Optimus Prime Wings Novels & Stories

The particle separation and reunification ignited the next phase of my transformation. I can feel my muscles, bones, and fat reshaping into something more robust, leaner, and lethal. My fingers keep ripping out sharp, blade-like black claws, and my gums throb from the new fangs that have emerged. When I think it is over, my shoulder blades tear open, and enormous black angel wings thrust out. The feathers are a deep black, glistening in the portal's light. These large and imposing wings span wider than my entire body. They are immense, powerful, and coated in a thick, black liquid that shimmers in the light. Each wing is a work of art, with feathers that fade from black to the deepest shade

“She gets it.” Eryx inclined his head respectfully. “We’re your passengers and your pilots, apparently.” The engineer snorted. “Passengers? No. Anyone stepping on that craft is a mechanic by default.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “This way.” WING-01 rested like a sleeping predator at the far end of the hangar. Its body was sleek and narrow, made of layered silver-gold plating with faint luminous channels running down the sides. Folded wings extended from its spine, each feather panel lined with rune seams. Two fin-like structures ran along the underside, currently tucked against the hull.

They dive towards Rina in the aggressive shape of a kamikaze fighter plane. Septimus himself rises to meet this second wave. His real trench-coated form emerges, spattered with Chester’s blood, out of the barista whose face is swollen beyond recognition. The weary Grim Reaper trudges to stand in front of Rina as though he’s about to greet the Ravens. Then, in a trick that makes my heart swell with pride, what appears to be human feet grows from under Septimus’s parting coat skirt. At first the calves are stuck to each other like very cheesy pizza but they cleave in the middle and the contours of human legs clad in black tripp pants become visible. This single addition at once settles Septimu

The other curved backward in a brutal sweep, thicker than Apollo’s and ridged along its length, as though designed less for ceremony and more for impact. His wings were folded tight behind him, but even restrained, they carried weight. They were not the flexible, membranous stretch of Apollo’s; they were denser, layered in plates edged with serrated bone. Each ridge caught the firelight and fractured it, casting sharp shadows across the stone. In battle, those wings would not glide. They would cleave.

Those fearless creatures flew in terror from the unknown phenomenon and fought with weaker beasts for their hiding spots. “I want a full report of our situation, damage, and location sent an SOS to the main army too.” Said a 2 meters tall humanoid clad in red-trimmed black power armor, a skull with eight red wings painted on his chest as military distinction, and an energy rifle strapped to his back. He was standing on a platform in a room full of other “people” of varying size and number of limbs, all of them wore the same type of armor with different amounts of wings, but no one had more than the humanoid. “The shield is at full power, sir! No lives were lost in the crash so far!” answered

“Please. Transform yourself back to you.” The air resolved into the familiar archangel, wings and all. And there it was, a faint, triumphant smirk on his lips. I have won, it said. “Is this form more to your satisfaction?” he asked, synthetic innocence dripping from every syllable. “Yes,” I admitted. “But lose the wings. It’s a bit much for H&M.” The great wings dissolved into pixelated light. He stood there, a remarkably fit man in a minimalist toga, our kind of weird.

Celeste (thick): “I’m sorry I’m crying over a skateboard—” Remy (kneeling in the dirt): “You loved her. You’re allowed.” He pulled a velvet bag from his jacket. Inside: raw titanium deck, gunmetal, blank. 60 mm glow wheels. Tiny script under the nose: Forever messy. Forever ours. Remy (quiet): “Ordered it the week we got back from Romania. You need wings that don’t break.” I tackled him into the fresh earth and kissed him until the tears stopped tasting like loss.

he said. “Wings,” I confirmed. “She absolutely has wings in her repertoire now.” “Technically they were a manifestation of—” “Wings,” I said firmly. “My best friend grew wings in a battle. I’m calling them wings.” Marcus made a sound that was probably not supposed to be a laugh and was. Kael’s hand rested on the door. The almost-smile stayed. “She’s strong,” he said. “Yes,” I said. “She is.” KAEL’S POV

Jace carried her, and they flew with wings on Jace's huge back. Rain barely dared to open her eyes when the wind hit her body. She couldn't see Jace's face when she flew. She could only see the muscles and veins along the man's shoulders and neck. Rain could also see a pair of black wings spread wide across Jace's back, and runes adorned the entire surface of his skin.

"He's changed hasn't he. I hadn't noticed it until the other night when you left. He lost control but not in the way that you think. You did something unexpected beyond his gaze and it infuriated him." "What are you talking about? Just tell me already," I raised my voice slightly, feeling frustrated and agitated. I just wanted somebody to say the words that I had been in denial about since the moment his knee connected with my father's skull. "Prime has awakened," he said the three dreaded words. "How do you know that," I asked slowly, watching the swirls of the mark on my arm. It vaguely resembled the at symbol but had more swirls that formed more letters. There was an 'a' and what looked l