Sentinel Prime Transformers Prime Novels & Stories

"Para sa mga Guardians na hindi tinatablan ng bala." ​Paglabas nina Xander at Liam, agad silang hinarap ng arkitektura ng barko. Ang mga pader ay hindi patag; sila ay dahan-dahang gumagalaw, humihinga na parang isang buhay na nilalang. Sa gitna ng pasilyo, lumitaw ang unang depensa: ang mga Precursor Sentinels. ​Ang mga Sentinels ay walang mukha, purong asul na liwanag lamang ang makikita sa kanilang mga dibdib. Sa isang iglap, nagpakawala sila ng mga Hard-Light Disks.

"Look closely, bro! It's Transformers! It's Optimus Prime! "What's with the lack of reaction? Are you even a man?" "But my girlfriend is still waiting …" "They can't compare to Optimus Prime!"

Rhea saw one labeled Moon-Pool: Biological Heritage and felt a surge of protective rage that she immediately suppressed. ​"Calculated movement," she reminded herself, her daggers held in a neutral grip. ​They were met in the central atrium by a squad of "Sentinel-Primes." These weren't the spindly janitors from the perimeter. These were heavy, quadrupedal machines armored in the same black glass as the tower, their movements fluid and predatory.

Resting his head on the top of my own, we waited until Tenny seemed to find what he was looking for. "Ah, yes." He pointed to a page that was decorated in gold and silver - actual flakes of the elements if I wasn't mistaken. "This figure is the Prime." The figure was neither male or female by external markers. Haloed in colors from concentric circles of palest to darkest, the Prime stood on what looked to be a bed of snakes. Each snake was eating the tail of the snake closest to it. Each snake was a slightly different color as well. Dozens of lines ran from Prime to the snakes. From Prime's hands, body, face, feet. Everywhere. Prime looked vaguely like a voodoo doll.

He sliced through the shadow-hand, but it just reformed, multiplying into a dozen translucent figures—the Prime-Sentinels. They were reflections of us. A shadow-Félix, a shadow-Magnus, a shadow-Runa. They moved with a terrifying, liquid grace, their eyes two pits of cold, indigo hunger. "DEFEND THE ANCHOR!" Valerius II roared, leading his iron-shifters into the fray.

Hundreds of internal bulkheads slid open, unleashing a swarm of 'Sentinel-Primes'—eight-foot-tall, multi-limbed combat droids armed with thermal-slicers and molecular disruptors. In a wide-open battlefield, the Sentinels were a nightmare. But in the tight, enclosed corridors of a starship, dropping three hundred armored wolves among them was a bloodbath. A Sentinel lunged at Caleb, its thermal-blades aiming to bisect him. Caleb didn't even raise his hands. He simply lowered his shoulder and charged. The 'Sovereign Strike' boosters in his boots fired at maximum capacity. He tackled the machine with the force of a runaway train, driving it straight through three consecutive steel walls before

The provisional council chamber beneath the rebuilt Apex tower had transformed into a theater of controlled terror. The long table, once a symbol of fragile democracy, now served as Prime’s stage for interrogation. Clone-Prime sat at its head, wearing Damian’s face with the cold precision of a mask carved from ice. His black suit was impeccable, open collar revealing the faint scar that mirrored the original, but the eyes held none of the fire that had defined Damian through every hell they had survived. They were empty. Calculating. Hungry for the destruction he had planned all along.

The Prime Beast smelled her weakness and lunged again. Thorne and two warriors formed a wedge formation to shield Lyra’s flank. Eira took the front with me. I shouted orders with full Alpha dominance. “Left flank, drive it toward the support wall!” “Do not let it scent the heir again!” The pack obeyed instantly, but the Prime Beast ignored formations; it targeted Lyra only. The Prime Beast’s tracking ability is biological, not magical. It can sense the heir’s heartbeat through solid rock.

If I leave you behind, it will be up to the rest of us to get to the source. ​I peeked around the jagged edge of the transport. The Sentinel was less than half a mile away now. It was a beautiful, horrific thing. Its body was composed of a material that looked like ivory but moved like liquid, shifting and flowing to compensate for the uneven terrain of the Bone Yard. The central core, a sphere of violet fire encased in a ribcage of silver wire, pulsed with the rhythm of a dying star. ​Silas! I roared into my comms, the static almost deafening. Where are those Vanguard reinforcements? We’re about to be turned into a stain on the salt!

The principle of things ending granted awareness. When it spoke, the words formed directly in whatever passed for my mind. “Guardian. You survive where others have not. Impressive.” “You’re the Prime.” My response wasn’t words either, just intention shaped into communication. “I am the anchor. The source from which fragments manifest. The Void’s consciousness made manifest in your reality.” The Prime studied me… not with eyes, but with attention that felt like being evaluated at a level. “You should not be here.” “The artifact protects me.”