Singles Match

The scene opens inside a decaying, gothic church bathed in moonlight streaming through shattered stained-glass windows. The air is thick with an eerie fog that curls along the cracked stone floor. Blackthorne sits atop a desecrated altar, his long black trench coat draping over the sides, the shadows swallowing much of his gaunt, menacing frame. The faint sound of dripping water echoes through the desolate space as a lone raven caws in the distance.

Blackthorne raises his head, revealing his malevolent grin. His piercing eyes, framed by dark, smudged eyeliner, glint like the sharp edge of a dagger. He begins to speak, his deep, ominous voice reverberating through the hollowed halls.

Blackthorne:

"Ah, the hallowed ground... or so it once was. A sanctuary meant to cleanse the soul, now a ruin. Fitting, isn't it? For tonight, Dale Grissom, this place will be your final confession. These walls, once steeped in prayer and purity, will bear witness to your unraveling at the hands of darkness incarnate."

He stands, his boots clacking ominously against the stone floor as he slowly descends the steps of the altar. His movements are deliberate, almost serpentine, as he circles a broken pew, running his gloved hand along its jagged edge.

Blackthorne:

"You call yourself a fighter, Grissom. But what are you truly? A man clinging to the light? A mortal clinging to pride? I am neither. I am the eternal abyss, the shadow that feeds on the frailty of men like you. Step into the ring with me, and you will find no salvation, no redemption—only pain, suffering, and the bitter taste of defeat."

He stops, his gaze fixed on the crumbling statue of an angel, its face cracked and weathered. He tilts his head, as if mocking its once-protective presence.

Blackthorne:

"In this very church, I have already seen the end, Dale. I see you, lying broken beneath the weight of your own hubris. I see the blood staining the canvas, your cries lost in the deafening silence of inevitability. And I, Blackthorne, shall stand victorious, my hands raised high as the darkness consumes all."

He suddenly whirls around, his trench coat flaring like bat wings, his voice rising with an unholy fervor.

Blackthorne:

"You do not face a mere man, Grissom! You face a force of nature—a storm that tears apart the weak and leaves only devastation in its wake. Bring your fists, bring your pride, bring whatever shred of courage you can muster. None of it will matter. In the end, all will fall to Blackthorne."

He stretches his arms wide, as if embracing the darkness surrounding him. The camera slowly pans out, capturing the full, haunting scope of the church, with Blackthorne framed against the crumbled cross.

Blackthorne (whispering, but his voice still carrying a chill): "Let the reckoning begin..."

The scene fades to black as the faint sound of a church bell tolls, signaling the inevitable clash on AWS Monday Night Ward.

[The scene is set inside the AWS ring at a house show. The intimate venue buzzes with energy as the crowd eagerly anticipates what’s coming next. Dale Grissom, wearing his classic black leather vest with the words "Green Bayern Brawler" emblazoned on the back, stands in the middle of the ring, microphone in hand. The house lights are slightly dimmed, and a single spotlight highlights him. His Green Bayern drawl cuts through the crowd noise as he begins to speak.]

Dale Grissom:

“Well, well, well... lookie here. Another night, another fight, and they’ve gone and stuck ol’ Dale Grissom in the ring with someone darker than the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Blackthorne. A man who skulks in shadows, talks in riddles, and thinks his spooky little grin is supposed to scare me off. Let me tell ya somethin’, pal... you’re barkin’ up the wrong damn tree.”

[The crowd roars in approval, chanting, "GRISSOM! GRISSOM!" Dale paces the ring, his eyes locking onto the camera as if addressing Blackthorne directly.]

Dale Grissom:

“Now, I get it. You’ve got this whole ‘creature of the night’ thing goin’ on. You dress like you walked straight outta some horror flick, and you talk about darkness like it’s your best friend. But me? I ain’t afraid of no dark. I was raised in the backwoods, where the only thing darker than the night is the soul of a man who’s lost everything. I’ve fought my way outta places you wouldn’t dare step foot in, Blackthorne.”

[He leans on the ropes, pointing toward the entrance ramp, his voice growing louder and more impassioned.]

Dale Grissom:

“You wanna talk about pain? About punishment? Well, boy, I’ll show you what it means to fight a Green Bayern Brawler who ain’t got a damn thing to lose. While you’re busy playin’ mind games and makin’ cryptic little speeches, I’m over here throwin’ fists and breakin’ bones. Ain’t no shadows gonna save you when you step in this ring with me!”

[The crowd cheers again, rallying behind Dale’s fiery words. He takes a step back, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a fight right then and there.]

Dale Grissom:

“So here’s the deal, Blackthorne. You can bring your darkness, your mind games, and that creepy-ass coat of yours. But when that bell rings, you’re gonna be facin’ a man who don’t give a damn about your theatrics. You’ll see real quick that the only thing standin’ between you and a trip to the ER... is my patience.”

[He smirks and shrugs, the intensity in his eyes undeniable.]

Dale Grissom:

“So come on, big man. Let’s see if the ‘Prince of Darkness’ can handle the 'King of Green Bay'. And when it’s all said and done, you’ll realize that all the shadows in the world ain’t gonna protect you from a Grissom ass-whoopin’!”

[With that, Dale tosses the mic over the ropes, the thud echoing through the arena as the crowd explodes into cheers. He stretches his arms wide, inviting Blackthorne to come out and face him as his theme music hits, sending the energy in the building to a fever pitch.]