(The camera flickers to life in a near-empty arena at night. A thin haze of fog drifts across the ramp, lit by a single dim, blue spotlight. Shadows dance along the entrance as silent strings begin a slow, haunting melody. From the mist emerges El Fantasma Oscuro, his form veiled in darkness. He moves without sound—each step measured, almost gliding—until he reaches the edge of the ring apron. He pauses, head tilted slightly, as if listening to a voice no one else can hear.)

(El Fantasma Oscuro stands motionless at the apron, one hand gripping the top rope. His mask’s reflective lenses catch the faint glow of the spotlight. The flute melody swells; he raises his free hand and slowly beckons the camera closer, never breaking eye contact.)

El Fantasma Oscuro (his voice a low, echoing whisper):
“You cannot hit what you fear to see…”

(He tilts his head, letting the words hang in the thick air. His right hand drifts down to his side as he slides smoothly through the ropes, landing without a sound in the center of the ring. The fog pours in through the ring posts, swirling at his feet. He stands tall—5-foot-9 of spectral menace—chest rising with controlled breaths.)

(With a sudden, fluid motion, El Fantasma extends both arms outward, palms open to the ceiling. The eerie melody cuts out, replaced by the sharp rustle of his cape. He lowers his arms slowly, then slowly closes his fists, fingers snapping shut. The camera cuts to a wide angle, capturing him alone in the ring under the lone spotlight.)

El Fantasma Oscuro (voice cold, deliberate):
“Billed from Parts Unknown… Born on the Eve of Shadows… I am El Fantasma Oscuro.”

(He steps forward, one booted foot scraping the mat. His mask’s curve seems to smirk, though no human face lies beneath. He lifts his right hand—just his pointer finger—brushing it along his mask’s ridge, then points directly at the camera.)

El Fantasma Oscuro:
“The United Toughness Alliance… they speak of revival. They speak of honor. They speak of champions. But what is honor to a ghost? What is a champion to the unseen?”

(He drifts toward the camera, each step silent, the sandaled shadows hugging his silhouette. The camera zooms in on his masked face; the reflective lenses glow like twin lanterns. A soft, whispered rumble echoes as he reaches out, fingertips grazing the lens—only to pull back as if burned.)

El Fantasma Oscuro (voice rising, unnerving):
“I was trained in the secret styles of exiled luchadores—men who embraced the darkness when the world turned its back. They taught me to strike unseen, to move without warning, to vanish like a fleeting nightmare. My hands have felt the pulse of fear. My heart has never beaten.”

(He tilts his head, scanning the empty seats around the ring. His cape swirls behind him as he pivots, landing gracefully on the ring apron. The spotlight momentarily flickers.)

El Fantasma Oscuro (whispered, almost a hiss):
“When you see me… you are already too late.”

(Suddenly, he vaults from the apron’s top rope, executing a flawless Slingshot Dropkick toward the camera—crashing it briefly off-screen before the shot cuts back to him standing alone in the center of the ring. The sound of impact echoes like thunder in the deserted arena. He straightens, head bowed for a heartbeat, then snaps it up.)

El Fantasma Oscuro (steady, commanding):
“This… is my warning. I walk through shadows so that when the bell tolls for the UTA Championship qualifying tournament, I will move like a ghost through the minds of my opponents. While they scramble for footing, I will glide—Phantom Spiral from the top, Veil Breaker when they dare to stand. They will feel the gust of my presence… and they will know fear.”

(He leans in, hands brushing the ropes as he swings one leg over the top. His eyes never stray from the lens.)

El Fantasma Oscuro (low, menacing):
“The UTA ring will become my haunted sanctuary. Each dive, each rope walk, each tilt-a-whirl headscissors… they will be echoes of nightmares. I will silence every challenger with The Silence—my submission finisher—until there is nothing left but a hollow echo of their hopes.”

(He vaults back into the ring, moving to the corner. With an almost imperceptible nod, he ascends the second rope and stands—silhouetted—against the darkened rafters.)

El Fantasma Oscuro (his voice a single, haunting note):
“You cannot hit what you fear to see. But you will bleed from what you never saw coming…”

(In one fluid motion, he drops backwards into a corkscrew plancha—Phantom Spiral—crashing through an imaginary opponent in the canvas. The camera cuts to his masked face as he sits in the ring, fog swirling at his feet, mask inches from the lens.)

El Fantasma Oscuro (whispers):
“My reign begins when the shadows rise. I am El Fantasma Oscuro… and the darkness will claim the UTA Championship.”

(He slowly fades from view as the fog engulfs him once more. The camera lingers on the ring, now empty, as the haunting melody returns and the shot fades to black.)