Bereft of a pilot and working internal mechanisms, the aircraft crashed heavily in the midst of the crowd.  The Merchants who had gathered in the street for Skidmark’s festival of poison scattered, abandoning their fallen friends, trying to find an escape route or hiding place.  The screams of panic were twice the volume of any cheering they’d done earlier.

I think it’s safe to say that after this, the Merchants aren’t going to be much of a thing anymore, unless one of the higher-ups survives and restabilizes things. Which isn’t going to be easy.

Siberian hopped up to the highest point of the wrecked aircraft, the twisted remains of a propeller that should not have borne her weight.  Her hair blew in the hot air that rose from the heap of burning metal.

Can she decide not to be affected by gravity at all?

She glanced around to see where she might do the most damage, spat out a gobbet of meat and then leaped off to one side, out of sight.  The propeller didn’t even move.

Hmm.

Maybe the propeller is affected by the same thing that protected the other Slaughterhouse members on their ride – an ability to spread her power to things and people she’s touching. In this case, making the propeller just as resistant to forces as she is until after she’s jumped off it.

“Are you going to partake?” Jack asked Cherish.

She doesn’t seem to be in the mood for it.

“Why are you still talking like I’m a member of this team?  I tried to manipulate all of you, and I failed.”

Ah, she doesn’t get it yet. Jack doesn’t give a shit. Hell, might even like it. That kind of chaotic behavior is right up his alley.

A couple of the others (Siberian, for instance) seem to be giving her a hard time, but to what extent that is because of the betrayal is unclear.

Siberian reached up and set Bonesaw down, and then was gone, one footstep carrying her into the midst of the crowd.  She didn’t care if she hit anyone.  Anyone unfortunate enough to be in her way was pulverized, their limbs broken, chests shattered and necks snapped by the impact.

We’ve barely gotten into the chapter and the killcounts are already skyrocketing.

Even those in the general area were caught by the flying bodies and hurt just as grievously.

Ouch.

Bonesaw laughed, and it was a sound without reservations, not shaped by social constraint or culture or self-censorship.  It was the laugh of a child, free and without a care.  One of her mechanical spiders leaped onto her back, and wound several of its limbs around her chest.

Oh look, a cute little murderous backpack for this sweet and murderous

and innocent

child!

…did I say murderous? I, uh, um, I meant… m… ma… musical! Sure, that’s it.

Two limbs extended to connect to her wrists, so the mechanical arms mirrored the dimensions and length of her own.  The ends fanned out into an array of scalpels, needles, saws, and other instruments so one tool sat between each of her splayed fingers.

Looks like a handy device!

The smallest gestures of her hands forced instantaneous rearrangements of the tools, so another was ready for her to grasp and use.  Two more spiders lunged forward and pulled one of Siberian’s screaming wounded away from the rest of the crowd, dragging it inch by inch toward the advancing Bonesaw.

Time for some on-site surgery?

Jack spoke, with no small amount of irony.  “Looks like Skidmark’s hosting a party.  I think we deserve a night on the town, after waiting as long as we did to reveal ourselves.  Be sure to thank our hosts.

I think you might want to revise your verb tense there, in that first sentence.

I’m sure our invitation was lost in the mail.”

Hehe.

Smiles spread across more than one face.

Crawler was the first one off of the roof, throwing himself into the night air to land in the dead center of the crowd.  The others followed quickly after, Shatterbird and Burnscar launching themselves to the far corners of the massed crowd, conjuring up storms of glass shards and flame to block their victim’s retreat.

I still don’t really sympathize much with the Merchants, but at least this wasn’t something they signed up for.

Bonesaw’s creations poured over the edges of the rooftop to herd the remainder of the crowd and keep them contained to one area.

…how many does she have now? 

Or is this just referring to the spiderbots and such, perhaps?

It was just four of them left on the rooftop.  Siberian, Bonesaw, Jack and Cherish.

The same group that went to warn Alec and Rachel about the Shattering.

Siberian reached out and gripped Cherish by the shirt collar.  More graciously, she extended a hand toward Jack.  He gripped it tight.

Gotta go fast? Gotta go faster faster fasterfaster Siberian X?

Crawler, the most monstrous member of the group, loomed over the rest.  His chest was ten feet deep from front to back, his head the size of a small car.

Yay, we’re getting a description!

And yeah, that’s really big.

He combined the most effective features of a bear and a panther.  Sinuous, flexible, bristling with quiet menace, but also brawny with muscle.  He had armor plates covering him, with scales where armor wouldn’t allow him optimum flexibility, and spines and coarse hair where the scales wouldn’t do.

He reminds me a lot of Bitch’s hellhounds, but bigger and a bit different.

Head to toe, he had the coloring of an oil slick, black by default, but scintillating with rainbow hues in just the right light.

Huh, that’s actually really cool.

No wonder he didn’t show very well in the image Taylor saw.

A hundred black orbs studded the length of his body, set into the plates of armor.  Caustic venom virtually poured from a mouth that bristled with mismatched fangs, spattering precipitously close to Cherish and eating at the concrete rooftop.

Niice.

I suspect this isn’t the last we’ll hear about the orbs.

Perhaps most unnerving of all were his six legs, each forking at the knee or elbow joint, with one larger limb ending in scimitar-like claws and a smaller set of limbs for each; tentacles for the rear four legs and a long fingered human’s hands for the forelimbs.

Oooh, that’s really freaky and cool.

The aircraft lurched and began to turn, but this maneuver ended up spelling out Skidmark’s doom.  The surface beneath him was already slick with blood, and with only one hand’s worth of fingers to grip with, he slid.  He used his power to change the surface and force himself upward, but it was too little, too late.

What a way to go.

…I hope he lands right in one of the coffins.

He dropped into the blades of the spinning propeller and was puréed in a heartbeat.

Oh jeez. And here I thought he was sliced up enough already.

Standing on a rooftop across from the aircraft, Jack flicked his wrist and snapped the blade of his straight-razor back into the handle.

Hiya.

So, was that entertaining to you?

Smiling thinly, he looked over his shoulder at his teammates.  Bonesaw sat astride Siberian’s shoulders, in the midst of braiding a lock of the feral killer’s hair.

Oh my cod, I love this. Please tell me there’s fanart of this moment.

Shatterbird and Burnscar stood on opposite sides of the group, the former holding a book in one hand, the latter with images in flame dancing a quarter-inch off her skin, showing people and familiar objects, many of the images replaying the scene of Skidmark’s demise in miniature.

Huh, that’s a really neat use of the power.

Bonesaw’s automatons were spread out over the remainder of the roof, and one of her Frankenstein creations waited patiently at the far end of the roof.  Hack Job, she’d called it?  It had started to rot alive, and Bonesaw kept it out of the way so as not to offend the sensibilities of her teammates.

I bet she doesn’t really get why the others have a problem with that, though she’ll help her family be comfortable.

Cherish stood in Crawler’s shadow, pale, her hands clasped together.  Her shoulders were drawn in, as if she was afraid she would be struck any second.

Wow, she’s really not comfortable in the team after her little secret came out. I suspect not everyone took it as, uh, well as Jack did, but even if no one actually hurt her because of it, a fear that they’re going to if she steps across the line again is quite understandable.

Also, are we actually going to learn what Crawler looks like now, or are we going to leave it at the mention of his shadow? Whatever the case, it sound like he’s relatively big.

Skidmark’s hands went to his stomach, where blood and organs were spilling out.  He turned to run, but more slices appeared in his arm, his buttock, his back and the back of his neck.

Jack, what are you doing? Why Skidmark?

Not that I particularly disapprove of getting him out of the way, though I’ll miss the creative wordings.

Also, this doesn’t sound like it’s Skidmark’s perspective anymore. This is the perspective of an onlooker, and I suspect that onlooker is either Jack Slash or Scrub.

No longer in sight of the majority of the crowd, he continued to try to crawl away, only for his reaching fingers to be separated from his hand, flying away from him in a spray of crimson.

Another reason why I don’t think we’re seeing Skidmark’s perspective: I don’t think he’s going to survive for more than a few paragraphs from now.