Transformers Prime Hardshell Novels & Stories

Warmonger Chassis Type 13 [A] - Primal Machinations “Planetcracker” Omniresonant Greathammer [S] - Primal Machinations “Primdahl” Round Shield [A] - Mechanica Dharma “Retribution” Mass Driver Pistol [A] — Each of them were installed with the hyperionization submodules that Raijin had put together, which helped protect their armor and shields from Imperial disintegrators. And so they easily raised their shields in front of them, and happily shrugged off any incoming fire from the ships they charged towards.

"Leo! She’s removing the 'Noise'! If she finishes the render, we’ll be trapped in a featureless void!" ​"Kaelen! Maya! Break her focus!" Leo roared, finally forcing his muscles to move against the Prime’s crushing pressure. ​Kaelen didn't hesitate. He launched himself forward, his silver-metal skin flaring to its maximum output. He wasn't just a man; he was a "Living-Impact," a silver comet aimed directly at the Prime’s heart. ​But the Prime didn't dodge. As Kaelen’s fist neared her chest, she simply "Shifted." In a flash of silver light, Kaelen didn't hit her; he passed right through her as if she were made of mist.

“Never.” Liora’s voice cut through the pain. “Kade! The self-destruct sequence! There’s a manual override!” Before I could reach for it, Prime spun me around and pinned me against the glass of a gestation tank. A half-formed enhanced wolf floated inside, inches from my face. “Watch,” Prime whispered. “This is what you will become.” Then the entire facility shook like something was about to pull it off its foundations. And it wasn't coming from us but from something outside.

To survive the coming assault on the Hive, Evangeline couldn't just be a passenger or a battery; she had to become a practitioner. In the cramped, lead-lined rear of the "Shadow-Hauler," Xander sat across from her. Between them, the Acoustic Prism glowed with a restless, flickering light, its sapphire hue occasionally sparking with sharp, electrical whites. The air was thick with the scent of hot copper and the low-frequency hum of the stabilizers.

This was another system protocol written into 2Pac’s program files. Mark brought up his robotic suit’s ammunition blockers, which were two triangular-shaped energy blast proof shields. The two shields activated themselves and they arose out of both of the robotic suit’s arms. Mark tried to block the gunfire coming from two 3D printed handguns that 2Pac pulled out of two mechanized pockets that emerged from his abdomen. The battle began as a gunfight, and so far Mark held his own against 2Pac. He activated his nuclear-powered energy sub-machine gun and fired away at 2Pac.

A series of heavy titanium shutters began grinding their way down over the gaping hole, cutting off the view of the drone and the city. Prime didn’t wait. She moved with terrifying efficiency, a ghost in the chaos. She was already inside, ducking behind a reinforced support column as the shutters sealed us in. The drone outside unleashed a volley of fire against the new barrier, the impacts sounding like a monstrous drumbeat against the metal. The sudden semi-darkness was punctuated by the flickering emergency lights and the glow of Prime’s rifle as she swept the room. “You can’t hide from the protocol, Architect,” her voice echoed, devoid of any emotion. “The flaw must be excised.”

His speech was slower and almost uncaring. “And a Prime?” She asked again. “Right now all you need to know is that an Alpha Prime’s existence is what keeps us from being the monsters others fear.” Sybil swallowed. She wanted more information than that, but clearly Daral wasn’t feeling like sharing more. They reached the door of Aries room and Daral slowly blinked. He looked at the door like he wasn’t sure what he was doing here. Sybil reached into her pack and pulled out a dark salt stick and broke it puting it right under his nose. He jerked away from her slightly and his gaze cleared immediately. He blinked and rubbed his nose looking like he was going to sneeze.

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.

From the shadows behind Elena, two figures emerged. They were "Perfected Shields." They looked like Nevan, but their skin was a seamless, metallic silver, and their eyes were the cold, radiant gold of the Harvester. They didn't have souls; they had protocols. They were the "Alpha-Prime" units—the versions of Nevan that Elena had always wanted to build. "Kill the Shield," Elena commanded. "Retrieve the Heir. The Mother will be integrated." The two Alphas lunged.

The two projectiles lodge themselves onto each wrist as Ursa drops her shining net over her Uncle’s head. The scent of burning flesh hits the air as Primus screams in agony, the silvery net shining bright blue with the glow of the starfire crystals. A silver collar and two silver cuffs appear where the projectiles pierced Primus’ flesh. A terrible roar shakes itself free from Primus’ throat as his body begins to shrink, the cuffs adjusting in size with him as it zaps him repeatedly with bright blue flashes of contained lightning. I roar along with him, my arms outstretched helplessly as Primus’s wings wrap around his body as a useless shield.