The arena lights dim, casting the entire space in near-total darkness. A low, ominous hum begins to fill the air, growing in intensity as the crowd quiets in anticipation. Suddenly, the haunting strains of "O Fortuna" by Carl Orff begin to echo through the arena, the powerful orchestral notes reverberating off the walls. The massive, foreboding chorus builds, creating a sense of impending doom.

A single spotlight flickers on, illuminating the entrance ramp. Standing at the top, in the center of the light, is Reverend Ezekiel Graves. He is clad in his long, black clerical robe, the white collar contrasting sharply against the dark fabric. The silver cross around his neck catches the light, glinting as he stands motionless for a moment, surveying the crowd with an intense, piercing gaze. His expression is one of cold determination, his eyes dark and unforgiving. He slowly makes a methodical walk to the ring.