits the Killswitch (Unprettier)! The impact drives Cena’s face—and chest—into the canvas. Christian is slow to cover, taking a moment to gloat to the crowd. He finally hooks the leg: 1... 2... Cena gets a shoulder up at 2.9!
Christian, now apoplectic, explodes in fury at the near fall. He slaps the mat and screams at the referee, holding up three fingers, his face a mask of disbelief. He turns his attention back to Cena, dragging the champion up by his hair and whipping him violently into the corner turnbuckles. Cena hits the pads sternum-first with a sickening thud and bounces backward, collapsing to his knees. Christian doesn't relent; he climbs to the top rope, perching himself like a vulture. He signals for a diving headbutt, mocking Cena's own resilience. He leaps—launching himself halfway across the ring—but Cena, relying on pure instinct, rolls out of the way at the last split second! Christian crashes face-first into the canvas, knocking the wind out of himself. Both men are down, crawling toward opposite corners as the referee begins the count. Cena uses the ropes to haul his battered body up, grimacing with every movement. He turns just as Christian charges, looking for a spear. Cena sidesteps! Christian's momentum carries him over the top rope, tumbling to the floor outside. Cena, refusing to let up, follows him out, though the landing jars his ribs. He grabs Christian by the head and rams him skull-first into the steel ring steps—CLANG! He rolls Christian back into the ring and, in a rare display of high-risk offense, slowly climbs to the top turnbuckle. He steadies himself, takes a deep breath, and dives—Top Rope Leg Drop to the back of Christian’s neck! He hooks the leg: 1... 2... Christian desperately grabs the bottom rope!
The match explodes into its final, chaotic phase as both men run on fumes and desperation. Christian, clutching the back of his neck, rolls to the ring apron, his chest heaving. Cena, sensing victory, stalks him. He grabs Christian by the waistband of his tights and attempts to suplex him back into the ring the hard way. He lifts Christian high into the air, straining with all his might, but the exertion is too much for his injured ribs. Cena buckles, and Christian drops down, snapping Cena's throat across the top rope with a guillotine hotshot. Cena stumbles backward, gasping for air, clutching his throat. Christian slides back into the ring, eyes wild with panic and malice. He scrambles to the corner and begins frantically untying the turnbuckle pad. The referee spots him immediately and rushes over, admonishing him loudly. "Don't you do it! I'll disqualify you right now!" the official shouts, physically pulling Christian away from the corner and turning his back to re-tie the pad.
Christian sees his opening. While the referee is preoccupied with the turnbuckle, Christian rolls out of the ring to the floor. He sprints to the timekeeper's area and snatches the United States Championship belt. The crowd boos as he slides back into the ring, the gold weapon clutched tightly in his hands. He stalks Cena, waiting for the champion to turn around. Cena stumbles to his feet, dazed from the hotshot. He turns—and Christian winds up for the kill shot with the belt! But the referee spins around just in time! "Hey!" The official dives between them, ripping the title from Christian's hands, discarding it to the outside. Christian pleads his innocence, distracting the official again.
As the referee tosses the belt, Christian reaches into his tights and pulls out a pair of brass knuckles. The crowd screams in warning. He slips them on his right hand, a glint of metal flashing under the lights. Cena staggers to his feet, dazed. Christian swings a haymaker with the brass knucks aimed right at Cena's temple—but Cena ducks!
Christian’s momentum spins him around. Cena kicks him square in the gut, doubling him over. In one fluid motion, summoning every ounce of strength from his battered body, ignoring the screaming pain in his ribs, Cena hoists Christian onto his shoulders. The crowd roars as Cena hits the F-U! (Attitude Adjustment). He drives Christian into the canvas with earth-shattering authority.
Cena collapses on top of Christian, hooking the leg deep.
1... 2... 3!
Winner and STILL United States Champion: John Cena
The bell echoes through the ARCO Arena, and John Cena immediately rolls off Christian, collapsing onto his back, his face a mask of pain and relief. The massive, thunderous cheer from the Sacramento crowd washes over him as he clutches his heavily taped ribs, struggling desperately to draw breath. The referee, realizing the champion is severely injured, rushes to his side and helps him sit up, handing him the United States Championship. Cena stares down at the gold, his eyes reflecting pure mental triumph over physical agony. He struggles to pull himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the ropes, and raises the belt high with a grimace. He refuses the immediate assistance of the medical team, shaking his head and waving them off, determined to leave under his own power.
Meanwhile, Christian recovers, realizing he has lost. He pushes himself up and erupts in a vicious tantrum, screaming at the referee, claiming Cena cheated by using the ropes on the pinfall. Christian kicks the steel ring steps, sending them sliding across the floor, before stomping on the US Championship belt Cena discarded earlier. Cena, seeing the tantrum, stops his painful limp up the ramp. He turns back and points at the defeated rival, throwing up his "Word Life" hand sign with defiant satisfaction before disappearing through the curtain, leaving Christian to be escorted out by furious security. The champion proved that heart, even when broken, can conquer calculated malice.
Commercial Break
Video Package: Women's Championship Fatal 4-Way
The screen fades to black, and the sound of a heart monitor beeping slowly fills the arena. A grainy, black-and-white montage begins, showing Lita’s hand being raised at Backlash, her body battered, clutching her ribs. The narrator’s voice is soft but ominous: "Victory... comes at a price."
Suddenly, the beeping accelerates into a chaotic, industrial rock beat. The screen explodes into color with rapid-fire clips from the Draft. We see Trish Stratus, eyes wild with jealousy, attacking Victoria from behind, then locking a screaming Lita in a submission hold, digging her knee into the champion's injured ribs. Trish's voice echoes over the footage: "I am the Queen... and this is MY division!"
The scene shifts to the cold, calculating expression of Gail Kim. We see her exploiting the chaos in a tag team match, blindsiding Lita with a chop block and securing a shocking pinfall victory. Commentary from Jim Ross cuts in: "The champion has been pinned! Gail Kim has exposed the weakness!" Gail stares into the camera, a smirk playing on her lips. "I don't need allies," she whispers. "I just need an opportunity."
Next, the screen shakes with the unpredictable fury of Victoria. Clips show her hitting the Widows Peak on anyone in her path, friend or foe. She flips a table during the contract signing, screaming at Trish, her eyes wide with madness. "Chaos isn't a ladder," the narrator intones. "It's a weapon."
The final sequence is a blur of violence from the "Summit" on Raw. The four women brawl uncontrollably. The image freezes on Lita, high atop the stage scaffolding, looking down at the melee below. With a fearless scream, she dives, crashing onto her challengers in a heap of bodies. The screen fades to black with four words burning in white text:
FOUR WOMEN. ONE TITLE. NO ALLIANCES. NO ESCAPE.
The Entrances:
GAIL KIM: The arena lights dim to a sterile blue as the opening beats of Gail Kim’s techno theme pulse through the speakers. She emerges from the curtain with the precision of an assassin, her eyes already scanning the ring for weaknesses. Gail is dressed in sleek, metallic silver gear, a visual representation of her cold, calculated approach. She doesn't acknowledge the fans, walking down the ramp with a brisk, efficient stride. She stops at the bottom of the ramp, not to pose, but to stretch her neck and wrists, her focus entirely internal. She slides into the ring, climbs the turnbuckle without fanfare, and stares out at the crowd with a look of utter detachment. She knows she pinned the champion, and her confidence is a quiet, dangerous thing. She hops down and retreats to her corner, a statue waiting to come to life.
VICTORIA: The haunting, distorted intro of t.A.T.u.’s "All the Things She Said" screeches through the PA, and the energy in the building shifts from focused to frantic. Victoria bursts through the curtain, her hair wild and unkempt, a maniacal grin plastered across her face. She spins in circles on the stage, clutching her head as if battling voices, then sprints down the ramp, high-fiving fans a little too hard. She slides into the ring and immediately begins pacing like a caged animal, talking to herself and pulling at her hair. She climbs the ropes and shakes them violently, screaming at the ceiling. The unpredictability radiates off her; she’s a live wire in a ring full of conductors, and the crowd watches with a mix of excitement and unease, unsure if she’s going to wrestle or start a riot.
TRISH STRATUS: The iconic giggle echoes, followed by the driving guitar riff of "Time to Rock & Roll." The crowd erupts in a mix of cheers and heat as Trish Stratus steps onto the stage, radiating superstar aura. She wears a custom-made, rhinestoned black and pink outfit, looking every inch the "Queen" she claims to be. She pauses at the top of the ramp, pointing to her waist where she believes the Women's Championship rightfully belongs, then blows a mocking kiss to the camera. She struts down the aisle with supreme confidence, ignoring the outstretched hands of the fans. She climbs the steel steps slowly, savoring the spotlight, and enters the ring with a flourish. She climbs the turnbuckle and poses, soaking in the reaction, her eyes locking onto Gail and Victoria with a look of pure condescension. She is the center of the universe, and she knows it.
LITA: The opening riff of "LoveFuryPassionEnergy" explodes, and the ARCO Arena comes unglued. The Women's Champion runs out onto the stage, adrenaline clearly masking the pain etched on her face. She wears her signature baggy pants and mesh top, but beneath the gear, thick white medical tape is visible around her midsection. She throws her hands up in her signature pose, fireworks blasting behind her, but as she lands, she clutches her ribs, a stark reminder of her physical condition. She runs down the ramp, slapping hands with the fans, feeding off their energy to stay in the fight. She slides into the ring and climbs the turnbuckle, raising the Women's Championship high above her head with a grimace. She stares down her three challengers, the underdog champion ready to defend her crown against the world. She hands the title to the referee, and the bell rings.
Match #3: Women's Championship Fatal 4-Way
Lita (c) vs. Trish Stratus vs. Victoria vs. Gail Kim
The Match:
The bell rings, and the tension in the ring explodes instantly as the four women pair off. Lita, fueled by weeks of torment, charges directly at Trish Stratus, tackling her to the mat and raining down right hands. Trish shrieks, trying to cover up, but the champion’s fury is relentless. Meanwhile, Victoria and Gail Kim engage in a fierce lock-up that quickly devolves into a brawl. Victoria overpowers the smaller Gail, shoving her into the corner and unleashing a series of stiff chops. Gail responds by raking Victoria’s eyes and slipping under her arm, delivering a sharp kick to the back of the knee that drops Victoria to the canvas. The action is frantic, with no distinct alliances forming; it is every woman for herself from the opening second. Lita pulls Trish up by her hair and whips her across the ring, but Trish reverses it, sending Lita crashing into the turnbuckles. The impact jars Lita’s injured ribs, and she collapses to her knees, gasping for air. Trish seizes the moment, delivering a running bulldog that drives Lita’s face into the mat, but before she can cover, Victoria blindsides her with a clothesline.
The match spills to the outside as Gail Kim rolls out to regroup, only to be pursued by a manic Victoria. Victoria grabs Gail by her hair and slams her face-first into the ring apron, then tosses her into the steel barricade. Inside the ring, Lita and Trish are back on their feet, trading forearms. Lita gains the upper hand, backing Trish into the ropes and executing a snap suplex. Lita holds her ribs but climbs to the top rope, looking for a high-risk maneuver early. However, Gail Kim slides back into the ring and crotches Lita on the top turnbuckle. Lita falls precariously into the tree of woe position. Gail takes advantage, stomping on Lita’s exposed midsection while she’s trapped upside down. Trish joins in, delivering a series of kicks to Lita’s ribs, forming a temporary, uneasy truce with Gail to eliminate the champion. They double-team Lita, whipping her hard into the opposite corner, where she crumples to the mat.
Victoria re-enters the fray like a wrecking ball, breaking up the double team with a double clothesline that takes down both Trish and Gail. Victoria is on fire, hitting a standing moonsault on Trish for a two-count, then immediately spinning around to catch Gail with a powerslam. She signals for the Widows Peak on Gail, lifting her high, but Trish recovers and delivers a Chick Kick to the back of Victoria’s head. Victoria drops Gail and stumbles forward, right into a rollup by Lita who has recovered in the corner. One, two—Victoria kicks out with authority, sending Lita rolling into the ropes. The pacing is breathless, with near-falls coming every few seconds as the four competitors trade momentum.
Gail Kim begins to assert her technical dominance, isolating Victoria with a series of submission holds. She locks in a tarantula on the ropes, torqueing Victoria’s back until the referee forces a break. As Gail releases the hold, Lita charges and knocks her off the apron with a baseball slide dropkick. Lita then turns her attention to Trish, who is trying to catch her breath in the corner. Lita charges, but Trish elevates her over the top rope to the apron. Lita lands on her feet and fights back, grabbing Trish by the head. She attempts to suplex Trish to the outside, but Gail Kim pulls Lita’s legs out from under her, causing Lita to crash face-first onto the apron. The thud echoes through the arena as Lita clutches her ribs, writhing in pain on the floor.
Inside the ring, Victoria and Trish are left alone. Trish tries to beg off, pleading with Victoria, but the unhinged star isn't listening. Victoria grabs Trish by the throat and lifts her high into the air with a military press, holding her there for several seconds before dropping her into a gutbuster. Victoria covers, but Gail Kim dives into the ring to break the count at the last possible second. Gail and Victoria trade heavy strikes in the center of the ring. Gail uses her speed to dodge a clothesline and hits a springboard crossbody, but Victoria rolls through and lifts Gail up, planting her with a swinging side slam. Victoria goes for the cover, but Lita flies in seemingly out of nowhere with a diving leg drop to break it up.
All four women are down, the physical toll of the match becoming evident. They slowly stir, pulling themselves up in four separate corners. The crowd buzzes as they realize a four-way collision is imminent. They charge at once, colliding in the center of the ring in a mess of limbs and hair. Lita emerges from the scrum with a Twist of Fate on Victoria, planting her in the center of the ring. She goes for the cover, but Trish grabs Lita by the hair and throws her out of the ring, stealing the pin attempt. One, two—Gail Kim dropkicks Trish in the face to save the match! The crowd erupts as the near-falls become agonizingly close.
The climax builds as Gail Kim hits her finisher, the Eat Defeat, on Victoria, driving her boot into Victoria's jaw. Gail hooks the leg, certain of victory, but Trish Stratus, ever the opportunist, slides back in and delivers a devastating Chick Kick to the side of Gail’s head, knocking her unconscious. Trish falls on top of Gail for the cover, but Lita, showing incredible resilience, climbs the top rope in desperation. She launches herself with the Litasault, aiming for Trish’s back to break the pin. But Trish, sensing the danger, rolls out of the way at the last millisecond. Lita crashes midsection-first onto Gail Kim’s prone body, the impact causing further damage to her already injured ribs. Lita gasps for air, unable to capitalize on the impact.
Trish is the first to her feet, stalking the injured champion. She waits for Lita to stagger up, clutching her side. As Lita turns, Trish kicks her in the gut, doubling her over. Trish hooks Lita’s head, runs up the turnbuckles, and executes a picture-perfect Stratusfaction bulldog. She drives Lita’s face into the canvas with emphatic force. Trish flips Lita over and hooks the leg tight, staring daggers at the referee. One... two... three! The bell rings, and the exhausted Queen of the division reclaims her throne amidst the carnage.
Winner and NEW Women's Champion: Trish Stratus
The moment the referee’s hand hits the mat for the three-count, Trish Stratus rolls off Lita, her chest heaving, a look of pure, triumphant vindication plastered across her face. The bell rings furiously as her theme music hits, and the referee retrieves the Women's Championship. Trish snatches the gold from his hands, not even letting him raise her arm properly. She falls to her knees in the center of the ring, clutching the title to her chest and laughing manically, the sound lost under the roar of the crowd. Beside her, Lita writhes in agony, clutching her re-injured ribs, tears of physical and emotional pain streaming down her face. Trish stands up, flipping her hair back, and places a boot on Lita’s chest, posing for the cameras with the belt raised high—the ultimate sign of disrespect. She leans down, shouting something venomous into the ear of the fallen former champion, before stepping over her body as if she were trash. Trish struts up the ramp, her hips swaying with renewed arrogance, pausing at the top of the stage to hoist the championship above her head. She kisses the gold plate, winks at the camera, and disappears behind the curtain, leaving Lita broken in the ring, surrounded by the wreckage of a war she survived but ultimately lost.
Backstage Interview: Randy Orton
Josh Mathews is backstage, his face serious, microphone in hand. The camera pulls back to reveal "The Legend Killer" Randy Orton pacing back and forth in his locker room like a caged tiger. He’s already taped up, his muscles glistening with sweat, his eyes focused on something far beyond the walls of the ARCO Arena.
Mathews: "Randy, tonight is the night. You face your mentor, Triple H, in the finals of the King of the Ring tournament. Evolution has imploded, lines have been drawn, and the world is watching. What is going through your mind moments before you step into the ring with The Game?"
Orton stops pacing abruptly. He turns slowly to face Mathews, his expression a chilling mask of calm arrogance. He stares into the camera lens, addressing the world, not the interviewer.
Orton: "Josh, for months, Triple H has talked about 'making' me. He talks about me being his project, his creation. He says I owe him everything—my career, my success, my very existence in this business." Orton scoffs, shaking his head with disdain. "He’s delusional. Triple H didn't make me; he held me back. He kept me under his thumb because he saw what I was becoming, and it terrified him. He saw a man who wasn't just good... he saw a man who was better than him."
Orton steps closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "I didn't turn my back on Evolution because I was ungrateful. I left Evolution for moments like tonight. I left to prove that I don't need a faction to protect me. I don't need a mentor to guide me. I am the Legend Killer, and tonight, I'm not just fighting for a crown. I'm fighting to end an era. Triple H is the past, clinging to a throne that doesn't fit him anymore. I am the future, and the future arrives right now."
A smirk creeps across Orton's face as he adjusts his wrist tape. "And Josh... when I walk out of here as King of the Ring, the message will be clear. I'm coming for Kurt Angle. I'm coming for the World Heavyweight Championship at SummerSlam. Tonight, the King of Kings bows... to the Legend Killer."
Orton stares into the camera for a beat longer, the intensity burning in his eyes, before storming out of the frame, leaving Mathews alone in the silence of the locker room.
The Entrances:
The iconic opening rift of "We're Comin' Down" hits, immediately replaced by the deafening eruption of The Dudley Boyz signature pyro. Bubba Ray and D-Von march onto the stage, their faces set in grim masks of determined brutality. They are focused solely on the task at hand: the utter destruction of the champions. As they walk down the ramp, they are already carrying a pristine, wooden folding table—a clear and chilling declaration of intent for the match they are about to wage. Bubba Ray, the vocal leader, snarls at the crowd while D-Von glares menacingly at the fans closest to the barricade. They set the table up at ringside with loud, deliberate thud, then circle the ring, looking like two angry sentries guarding their wooden fortress before finally stepping between the ropes, ready to inflict pain.
The chaotic energy of the arena suddenly shifts to a high-pitched, frenetic pulse as Paul London & Brian Kendrick's theme music explodes. The champions sprint out onto the stage with matching white and blue gear, a stark, energetic contrast to the lumbering veterans. London, known for his recklessness, vaults over the railing, high-fiving fans while running down the aisle. Kendrick, slightly more reserved but equally explosive, follows close behind, his eyes darting between the menacing Dudleys and his partner. They slide into the ring under the bottom ropes, landing in a synchronized crouch. The bell has not yet rung, but the champions waste no time: they immediately spring up and deliver simultaneous, surprise dropkicks that send both Bubba Ray and D-Von stumbling backward into their respective corners. It is a bold, high-risk start designed to neutralize the veterans' power advantage before the bell even signals the start of the official contest, establishing the champions' desperate, high-flying strategy from the jump.
WWE Tag Team Championship (Tables Match)
Paul London & Brian Kendrick (c) vs. The Dudley Boyz
The Match:
The bell rings, and the chaotic brawl begins immediately as the champions capitalize on their surprise attack. London and Kendrick swarm Bubba Ray, peppering him with lightning-fast kicks to the thighs and midsection, trying to chop the redwood down. Bubba stumbles but catches London’s leg, only for Kendrick to leap off the ropes with a dropkick to Bubba’s chest, sending the veteran reeling into the ropes. Meanwhile, D-Von charges, but the champions utilize their superior speed, ducking his clothesline and executing a double hip toss that sends D-Von crashing onto his back. The crowd roars as the high-flyers control the early pace, using quick tags and tandem offense to keep the powerhouses off balance. They hit a double dropkick that sends both Dudleys tumbling to the floor to regroup. London, feeding off the adrenaline, hits the ropes and launches himself over the top rope with a somersault plancha, taking out both Bubba and D-Von on the outside!
The fight on the outside turns ugly quickly. As London celebrates, Bubba Ray recovers and catches him with a vicious big boot to the face. The power advantage shifts as D-Von grabs Kendrick by the hair and hurls him into the steel steps with a sickening thud. The Dudleys take control, dismantling the ringside area. Bubba Ray rips the monitors off the announce table while D-Von slides a table into the ring. They roll the battered champions back inside. Bubba sets up a table in the corner, wedging it diagonally. He picks up London and lawn-darts him into the turnbuckle, narrowly missing the wood but stunning him completely. D-Von scoops up Kendrick and delivers a scoop slam, then drops a diving headbutt from the second rope. The veterans slow the pace, methodically punishing the smaller men with heavy strikes and power moves, taunting the crowd with every blow.
Bubba Ray signals for a powerbomb, looking to drive Kendrick through the corner table. He hoists him up, walking him toward the wood, but London springs to life, jumping off the top rope with a missile dropkick that catches Bubba in the back! Bubba stumbles forward, dropping Kendrick, but manages to stop himself inches from crashing through the table. The near-miss draws a collective gasp. D-Von rushes in, clotheslining London inside out. The Dudleys isolate London, whipping him into the ropes and hitting the 3D II—a flapjack/cutter combination. They call for another table. D-Von goes to the outside and sets up a table near the apron. He climbs onto the apron and tries to suplex London from inside the ring to the outside, through the table. London fights it, blocking the suplex. Kendrick sneaks through D-Von’s legs and powerbombs him... but D-Von grabs the ropes! London sees the stalemate and dropkicks D-Von in the chest. D-Von loses his grip and falls backward, crashing to the floor... but misses the table by inches!
Frustrated, Bubba Ray grabs Kendrick and plants him with a Bubba Bomb in the center of the ring. He screams his signature line, "D-VON! GET THE TABLES!" D-Von, shaking off the fall, slides a fresh table into the ring. They set it up dead center. The end is near. They stalk London, measuring him for the 3D through the wood. They whip London into the ropes and launch him into the air for the Dudley Death Drop... but London rotates mid-air! He counters the cutter by twisting his body and driving D-Von’s head into the mat with a spike DDT! Bubba Ray stands frozen in shock. Kendrick capitalizes, running up the corner turnbuckles and hitting a Sliced Bread #2 on the stunned Bubba Ray! Both Dudleys are down.
The champions look at each other, nodding. They grab the unconscious D-Von and place him onto the table in the center of the ring. London climbs the turnbuckle nearest the stage, while Kendrick climbs the opposite corner. The crowd is on their feet, sensing history. London signals for the 450 Splash. Kendrick signals for the Shooting Star Press. In a moment of perfect synchronization, they both launch into the air. London rotates forward, Kendrick rotates backward. They crash down simultaneously onto D-Von’s chest. CRASH! The table explodes into splinters under the combined impact of the champions and the veteran. The referee calls for the bell immediately.
Winners and STILL WWE Tag Team Champions: Paul London & Brian Kendrick
The bell rings, and the ARCO Arena explodes into a thunderous ovation as Paul London and Brian Kendrick spring to their feet amidst the wreckage of the table. They immediately embrace in the center of the ring, their bodies bruised but their faces radiating pure, ecstatic relief. London grabs one WWE Tag Team Championship belt while Kendrick grabs the other, hoisting the gold high above their heads as the crowd chants "LONDON! KENDRICK!" The camera cuts to Bubba Ray and D-Von, who are slowly stirring on the outside, staring at the splintered wood and the celebrating champions with expressions of utter disbelief and mounting fury. The high-flying champions hop onto the turnbuckles, posing for the cameras, having proven emphatically that speed, heart, and high-risk offense can conquer the brute force of the most decorated tag team in history. The reign of the "high-flying crickets" is far from over.
Commercial Break
The Entrances:
SHAWN MICHAELS & LUTHER REIGNS:
The arena lights pulsate with a sensual pink and blue hue as the opening riff of "Sexy Boy" hits. A mixed reaction of cheers and boos greets the music, a testament to the complex legacy of the Heartbreak Kid. Shawn Michaels steps onto the stage, but the usual boundless energy is replaced by a calculated swagger. He pauses at the top of the ramp, dropping to his knees not in prayer, but in a mocking pose, arms outstretched, soaking in the adulation he feels he deserves regardless of his actions. He stands up and points back to the curtain. Out stomps Luther Reigns, a monolithic figure in black trunks and boots. Reigns doesn't pose; he simply stares ahead with cold, dead eyes, looking like a weapon waiting to be aimed. Michaels pats Reigns on the chest, a smirk playing on his lips, as if showing off a new sports car. They walk down the ramp together—beauty and the beast. Michaels does his signature spin inside the ring, pyrotechnics exploding from the ring posts, but his eyes never leave the entranceway. He whispers something into Reigns’ ear, and the big man nods slowly, cracking his knuckles. Michaels leans against the turnbuckle, looking relaxed, while Reigns stands guard in the center of the ring, a statue of intimidation.
KURT ANGLE & AJ STYLES:
"YOU SUCK!" The chant begins before the music even starts. "Medal" explodes through the PA system, and the Olympic Hero, Kurt Angle, bursts through the curtain with an intensity that could melt steel. He is followed immediately by the "Phenomenal" AJ Styles. They are a united front, wearing matching gear—Angle in his signature red, white, and blue singlet, and Styles in matching tights with the Olympic rings integrated into his "P1" logo. They march down the ramp with military precision, ignoring the fans reaching out to them. Angle is barking instructions to Styles, who nods intently, absorbing every word from his mentor. At the bottom of the ramp, they stop. Angle points to the ring, specifically at Luther Reigns. Styles slaps Angle’s shoulder, psyching him up. They slide into the ring simultaneously, Angle rolling under the bottom rope while Styles vaults over the top rope with effortless grace. They stand side-by-side in the center of the ring, staring down their opponents. Angle gets nose-to-nose with Reigns, fearlessly giving up six inches in height, while Styles locks eyes with Michaels, the man who cost him his tournament dreams. The tension is palpable as the referee struggles to separate the two teams to their respective corners.
Match #5: Grudge Tag Team Match
Kurt Angle & AJ Styles vs. Shawn Michaels & Luther Reigns
The Match:
The bell rings to a deafening buzz as AJ Styles and Shawn Michaels step into the center of the ring, the crowd torn between two generations of excellence. They circle each other warily, the tension palpable. Michaels feigns a superkick early, causing Styles to flinch, and HBK laughs, mocking the younger man's anxiety. Styles responds with a lightning-fast leg kick that stings Michaels’ thigh, wiping the smirk off his face. They lock up, and Michaels uses his veteran savvy to wrench Styles into a side headlock. Styles pushes him off into the ropes, drops down, leapfrogs over, and connects with a picture-perfect dropkick that sends Michaels stumbling into his own corner. Michaels tags in Luther Reigns aggressively, pointing at Styles as if ordering an execution. Reigns steps over the top rope, dwarfing Styles. The Phenomenal One tries to use his speed, darting around the big man with quick jabs, but Reigns catches a crossbody attempt mid-air. He holds Styles like a child before launching him with a massive fallaway slam across the ring. Reigns dominates the early going, utilizing clubbing blows to the back and heavy knee strikes to the gut, grounding the high-flyer. He whips Styles into the corner with such force that Styles flips upside down and over the turnbuckle to the apron. Reigns charges for a clothesline, but Styles shoulders him in the gut through the ropes and slingshots back in with a sunset flip... but Reigns is too heavy. Reigns grabs Styles by the throat, lifts him up, and chokeslams him back-first onto his knee with a backbreaker.
Reigns tags Michaels back in, who enters to pick the bones. Michaels is methodical, dissecting Styles with a backbreaker of his own and stretching him across his knee in a submission hold. He taunts Kurt Angle on the apron, daring the Olympic Gold Medalist to intervene. Angle is seething, gripping the tag rope until his knuckles turn white. Styles fights back with elbows to the gut, breaking the hold, but runs right into a sleeper hold. Michaels drags Styles down to the canvas, wrapping his legs around Styles’ body to prevent escape. Styles’ arm drops once, twice... but on the third, he powers up, feeding off the crowd’s energy. He backs Michaels into the corner, forcing a break. Michaels goes for a chop, but Styles ducks and hits a Pele Kick out of nowhere! Both men are down. The race is on. Styles crawls, inches away... Michaels lunges for the ankle but misses! Styles leaps and makes the hot tag to Kurt Angle!
The crowd explodes as Angle hits the ring like a man possessed. He ducks a clothesline from Michaels and hits a German Suplex. Reigns charges in, and Angle catches him, launching the 300-pounder with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex that shakes the ring! Michaels gets up, and Angle hits another German. He holds on—Two! He holds on—Three! The Triple German Suplexes leave Michaels dazed. Angle pulls the straps down, signaling the end. He stalks Michaels for the Angle Slam. He lifts him up, but Michaels counters with an arm drag. Angle charges back, but Michaels side-steps, sending Angle shoulder-first into the ring post. The momentum shifts instantly. Michaels tags Reigns, who drags the stunned Angle to the outside. Reigns slams Angle’s head into the announce table, then whips him violently into the steel steps. Angle crumbles, clutching his shoulder. Reigns rolls him back in and covers for a two-count.
Now it is Angle who is isolated. Reigns and Michaels work over the Olympic Hero, cutting the ring in half with frequent tags. Michaels hits a flying elbow drop from the top rope but takes too long to cover, allowing Angle to kick out at 2.9. Michaels tunes up the band for Sweet Chin Music. The crowd stomps along. He launches the superkick, but Angle catches the foot! He spins Michaels around and locks in the Ankle Lock! The crowd roars! Michaels screams in agony, reaching for the ropes. Reigns barrels into the ring to break the hold with a big boot to Angle’s face. Styles flies off the top rope with a missile dropkick to Reigns, sending the big man tumbling to the outside. Styles follows him out with a somersault plancha over the top rope!
Inside the ring, Angle and Michaels are both down. They slowly stir, trading punches from their knees. Yay! Boo! Yay! Boo! They get to their feet, exchanging haymakers. Angle ducks a punch and hits the Angle Slam! He crawls for the cover... 1... 2... Reigns pulls the referee out of the ring! Angle is furious. He leans over the ropes to shout at Reigns, but Reigns grabs him by the throat and snaps his neck across the top rope. Angle staggers back into a Sweet Chin Music attempt from Michaels... but Angle ducks! Michaels’ momentum carries him into the referee, knocking him down. Chaos reigns supreme. Reigns enters the ring with a steel chair. He swings at Angle, but Styles springboards off the ropes with a Phenomenal Forearm, smashing the chair into Reigns’ face! Reigns falls to the outside, unconscious.
Michaels is alone. He stumbles to his feet, eyes glazed. He sees Styles and charges, but Styles ducks and hits a rapid-fire combination of strikes—jab, chop, spinning backfist, lariat! Michaels stays up, wobbling. Styles grabs him for the Styles Clash, but Michaels back body drops him. Styles lands on his feet! Angle is waiting right there. As Michaels turns around, Angle grabs his ankle and grapevines the leg instantly—ANKLE LOCK! deep in the center of the ring! Michaels screams, clawing at the mat, nowhere to go. Reigns is out cold on the floor. Styles stands guard, ready to intercept. Michaels' face turns purple from the pain. He taps! He taps out frantically! The referee, recovering just in time, sees the submission and calls for the bell.
Winners: Kurt Angle & AJ Styles
"Medal" blares through the speakers as the referee raises the hands of the victorious duo. Kurt Angle, still breathing heavily, pulls AJ Styles into a tight embrace, slapping him on the back with pride. It is a passing of the torch moment, the veteran acknowledging the brilliance of the prodigy. They climb opposite turnbuckles, pointing at each other, as the crowd showers them with a standing ovation. Meanwhile, Shawn Michaels rolls to the outside, clutching his ankle. He sits against the barricade, staring up at the celebration with a look of pure shock and simmering rage. Luther Reigns finally stirs, groggily getting to his feet, but Michaels shoves him away in frustration. The camera lingers on Angle and Styles standing tall in the ring, a unified force that has just conquered a legend, while Michaels limps up the ramp, defeated and humiliated.
Video Package: Rey Mysterio vs. Eddie Guerrero
The screen fades from black to a warm, sepia-toned montage of happier times. A soft, melancholic piano melody plays as slow-motion clips show Eddie Guerrero and Rey Mysterio celebrating their Tag Team Championship victory, embracing in the center of the ring, smiles wide and genuine. The image dissolves to them traveling together, laughing backstage, a true brotherhood.
Narrator (Voiceover): "Brotherhood... is a fragile thing. Built on trust. Shattered by envy."
The music screeches to a jarring, dissonant halt, replaced by a low, grinding industrial noise that sets teeth on edge. The screen flashes violent red. We cut to the high-definition footage of WrestleMania XX. Eddie Guerrero slides into the ring during Rey's Cruiserweight title defense. The camera zooms in on Eddie's face—a twisted mask of jealousy and rage. In slow motion, we see the unthinkable: Eddie ripping the sacred mask from Rey’s face. Rey instantly curls into a ball on the canvas, desperate to shield his identity, while Eddie stands over him, holding the mask high like a severed head, a wicked sneer on his lips.
Eddie Guerrero (Voiceover, distorted): "You think I'm your brother? I'm your reckoning, homes! I'm the one who made you, and I'm the one who will break you!"
Fast, aggressive cuts follow, synchronized with heavy drum beats:
- Backlash: Rey Mysterio storming the ring to save Edge from a two-on-one beatdown by the Guerreros. The camera lingers on the look of pure betrayal in Rey's eyes as he stares down his former friend.
- May 6th SmackDown: Rey walking out onto the stage, unmasked, his face exposed and cold. He stares into the camera, his voice raw: "This isn't about championships anymore. This is about venganza."
- The Con-Chair-To: The sickening, crunching sound of steel on skull echoes as we see Eddie sandwiching Rey’s head between two steel chairs, leaving him convulsing on the mat.
- The Hostage Crisis: A wide shot of Eddie sitting alone in the center of the ring with a steel chair, refusing to leave until Rey shows his face. Cut to Rey appearing in the skybox, wearing a neck brace, issuing the ultimate challenge.
Rey Mysterio (Voiceover): "You wanted a murderer? You got one. No rules. No mercy."
The video crescendoes with a split screen of their faces—Eddie laughing maniacally, blood on his teeth, and Rey staring with dead, hollow eyes. The text burns onto the screen in jagged, fiery letters: UNSANCTIONED. NO RULES. NO MERCY.
The Entrances:
EDDIE GUERRERO:
The arena lights cut to black, plunging the ARCO Arena into an eerie silence. There is no familiar revving of an engine, no "Viva La Raza" to spark the crowd. Instead, a low, ominous hum vibrates through the speakers, building in intensity until it breaks into a slow, distorted version of Eddie's theme—heavy on bass, devoid of joy. A single spotlight pierces the darkness, illuminating the entrance ramp. Eddie Guerrero emerges, but gone is the charismatic showman. He walks slowly, deliberately, dragging a heavy length of rusted steel chain behind him. The metal scrapes against the concrete ramp with a jarring, rhythmic clank... clank... clank that echoes through the hushed arena. He is not in his wrestling tights; he wears street clothes—faded, ripped jeans, heavy work boots, and a black "Latino Heat" muscle shirt stained with what looks like grease or dried blood. His hands are heavily taped, not for support, but as weapons. He ignores the vitriol raining down from the stands, his eyes fixed on the ring with a cold, dead stare. He climbs the steel steps one by one, savoring the anticipation of violence. He steps through the ropes and walks to the center of the ring, slowly wrapping the chain around his right fist, transforming his hand into a bludgeon. He looks into the hard camera, a twisted, sadistic smile slowly spreading across his face as he mouths the words, "I'm sorry, Rey."
REY MYSTERIO:
The opening explosion of "Booyaka 619" hits, but there is no accompanying pyro, no high-energy jump from the hydraulic lift. Rey Mysterio walks out onto the stage, and the reaction from the crowd is a mixture of deafening cheers and palpable concern. He is unrecognizable from the high-flying superhero of months past. He wears baggy, black cargo pants with reinforced kneepads and a black tank top. His mask is different—darker, grittier, a matte black design with blood-red trim around the eyes, symbolizing his singular focus on vengeance. He carries no championship belt, no merchandise to throw to the kids. In his right hand, he grips a dull, grey lead pipe. He doesn't pose; he doesn't acknowledge the fans reaching out to him. He sprints down the ramp with a terrifying urgency, his eyes locked on Eddie Guerrero. He slides under the bottom rope, popping to his feet instantly. He doesn't wait for the bell. He doesn't wait for the introduction. He charges directly at Eddie, swinging the lead pipe with lethal intent, forcing the match to begin in a chaotic explosion of violence before the ring announcer can even finish saying his name!
Match #6: Unsanctioned Match
Rey Mysterio vs. Eddie Guerrero
The Match:
The violence is immediate, visceral, and personal from the very first second. Rey Mysterio, fueled by weeks of torment and public humiliation, swings the lead pipe with homicidal intent, aiming directly for Eddie Guerrero's skull. Eddie ducks just in time, the pipe whistling through the air and clanging against the turnbuckle post with a terrifying metallic ring. Eddie responds instantly, thrusting his chain-wrapped fist into Rey's midsection. Rey doubles over, gasping for air as the heavy steel digs into his solar plexus, but Eddie shows absolutely no mercy. He grabs Rey by the throat and hurls him into the corner, unleashing a flurry of stiff, chain-assisted punches to the head and body. Each blow lands with a sickening thud, and within seconds, Rey collapses to the mat, blood already trickling from a cut above his eye. Eddie drags him to the center of the ring and delivers a sickening stomp to the hand, deliberately trying to break the fingers Rey uses for his high-flying maneuvers. He drags Rey to the outside, looking to use the environment as a weapon. He grabs a fan's drink—a full soda—and splashes it into Rey's face, blinding him momentarily before whipping him violently into the steel steps. The steps dislodge with a thunderous crash. Eddie grabs the top half of the steps, hoisting the heavy steel above his head, looking to crush Rey beneath it. But Rey, relying on pure instinct, rolls out of the way just in time! The steps smash into the ring post, the metallic ring deafening. Rey, adrenaline surging, dropkicks the steps into Eddie's knees, finally gaining an opening in the onslaught.
Rey seizes the advantage, scrambling to his feet and grabbing a steel chair from ringside. He doesn't wait for Eddie to recover; he swings the chair like a baseball bat, connecting with Eddie's back with a sickening CRACK! Eddie arches in pain, stumbling around the ringside area, his face twisted in agony. Rey hits him again, then again, driving the steel edge into Eddie's spine with relentless fury. He rolls Eddie back into the ring and sets up the chair in the center. Rey hits the ropes and delivers a springboard seated senton onto the chair, crushing Eddie underneath the metal frame! He goes for the cover: One... Two... Eddie kicks out! Frustrated but undeterred, Rey wedges the chair between the top and middle turnbuckles in the corner. He tries to whip Eddie into it, but Eddie reverses the momentum with a burst of strength! Rey crashes face-first into the steel chair, crumpling to the mat as the impact echoes through the arena. Eddie, seeing blood now flowing freely from Rey's forehead, pounces like a shark. He locks in a Single Leg Boston Crab, wrenching back on Rey's surgically repaired knee with sadistic torque. Rey screams in agony, clawing at the canvas, crawling inch by inch toward the ropes. He grabs the bottom rope, desperate for relief, but the referee shakes his head—there are no rope breaks in an Unsanctioned Match! Eddie laughs maniacally, pulling Rey back to the center and sitting deep on the hold. Rey is fading, his vision blurring from pain. In a desperate, last-ditch move, he twists his body, grabs the discarded lead pipe lying nearby, and smashes it into Eddie's shin! The hold is broken as Eddie collapses, clutching his leg.
: Both men are limping now, the toll of the match evident in every movement. Eddie is enraged, his face a mask of pure hatred. He goes under the ring and pulls out a table, sliding it into the ring with a snarl. He sets it up near the corner, testing its stability. He grabs Rey by the hair and attempts to powerbomb him through the wood, but Rey fights out with desperate punches to the head. Rey hits a spinning heel kick that dazes Eddie, sending him stumbling back. Rey climbs to the top rope, signaling for a moonsault, but Eddie cuts him off with a thumb to the eye. Eddie climbs up with him, hooking Rey for a superplex through the table. They trade punches on the high wire, teetering dangerously above the canvas. Rey headbutts Eddie, loosening his grip. In a moment of breathtaking athleticism that defies the brutality of the match, Rey leaps over Eddie and hits a Sunset Flip Powerbomb from the top rope! He pulls Eddie down hard, but their momentum carries them past the table, and they crash onto the canvas with earth-shattering force. A "Holy Sh*t!" chant fills the arena as both men lay motionless, the referee checking for signs of consciousness.
They stir slowly, using the ropes to pull themselves up, their bodies battered and bruised. It’s a slugfest now—tired, heavy punches traded in the center of the ring. Eddie knees Rey in the gut and whips him into the ropes. Rey rebounds and hits a tilt-a-whirl headscissors, sending Eddie draped over the middle rope—the 619 position! The crowd erupts, sensing the end. Rey hits the ropes, swings through... 619 connects! The impact snaps Eddie's head back. But Rey isn't done. He goes to the outside and grabs a leather belt from the timekeeper. He re-enters the ring as Eddie staggers up. CRACK! Rey whips Eddie across the back. CRACK! Across the chest. The welts appear instantly. Rey is unleashing months of frustration and betrayal with every strike. He whips Eddie over the top rope to the floor. Rey looks around, his eyes landing on the Spanish Announce Table. He clears the monitors and papers with a sweep of his arm. He drags Eddie onto the table, leaving him prone. Rey climbs the turnbuckle inside the ring, looking to the outside. He balances himself, takes a breath, and leaps... West Coast Pop onto the announce table! The table explodes into debris under the combined weight. Both men are buried in the wreckage, the crowd screaming in disbelief.
The referee checks on them, but has no authority to stop the carnage. Rey crawls out of the rubble first, dragging Eddie back into the ring by his arm. He covers: One... Two... Eddie gets a shoulder up! Rey can't believe it; his eyes widen in shock. He looks at the table set up in the corner of the ring—the one they missed earlier. He drags Eddie toward it. He places Eddie on the table. Rey climbs the turnbuckle again. He signals for the end. But Eddie is playing possum! He springs up with a sudden burst of energy and crotches Rey on the top rope. Eddie climbs up, eyes wild with desperation. He hooks Rey for a superplex. But Rey fights back, biting Eddie's hand in a feral act of survival! Eddie screams and falls backward... crashing through the table alone! The wood splinters around him. Eddie writhes in agony, clutching his ribs, the air driven from his lungs.
Rey crawls to the corner, his eyes wild, looking at the carnage around him. He sees a massive electrical cable from the camera equipment on the floor. He pulls it into the ring. He's not looking for a pinfall anymore; he's looking for an execution. He wraps the cable around Eddie’s neck, choking the life out of him. Eddie, turning purple, claws at Rey's eyes, blinding him. Eddie breaks free, gasping, and rolls to the outside. He limps toward the stage area, trying to escape. Rey pursues him, picking up a steel chair along the way. They brawl up the ramp, trading punches amidst the elaborate King of the Ring set. They fight onto the main stage, near the giant throne and the electrical equipment.
Eddie grabs a fire extinguisher from a tech crew member and sprays it directly into Rey's face, blinding him with chemical foam. Rey swings the chair blindly, smashing it into a lighting rig, sending sparks showering down. The sparks ignite the foam residue on a nearby curtain, creating a sudden flash fire! Eddie tackles Rey, and they both crash through a wooden barricade protecting a 15-foot drop to the concrete floor below the stage, right into a bank of electrical transformers! CRASH! ZZZZT! A massive explosion of sparks and smoke engulfs the area as the power grid overloads. The sound is sickening. Referees, EMTs, and General Manager Teddy Long sprint from the back, screaming for help. "Don't move them! Get a backboard! Cut the power!" Long shouts, looking horrified as small fires burn around the fallen wrestlers.
But amidst the smoke and the crackling electricity, movement stirs. Rey Mysterio, coughing violently, his skin blackened by soot, crawls out of the wreckage. He is not done. He sees Eddie Guerrero lying motionless near a sparking transformer. Rey limps over, looking for higher ground. His eyes lock onto the massive King of the Ring set piece—a towering, medieval-style castle structure rising above the stage. With adrenaline masking the pain of his burns, Rey begins to climb. He scales the scaffolding, hand over hand, pulling himself higher and higher as the crowd rises in disbelief. 10 feet. 15 feet. 20 feet. He reaches a small platform near the top of the throne structure, nearly 25 feet in the air. He looks down at Eddie, a small speck amidst the electrical fire below. Rey crosses his chest, whispering a prayer. He extends his arms, creating a silhouette against the arena lights. He leaps.
For a terrifying second, Rey Mysterio is suspended in the air, plummeting 25 feet down toward the concrete and chaos. He lands a perfect, devastating Frog Splash directly onto Eddie's chest! The impact is catastrophic, the force driving the air from both men's lungs and sending a shockwave through the debris. In the confusion and smoke, Rey collapses onto Eddie, hooking a leg. The referee, terrified and coughing, slides in next to the sparking wires. One... Two... Three.
Winner: Rey Mysterio
The bell rings, but there is no music. Only the sound of fire extinguishers hissing and the groans of the combatants. Rey rolls off Eddie, staring blankly at the ceiling of the ARCO Arena, his chest heaving. He has his victory, but the cost is etched on his burned and battered body. EMTs finally swarm the area, loading both men onto stretchers. As Rey is wheeled away, he doesn't look back. He has achieved his venganza, but as the camera zooms in on his unmasked, soot-covered face, his eyes are empty. He didn't just beat Eddie Guerrero; he survived him. The Unsanctioned Match is over, but the scars—both physical and emotional—will last forever.
Commercial Break
Video Package: Lesnar vs. Undertaker
The video begins with the eerie tolling of a bell, but it's distorted, warped by static. The screen shows Brock Lesnar standing over The Undertaker on the May 10th Raw, the WWE Championship raised high. Paul Heyman (Voiceover): "The myth... is dead. The legend... is conquered. My client, Brock Lesnar, is the new God of Monday Night Raw!"
Cut to the psychological warfare. The empty casket burning in the ring. Lesnar destroying the set in a rage. Undertaker dragging Lesnar under the ring during the contract signing. The Undertaker (Voiceover): "You may hold the gold... but I hold your soul."
The music builds to a crescendo of industrial metal. Quick cuts of their brawls, the F-5s, the Chokeslams. The final shot is a split screen: Lesnar's face contorted in a roar, Undertaker's eyes rolled back in his head. Text on Screen: THE WAR FOR THE SOUL OF RAW.
The Entrances:
THE UNDERTAKER:
The ARCO Arena is plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness. The only sound is the collective intake of breath from 17,000 people. Then, the GONG resonates, a sound so deep it vibrates in the chest of every fan in attendance. A thick, purple fog begins to roll out from the entrance tunnel, spilling over the stage and creeping down the ramp like a living thing. From the mist, a line of druids emerges, their faces hidden beneath cowls, each carrying a flickering torch. They line the ramp in solemn silence. Another GONG. And then, he appears. The Deadman. The Undertaker steps through the curtain, his silhouette framed by the backlit fog. He is wearing his full-length leather duster and wide-brimmed hat. He walks with a terrifyingly slow cadence, each step heavy with purpose. He stops at the top of the ramp, slowly raising his head until the brim of his hat reveals eyes rolled back into a white void. He raises his arms, and a bolt of lightning strikes the stage, igniting pyrotechnics that bathe the arena in an eerie blue glow. He marches through the gauntlet of druids, ignoring the heat of their torches. He reaches the steel steps and ascends them as if climbing the steps to a gallows. He enters the ring and stands in the center, the fog swirling around his boots. He slowly removes his hat, his gaze fixed on the entranceway, waiting for the champion. The lights return, but the chill remains.
BROCK LESNAR:
The opening riff of "Here Comes the Pain" explodes through the PA system, shattering the supernatural atmosphere with pure aggression. Brock Lesnar bursts onto the stage, not walking, but bouncing on the balls of his feet, a coiled spring of kinetic energy. He is a physical marvel, muscles rippling under the arena lights. Paul Heyman scampers out behind him, clutching the WWE Championship to his chest like a precious artifact. Lesnar ignores the pyro that blasts from the stage; his focus is singular. He sprints down the ramp, leaping onto the apron in a single bound without touching the stairs. He climbs the turnbuckle as pyro explodes from all four corners, a display of dominance and power. He jumps down and begins pacing the ring like a caged animal, glaring at The Undertaker. He snatches the title from Heyman and holds it high in the air, right in the Deadman’s face, screaming, "THIS IS MINE!" The contrast is striking: the stoic, supernatural force of The Undertaker versus the hyper-aggressive, physical reality of Brock Lesnar. The referee holds them apart as the introductions are made, the tension in the ring thick enough to choke on.
Match #7: WWE Championship
Brock Lesnar (c) vs. The Undertaker
The Match:
The bell rings, and for a moment, neither man moves. They stand toe-to-toe in the center of the ring, the embodiment of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. The crowd buzzes with anticipation. Lesnar breaks the stillness with a lightning-fast double-leg takedown, driving Taker into the corner. He buries his shoulder into the Deadman's midsection repeatedly—thud, thud, thud—before the referee forces a break. Taker reverses positions instantly, grabbing Lesnar by the throat and hurling him into the opposite corner. He unloads with his signature soup-bone rights and lefts, rocking the champion with each blow. Lesnar stumbles out, and Taker hits a big boot that sends the Beast over the top rope to the floor. Lesnar lands on his feet, furious, pacing around the ring while Heyman calms him down.
Lesnar slides back in, cautious now. They lock up, a test of pure strength. Lesnar gains the advantage, backing Taker into the ropes and delivering a stiff knee to the gut. He whips Taker across the ring and attempts a clothesline, but Taker ducks and hits a flying clothesline of his own. Taker goes for the arm, looking for Old School, but as he walks the ropes, Lesnar leaps to the top turnbuckle with cat-like agility! He grabs Taker by the waist and launches him across the ring with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex from the top rope! The impact shakes the ring. Lesnar covers: One... Two... Kickout!
Lesnar takes control, grounding the Phenom with his amateur wrestling pedigree. He applies a waist lock, squeezing the air from Taker’s lungs while driving knees into his lower back. Taker fights to his feet, breaking the hold with back elbows, but Lesnar catches him and executes a seamless German Suplex. He holds on. A second German Suplex. He holds on. A third! The crowd counts along as Lesnar releases, flexing for the audience. Taker sits up! The supernatural resilience is on display. Lesnar’s eyes widen in shock, but he doesn't hesitate—he clotheslines Taker back down immediately.
The fight spills to the outside. Lesnar follows Taker, grabbing him by the hair and ramming his face into the steel steps. He tries to whip Taker into the barricade, but Taker reverses it, sending Lesnar crashing into the timekeeper’s area. Taker clears the Spanish Announce Table, signaling for the Last Ride. He lifts Lesnar up, but the champion fights out, sliding down Taker’s back. Lesnar shoves Taker spine-first into the ring post with a sickening thud. He rolls Taker back into the ring and covers: One... Two... Taker gets a shoulder up.
Back inside, Lesnar stalks his prey. He waits for Taker to stand and charges for a spear in the corner, but Taker side-steps! Lesnar crashes shoulder-first into the ring post. Taker seizes the momentum. He hits Snake Eyes on the top turnbuckle, followed immediately by a running big boot to the face. He hits the ropes and drops a massive leg drop. Cover: One... Two... Kickout! Taker signals for the Chokeslam. He grabs Lesnar by the throat. He lifts him high... but Lesnar counters mid-air! He grabs Taker’s arm and locks in the Kimura Lock! Taker screams in agony, dropping to one knee. He’s trapped in the center of the ring. He fights, inching toward the ropes, but Lesnar grapevines the body. Taker manages to roll through, turning it into a pin attempt: One... Two... Lesnar breaks the hold to kick out.
Both men are up. Lesnar charges, looking for the F-5. He lifts Taker onto his shoulders, spinning... but Taker slips out the back! He grabs Lesnar—DDT! He plants the champion. Taker sits up again, eyes rolling back. He slashes his throat. Tombstone Piledriver time. He scoops Lesnar up... but Lesnar’s strength is too much. He shifts his weight and floats over behind Taker. He shoves Taker into the referee! The official goes down hard.
Lesnar sees the opportunity. He looks to Paul Heyman on the outside. Heyman tosses a steel chair into the ring. Lesnar catches it, grinning. He waits for Taker to turn around. He swings the chair with lethal intent—CRACK! But Taker got a hand up! He blocks the shot, the steel reverberating. Taker kicks the chair into Lesnar’s face! The champion staggers back, dazed. Taker grabs him by the throat. CHOKESLAM! He plants Lesnar in the center of the ring. He covers, hooking the leg. There is no referee! The crowd counts: One... Two... Three... Four... Five! Taker sits up, looking at the unconscious official.
He goes to wake the referee, but Heyman slides into the ring, hitting Taker with the title belt! It has no effect. Taker turns slowly, glaring at the advocate. Heyman cowers in the corner, begging for mercy. Taker grabs him by the throat. But the distraction allows Lesnar to recover. He charges—F-5 on The Undertaker! The impact is devastating. A new referee sprints down the ramp, sliding into the ring. Lesnar covers: One... Two... KICKOUT! The ARCO Arena explodes! Lesnar cannot believe it. He pounds the mat in frustration.
Lesnar picks Taker up, screaming in his face. "STAY DOWN!" He goes for a second F-5. He spins Taker... but Taker counters into the Hell's Gate! He locks it in! Lesnar is trapped! The champion flails, trying to reach the ropes, but he’s fading. The crowd is on their feet, sensing a title change. Heyman is screaming on the outside. Lesnar, with his last ounce of strength, lifts Taker up from the submission into a powerbomb position. He powerbombs Taker into the turnbuckle! The hold breaks.
Both men are exhausted, pulling themselves up by the ropes. They meet in the center of the ring, trading heavy blows. Boo! Yay! Boo! Yay! Taker wins the exchange with a throat thrust. He hits the ropes... right into a knee from Lesnar. Lesnar lifts Taker for the F-5 again. Taker counters, landing on his feet behind Lesnar. He grabs him for the Tombstone Piledriver. He lifts the 300-pound Beast! But as he holds him, Lesnar shifts his weight, sliding down Taker’s front. As his feet hit the mat, he delivers a swift, brutal low blow! The referee, checking on Taker’s positioning, is shielded by Taker’s own body and misses it completely!
Taker doubles over, gasping. Lesnar wastes no time. He scoops the Deadman up onto his shoulders. He spins. F-5! This time, he connects flush in the center of the ring. He doesn't cover immediately. He looks down at the legend, a sneer on his face. He picks Taker up one more time. He screams to the rafters. SECOND F-5! He drives Taker into the canvas with finality.
Lesnar hooks the leg deep.
1... 2... 3!
Winner and STILL WWE Champion: Brock Lesnar
Post-Match: Paul Heyman slides into the ring, clutching the WWE Championship as if it were a life preserver. He hands it to a breathless, battered Brock Lesnar. Lesnar holds the title high, his chest heaving, staring down at the fallen Phenom. They retreat quickly up the ramp, looking back warily. In the ring, The Undertaker begins to stir. He sits up, his eyes locked on the champion at the top of the stage. The war was won by the Beast, but the Deadman is far from buried.
AD BREAK: WWE SummerSlam 2004
(The screen cuts to a vibrant montage of palm trees swaying against a fiery sunset and the neon glow of South Beach.) Narrator (Sultry, energetic): "The heat is rising... and the party is heading south!"
(Fast cuts of WWE Superstars in action—John Cena hitting an F-U, Eddie Guerrero frog splashing, Triple H celebrating. The music is a driving, Latin-infused rock anthem.) Narrator: "This summer, WWE takes over the Sunshine State!"
(The graphic explodes onto the screen: A metallic SummerSlam logo set against a backdrop of ocean waves and Miami nightlife.) Narrator: "It's the Biggest Party of the Summer! WWE SummerSlam! Live from the American Airlines Arena in Miami, Florida! Sunday, July 25th! Feel the heat... only on Pay-Per-View!"
The Entrances:
TRIPLE H:
The ominous opening chords of Motörhead’s "The Game" hit, and the crowd reaction is instantaneous and deafening—a mixture of respect and vitriol for the most dominant force in the company. The stage is bathed in a sickly green light as Triple H emerges from the smoke, the embodiment of arrogance and power. He is flanked by "The Nature Boy" Ric Flair, who struts alongside him, styling and profiling in a tailored suit. Triple H stops at the top of the ramp, scanning the sold-out arena with a look of utter disdain. He takes a long swig from his water bottle, his eyes locked on the King of the Ring throne positioned on the stage—a symbol he believes belongs to him by right. He marches down the ramp with a slow, deliberate pace, ignoring the outstretched hands of the fans. He climbs onto the ring apron, taking another drink of water. He leans back, and in a perfect spray of mist, he spits the water into the air, the droplets catching the strobe lights like diamonds. He enters the ring and climbs the turnbuckle, flexing his massive physique as pyro explodes from the stage. He jumps down and paces the ring like a caged lion, his focus absolute. He is not just here to win a tournament; he is here to destroy his own creation.
RANDY ORTON:
The slow, methodical tick-tock of a clock echoes through the arena, followed by the golden shower of sparks that signals the arrival of "The Legend Killer." "Burn in My Light" kicks in, and Randy Orton steps onto the stage, a picture of youthful confidence and defiance. He pauses at the top of the ramp, spreading his arms wide in his signature pose as golden pyro rains down behind him. The crowd reaction is loud and mixed, but leaning heavily toward cheers as they recognize the magnitude of his rebellion against Evolution. Orton walks down the ramp with a swagger that borders on cockiness, his eyes fixed intently on Triple H. He doesn't look at the fans; he doesn't look at the throne. He only sees the man who taught him everything—and the man he must now destroy to claim his destiny. He slides into the ring and immediately climbs the turnbuckle opposite Triple H, mirroring his pose but with a smirk that says, "I'm better than you." He jumps down and walks to the center of the ring, getting nose-to-nose with his mentor. The tension is palpable, the history heavy in the air. The referee steps between them, but their eyes never unlock. The past and the future are about to collide.
Match #8: King of the Ring Finals
Randy Orton vs. Triple H
- Stipulation: Winner earns a World Title Match at SummerSlam.
The Match:
The bell rings, and for the first 30 seconds, neither man moves. They just stare, the tension in the ARCO Arena so thick you could cut it with a knife. Triple H smirks, a cold, condescending look, and extends his hand, mockingly offering Orton a chance to kiss the ring. Orton slaps the hand away violently and explodes with a flurry of right hands, backing Triple H into the corner! The crowd erupts as Orton stomps a mudhole in his mentor, unleashing months of frustration. Triple H covers up, stunned by the aggression. Orton whips him across the ring and hits a high back body drop that sends the Game crashing to the mat. Orton poses, arms wide, showing he isn't afraid.
Triple H rolls to the outside to regroup with Flair. He’s furious. He slides back in, and they lock up. Triple H uses his power advantage, shoving Orton into the turnbuckle and burying a knee into his gut. He follows up with heavy, methodical punches to the face, each one designed to punish. He whips Orton into the ropes and hits a stiff clothesline, nearly taking Orton’s head off. Triple H slows the pace down, deliberately grinding the heel of his boot into Orton’s face. He picks Orton up and hits a vertical suplex, holding him in the air for a count of five before crashing him down. Cover: One... Two... Kickout.
Triple H begins to work on Orton's left shoulder, setting a trap. He wrings the arm, twisting the joint, then slams Orton shoulder-first into the turnbuckle post. Orton cries out in pain. Triple H is relentless, wrapping Orton’s arm around the bottom rope and pulling until the referee counts to four. He locks in a Fujiwara armbar in the center of the ring, targeting the rotator cuff. Orton writhes in pain, reaching for the ropes, but Triple H transitions into a crossface chickenwing, mocking the crowd. Orton fights to his feet, powering out with elbows, but his left arm hangs limp. He hits the ropes for a clothesline with his good arm, but Triple H ducks and hits a high knee to the face! Cover: One... Two... Kickout!
The match spills to the outside. Triple H slams Orton’s injured shoulder into the steel steps. He distracts the referee, allowing Ric Flair to remove his jacket and deliver a vicious chop to Orton’s chest, followed by a stomp to the hand. Triple H rolls Orton back in and signals for the Pedigree. He hooks the arms... but Orton back body drops him! Both men are down. The referee starts the count. At seven, they both stir. They get to their knees and trade punches. Boo! Yay! Boo! Yay! They get to their feet. Orton wins the exchange, hitting a European uppercut that staggers the Game. Orton hits two clotheslines, ducks a punch, and hits his signature scoop powerslam! The crowd is on its feet!
Orton stalks Triple H, waiting for him to get up. He signals for the RKO. He lunges... but Triple H pushes him off! Orton bounces off the ropes, and Flair grabs his boot! Orton stumbles, turning right into a Spinebuster from Triple H! The impact shakes the ring. Triple H covers: One... Two... Orton kicks out at 2.9! Triple H is frustrated. He argues with the referee. He picks Orton up and whips him into the corner. He charges, but Orton gets a boot up! Orton climbs to the second rope and hits a diving crossbody! One... Two... Triple H rolls through! He has Orton pinned! One... Two... Orton kicks out!
Both men are exhausted. Triple H goes for a sleeper hold, trying to choke the life out of the Legend Killer. Orton fades, dropping to one knee. The referee checks the arm. It drops once. It drops twice. On the third attempt, Orton keeps it up! He fights back, driving Triple H into the corner. He breaks the hold. Orton hits his inverted headlock backbreaker! He covers: One... Two... Kickout! Orton goes to the top rope, a rare high-risk move. He dives... but Triple H gets a knee up! Orton crashes ribs-first onto the knee. Triple H crawls over for the cover: One... Two... Kickout!
Triple H signals for the end. He kicks Orton in the gut and hooks the arms for the Pedigree. But Orton counters, sweeping the legs! He catapults Triple H into the corner turnbuckle. Triple H staggers back... RKO OUT OF NOWHERE! The crowd explodes! Orton crawls for the cover. He hooks the leg! One... Two... THREE—NO! Triple H got his foot on the bottom rope! The referee waves it off! Orton cannot believe it. He grabs his hair, eyes wide with shock. Flair is at ringside, wiping sweat from his brow, relieved.
Orton's shock turns to a cold, dark resolve. He backs into the corner, his eyes narrowing. He looks at Triple H, who is slowly pushing himself up on all fours. Orton is measuring him... for the Punt Kick! The move that took out Mick Foley! Orton charges across the ring... he swings his leg... but Triple H dodges at the last second! Orton misses, jamming his leg into the canvas. Triple H spins him around and hits a massive clothesline that turns Orton inside out.
Triple H rolls out of the ring and looks under the apron. He grabs his signature sledgehammer! The crowd boos wildly. He slides into the ring, the weapon in hand. The referee tries to stop him, warning him of a disqualification. Flair jumps on the apron to distract the ref! Triple H winds up... but Orton ducks the sledgehammer shot! He kicks Triple H in the gut. The hammer falls. Orton picks up the sledgehammer! He looks at it, then at Triple H. He contemplates using it. The referee turns around and sees Orton with the weapon. He warns Orton. Orton drops the hammer, refusing to win that way. But as he drops it, Triple H kicks him low! A blatant low blow! The referee didn't see it because he was disposing of the hammer! Triple H covers: One... Two... NO! Orton kicks out on pure instinct!
Triple H is apoplectic. He grabs the referee by the shirt, backing him into the corner, screaming in his face. While the ref is cornered, Flair slides a pair of brass knuckles to Triple H! Triple H puts them on. He turns around... right into a dropkick from Orton! The brass knuckles fly off his hand! Orton clotheslines Triple H over the top rope to the floor! Orton follows him out. He grabs Flair by the lapels and throws him into the barricade! He grabs Triple H and slams his head onto the announce table! He rolls Triple H back into the ring.
Orton climbs onto the apron. Flair grabs his leg again! Orton has had enough. He reaches down and pulls Flair up onto the apron by his tie. He delivers a right hand that knocks Flair off the apron and into the guardrail! The referee has seen enough interference. He points to the back. Ric Flair is ejected! The crowd roars its approval! Flair throws a tantrum, kicking the steps, but he is forced to leave. Triple H is on his own.
Triple H, dazed and watching Flair leave, turns around into the center of the ring. He realizes he's isolated. He looks at Orton, desperation setting in. He charges with a clothesline, but Orton ducks. Orton goes for the RKO, but Triple H shoves him off into the ropes. Triple H lowers his head for a back body drop. Orton stops, kicks him in the chest. Pedigree attempt by Orton! He hooks the arms! Triple H back body drops him to counter!
Triple H hits a high knee as Orton stands up. He drags Orton to the center. He screams, "I MADE YOU! I OWN YOU!" He kicks Orton in the gut. He hooks the arms for the Pedigree. He looks out at the crowd, sneering. He jumps... but Orton counters! He stands up with Triple H still hooked, spinning out and breaking the hold! He pushes Triple H backward violently into the turnbuckles. Triple H hits hard and bounces off, stumbling backward into the center of the ring, dazed and vulnerable.
Orton is waiting, coiled like a viper. He leaps into the air—JUMPING RKO! He hits it with impactful perfection, driving Triple H's face into the canvas! The crowd hits a fever pitch! Orton rolls Triple H over. He hooks the leg tight, hooking both legs this time for insurance.
1... 2... 3!
Winner and 2004 King of the Ring: Randy Orton
Closing Shot
Randy Orton stumbles to his feet, favoring his injured shoulder, his chest heaving with exhaustion and adrenaline. The referee rushes over, raising his hand, but Orton is focused on something else. He looks down at the defeated Triple H, who is slowly beginning to stir on the canvas. The crowd is deafening, a standing ovation for the new King. Orton slowly walks to the corner and climbs the turnbuckle, throwing his arms wide, basking in the validation he has sought for months. Confetti cannons erupt from the rafters, filling the ARCO Arena with a blizzard of gold and silver. "Burn in My Light" blares, but the music fades slightly as Orton descends and walks up the ramp toward the grand stage.
He reaches the top of the stage where the magnificent King of the Ring throne awaits, bathed in a spotlight. The robe and crown rest on a velvet pedestal next to it. Orton picks up the heavy, velvet-lined robe and drapes it over his shoulders. He lifts the ornate, golden crown, looking at it for a long moment—a symbol of the power he has just seized. He places it on his head and sinks into the throne, crossing his legs with effortless arrogance. He grabs the scepter, holding it like a weapon. He looks directly into the hard camera, a cold, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. His eyes are icy, devoid of the doubt that once plagued him.
Michael Cole: "The student has not just become the master... he has conquered him! The Age of Orton has begun! The Legend Killer sits on the throne!" Tazz: "Triple H is history, Cole! Look at that face! That's the face of the future! Randy Orton is the King of the Ring!"
Orton slowly raises the scepter, pointing it straight ahead, signaling his next target— KURT ANGLE and the World Heavyweight Championship at SummerSlam. The shot holds on Orton's face, the confetti swirling around him like a golden storm, as the copyright graphic appears in the corner. The King has been crowned. Fade to black.
WWE SUMMERSLAM OFFICIAL CARD
WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
KURT ANGLE (C) vs. RANDY ORTON
