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.