Moses was not a man built to be overlooked. He stood closer to two and a half meters than to two, and every inch of that height came wrapped in muscle earned across decades of war.
His armor was Morgain steel of the finest grade, dark and heavy, the crest hammered across the breastplate: two swords crossed beneath the eye of a wolf. Purple eyes studied Trafalgar from under a fall of long black hair dragged back and knotted with a soldier's indifference to how it fell.
Two horns rose from his skull, open proof of the demon blood woven through his human half. He wore all of it the way old campaigners did, as though the ground owed him the courtesy of holding still beneath his boots.
