O.C.C.: NIGHTBANE

(Sans any skills or martial-arts what-so-ever.)

On a world where your Nightbane transformation was PERMANENT, this is what you became...

A blend of leather and metal -- straps, chains, and spikes... But this is no armor, no true exoskeleton. This is your flesh. It doesn't come off, it can not be changed. Covered, perhaps. You can still bleed, a knife still cuts, a bullet, potentially fatal, but, probably not. You are tough. Tough as nails, tough as spikes. You can take... a lot. And give a lot more.

You hardly have a face, only a hint. Your lips will never again touch those of another. Do you have other options? Not your immediate concern.

You will almost certainly never walk the daylight again.

There's an invasion. A bleak mirror-world clandestinely attacks, ultimate motive, unknown. Do you defend? How can you when you are so shunned? Sometimes you have no choice but to engage and the more you fight, the more you appreciate what you are, nightmare it may be. 

Oh, how you love kicking ass.

So be it.