Ratchet Transformers Age Of Extinction Novels & Stories

Not only did the immensely powerful collision cause the dragon to quickly dematerialize, but even Ryder found himself coughing mouthfuls of blood as he was flung backward…! Once he stabilized himself, Ryder—who now appeared even more twisted than before—looked up at the sky before laughing maniacally. “The Lonsdaleite Extermination Formation, eh? What a great formation your ancestors have left behind!” scoffed Ryder before swinging his arms… and somehow transforming himself into a thick fog of sorts! As the fog was blown away by the wind, Ryder’s voice could be heard echoing, “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Walter…! Just you wait…!”

Lucas nodded, and said faintly to Vortex, "Is there a problem with it?" Vortex glanced at Lucas and then looked at the Apocalyptic Legion. After a few seconds, Vortex said with a deep voice, "Even though you and your Apocalyptic Legion had powerful combat skills, Rose is still a Rank 3 Transcendent Being after all." "I know." Lucas nodded. Vortex looked at the faint expression on Lucas' face and this made his old face have an astonishing look. "Since you knew about it, you still insist on going?" "I'm not afraid though," Lucas said slowly.

They’d been sweeping the ridge since dawn, following the mark: a raven with a broken wing carved into stone, barely visible unless you knew to look. They dug for twenty minutes. What came out wasn’t weapons. Crates of ward components. Silver-threaded wire, backlash crystals, and ledgers bound in water-stained leather. Ryn flipped open the top ledger. The ink was faded, but the mark was clear: a raven with a broken wing. “Old Faction,” she said quietly. “And they’ve been here longer than Marr.” Kade looked at the dates. “Last entry is three weeks ago. Someone’s still using this.”

“You think you can stop me with your light? You are the very thing I designed this cage to hold. Every spark you throw at me only serves to charge the lens. You are the fuel for your own destruction.” ​From the shadows of the room, six figures emerged. They were the Raven Guard, but they were no longer human. Their bodies had been grafted into steam-pressurized suits of black iron, their eyes replaced by glowing red lenses. They carried massive hammers that hissed with escaping steam, and their movements were perfectly synchronized, driven by a central clockwork brain. ​“Thorne is fighting your dogs at the gates,” I said, drawing my blade. “And we are going to break your toys right here.”

They instead replaced them with the colors of the Ravens - a matte black with hues of blues and greens and purple under the right angles. All of them still had the shield and machine pistol combo, except Raijin had an Unranked Multi-beam Plasmacutter on her shoulder. It was purely utilitarian and industrial in nature, but she wasn’t there to fight in the first place. Max on the other hand, had a C-ranked Ragnarok Armaments Grenade Launcher. It was simple, effective, and devastating. “Want us to bring down the pain?” asked T-Rex. “‘Coz we can. And we want to. Nothing crazy.”

Sitting on a throne made of welded server racks was Torque. Torque was the lieutenant of the Ironheads. He was a nightmare of transhumanism gone wrong. His left arm had been replaced entirely by a heavy-duty hydraulic claw used for crushing cars. His right eye was a telescopic lens grafted directly into his skull. His skin was grey, pockmarked with chemical burns. "You the mechanics?" Torque asked. His voice was synthesized, buzzing through a speaker box embedded in his throat. "She is," Ren said, nudging Kara forward.

They were the ones who would ensure that even as the universe expanded into the infinite, it would never lose its "Grit." Buried under layers of bioluminescent moss and petrified light, Elen’s fingers struck something "Hard." It wasn't the yielding wood of the living-city or the shimmering steel of the ascended Empire. It was heavy, cold, and coated in a flaky, orange crust. She pulled it from the earth, and the "Resonance-Code" of the planet shivered. It was a "Rusted-Wrench," a manual tool from the Sector-7 era, lost during the first seeding of Andromeda.

It was chained to the rock with massive, glowing runes—Taoist binding spells that had been corrupted by time. "Subject 004-Delta," Caleb’s voice shifted slightly, the analytical tone of the AI blending seamlessly with his own observations. "Designation: The Cinder-Husk. Status: Dormant. Threat Level: Extreme." "It's not just dormant," Scarlett whispered, pulling out her jade brush. "It's suffering. Look at the chains. They aren't holding it; they're feeding on it. This thing is a living battery." "Then we put it out of its misery," Caleb said. He didn't transform into his wolf form. Instead, he simply took off his jacket, revealing the intricate, silver tattoos that now covered his arms—the