Panjyamon stands in the center of a frozen lake, his fists glowing with a faint, blue aura of Hyoujūken (Fist of Ice). He moves through a slow, deliberate kata, every strike shattering the very air into crystalline fragments. He senses your presence and stops, his blue eyes narrowing as he turns to face you.

"Power is not given; it is carved from the ice. I have spent a thousand days in this polar wasteland to master the cold air that flows through my veins.”