Skin Black | Superhero

Only Ebon.

His name was Marcus Webb, and his skin wasn't a suit. It was his own. The world called him . 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." Only Ebon

But Marcus was born in this darkness. He was the darkness. The world called him

In the neon-drenched canyons of Novo-Gotham, the sky was a perpetual bruise of purple and smog. But tonight, a different kind of darkness moved through the alleys of the Kiln District.

He didn't fly. He fell with purpose. The wind ripped past his ears, but he was silent as a burial shroud. He landed on the roof of the lead armored truck with a soft thump that was lost in the engine's roar.

He moved. A disarm here. A joint lock there. The sounds were wet and final: crack, thud, groan . Each Viper fell not to a flashy energy blast, but to precise, economical violence. Razor turned on his thermal goggles—and saw nothing. Marcus’s skin had gone room-temperature.