Transformers Prime Thundercracker Novels & Stories

The erratic behavior of nature and the supernatural, the belief that there is a force behind each entity, we are of that force. “I am Shango, the African aspect of lightning and thunder, the name given to storms, fire and earth shakes, the thin line between chaos and order, Jakuta the stone hurler, whose strength cuts both ways; once I was human, then I was deified but now I am a slave of science, ask your questions for time is short." “They said we were created in the labs, how can you be our father as you claimed?” Omotola finally found her voice, for the first time since they entered the room.

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.

With a shift of thought, Andrew opened his right hand. A tiny spark of lightning flickered to life in his palm, crackling and dancing like a tiny red sprite that refused to stay still. Othniel stepped forward, his expression a mix of shock and complicated emotion. He stared at Andrew for a long moment before murmuring, "That's the original power of our Arcturus, the Primal Thunder. I never imagined it would choose you, Mr. Lloyd." Tobiah also walked up to Andrew, his aged face trembling as he opened his mouth, yet no words came out.

He became a three-ton projectile of carbon-titanium, rocketing across the crater toward the excavation site. [Alpha vs. Priestess] High Priestess Xanthe had Harper’s mech pinned against the black hull of the buried starship. With a gesture, Xanthe was manipulating the ambient sand to turn it into constricting bands, slowly crushing Harper’s armor. "Your false guardian cannot save you now," Xanthe purred, her eyes glowing with a toxic violet light. Suddenly, Xanthe’s psychic sensors screamed a warning. She looked up just as Jack’s desert-camo mech tore through the dust storm, traveling at top speed.

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.

around its limbs. The thrall was powerful, but it was fighting a unit that shared a single mind. Finally, Xander stepped into the light. He didn't use tech. He didn't use blades. He reached out and grabbed the thrall by its twisted, synthetic collar. He channeled the Song of the Hollow Court directly into the creature’s chest. The golden light of the Alpha-Prime flooded the thrall, overriding the "Purity Initiative’s" jagged commands with a frequency of pure, crushing authority.

“Transformer.” I squinted. “Max, you have twenty-three Transformers. We counted yesterday.” “But this one’s different!” Max quickly countered. “That one was a truck. This one... is also a truck. But it’s gray! And it can fly. Maybe.” “Maybe?” Max nodded confidently. “It has wings! I saw on G****e. And I still don’t have the Christmas edition Bumblebee that sings! If I don’t get it... the world will be unbalanced. And I won’t be able to save humanity from destruction.”