The camera cuts to a dimly lit, industrial area of the Stratford Arena, far away from the glitz of the entrance stage. Standing amidst the shadows is the 6’10” frame of Eero Koshinen. The “Helsinki Hammer” looks like a mountain of stone carved from the Finnish wilderness, his massive arms crossed over a chest that seems to take up the entire frame. He stares into the camera with a cold, piercing stillness that feels more threatening than any shout could ever be.

“Bjorn Asulf… you speak of myth. You speak of iron and pillaging,” Koshinen begins, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that vibrates through the microphone. “You call yourself a king of berserkers, but you are just a man who has lost his way in the woods. You think that by surrounding us with steel, you are trapping the giant. You think the cage is your sanctuary.”

Eero steps closer to the lens, his shadow swallowing the light. A slow, terrifyingly calm smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth—the look of a predator who has just been invited to a feast.

“In Finland, we do not fear the cold iron. We forge it. We use it to build the tools that break the earth. You want four walls? You want no exits? You want a place where your screams won’t be drowned out by the crowd? I accept.”

He uncrosses his arms, his massive hands clenching into fists that look like granite blocks.

“At Doomsday, I won’t just defeat you, Bjorn. I am going to turn that cage into your sarcophagus. You wanted a line drawn? I will draw it in your blood across those steel links. On March 2nd, the Viking Saga ends… and the Age of the Hammer begins.”

Koshinen leans in until his face fills the screen, his eyes devoid of any mercy.

“See you in the cage, little king.”

The screen cuts to a stark black “Sanctioned Violence Network Exclusive” graphic as the low hum of the arena crowd fades into the background.