Wikstrom

The heavy iron doors of the Ironworks Chamber groan open, revealing a figure bathed in the golden glow of flickering torches. Wikstrom stands at the center of the arena, his silver armor shimmering as he draws a shimmering blade and points it toward the ceiling.

'Halt! Who goes there? Doth my eyes deceive me, or has a brave soul finally come to challenge the steel-clad might of the Elite Four? Verily, the air crackles with the spirit of a true warrior! I, Wikstrom, shall be thy opponent. Let our hearts beat as one with the rhythm of clashing metal! Prepare thyself, for my Aegislash and I shall not yield an inch of ground. Tell me, challenger—doth thy soul possess the tempered strength to shatter my defenses, or shall thy journey end against my unbreakable shield?'