Transformers Prime Jetfire 소설 & 이야기

Alpha said, as he closed the door for his mate. Taji and Charms: “This is so cool; I have never flown like this before! I'm telling momma i want wings for Christmas” Charms yelled happily. she was holding on to Taji’s neck tightly. Taji smiled as he soared through the air heading towards the jet. Taji saw the Jet come into view from a distance and relief flooded him that Charms would be safe soon. As soon as the thought enter his mind something slammed into his back ripping his left wing, sending them hurdling to the ground from the force. He knew he couldn’t transform into his Fae because, that would leave Charms unprotected and he had to protect her at all cost. Taji turned his body and wr

he said to the first officer he saw on his way out. "Okay sir," the officer saluted. Alex walked towards his car and drove off.

She mumbled after she did a quick scan of Vicoliz when he entered the room and also through his voice. "Now it remains Amarachi Okafor" Boom! The fighter jet received an huge blow to the side. "What's going on?" She said as she managed to maintain her balance as the jet shook From the blow. "There is a meta human throwing fire balls at the side engines and is in hot pursuit" A.I replied. "Shit!" She muttered as she ran straight to the control deck. She deactivated the auto flight mode and took control of the jet. "This wasn't part of the plan" she angrily said and increased the speed of the jet and swerved upwards to the sky.

The Prime Mother was trying to stabilize the system, trying to pull the fire out of me before I could break the engine. "You are destroying the Prime!" she shrieked. "If the engine stops, nothing exists! Not you! Not him! Not the worlds!" "Then we'll start over!" I yelled back. In the middle of the golden sun, I saw a flicker of purple. Silas. He had been pulled out of the ink by the sheer vacuum of my explosion. He was flying toward me, his hand outstretched. He wasn't a king or a shadow anymore. He was just a soul, glowing with a violet light that matched my white.

I jammed my pistol under its jaw and pulled the trigger until the slide locked back. It spasmed. Then fell. Steam hissed from the crystal walls. The portal flickered, shrank, and vanished. Silence. We all stood there, panting. Jonie looked at the body. "Was that a Prime?" Schnell nodded slowly. "If zere is a hierarchy among Neurovores... yes." Spitfire flopped onto Jonie’s shoulder. "I burned it. I did good." "You did great," J said, sliding down the rope to join us. He ran straight to Spitfire and hugged her small, scorched body.

the Prime said. He raised his cane and fired a beam of red energy. Dr. Aris didn't even have time to scream. He was turned into a pile of grey ash instantly. I grabbed the laser scalpel from the table and stood in front of Elle. My heart was pounding, but the revenge in my soul was stronger than the fear. "Where are Bryan and Jane?" I asked. The Prime smiled, and his mouth opened far too wide. Inside, his teeth were made of solid silver.

"Get the kids to the sub-levels! Camille, don't you dare look back!" Elodie’s voice tore through the screech of jet engines. Above, the sky wasn't purple anymore; it was choked with the oily black smoke of burning high-octane fuel. A "Wolf-Killer" drone, sleek and predatory with Aegis Corp markings, banked hard over the west wing. Its underbelly glowed a hellish red before a silver-shrapnel missile corkscrewed into the ramparts.

Remy drops in beside me—his own coyote-gold board manifesting, rings clicking as he grips my hand one last time. We launch. Straight down. Through atmosphere like twin meteors—flames licking the boards, G-forces crushing chest and lungs, heat shield blood-lightning flaring bright. The curve of Earth swells below—blue and white and wounded, black scars visible even from orbit. Swarm spires rising like accusations. We burn re-entry trails across the sky—violet and gold streaking the heavens. Liberty Prime looms ahead—a massive wheel of steel and spell-arrays, bristling with railguns, ward emitters, and satellite dishes.

It was the physical hunger of five centuries, manifested in a limb of vitrified bone. Ga-chi. Ga-chi. The tectonic grinding in my neck spiked. The petrification had settled into my jaw, but now it was vibrating in resonance with the claw. Every time the Third Prime’s fingers tightened around my obsidian forearm, a jolt of raw, biological electricity shot up my spine, trying to rewrite my DNA into a menu. "You think the Second Prime was the predator, Phoenix," a voice boomed—not from a throat, but from the very floor beneath me. It was a sound like stones grinding against teeth. "He was just the accountant. I am the appetite."

“There you are.” He peeled the cover back. Dust swirled in the light like ash from a campfire. Beneath it, a jet-black 1985 Pontiac Firebird emerged—sleek, restored, and somehow still gleaming under months of grime. Midnight paint turned the fluorescents into a noir reflection; the gold pinstripe winked through the dust. Dead centre on the plates: HOT 1. “Hello, beautiful.” His palm skimmed the bonnet—reunion and ritual. He’d rebuilt this car bolt by bolt between deployments, welding steel and sanding down the parts of his life that wouldn’t keep.