Black - Superhero Skin

"You're a demon," Razor gasped, just before a black baton swept his legs and a knee pinned his throat.

Unlike the spandex-clad paragons who fought in broad daylight, Ebon was a rumor. A glitch in the city's optical sensors. He stood six-foot-four, his deep brown skin seeming to drink the light itself, making him a negative image against the city’s glare. He wore no mask—only a high-collared, matte-black duster that whispered when he walked. Two matte-black batons rested on his thighs, not for show, but for the brutal, silent ballet of close-quarters justice. superhero skin black

Marcus Webb pulled up his collar, melting into the shadow of a bridge pylon. "Good. Myths don't get shot. Myths don't go to jail. Myths just… happen." "You're a demon," Razor gasped, just before a