Transformers Prime Wreckers Novels & Stories

🌸 Author’s Note – Thank You From the Bottom of My Heart 🌸 I woke up this morning to see that Wreck Me Quietly had been added to 12 readers' libraries overnight. Twelve. That might not sound like much to some people, but to me… it’s everything.

“Lord Prime Adi '' replied Wyren. “Let me guess, this is a new transporter? You broke another one? And you couldn’t ask your superiors, then they would know you broke another device?” She asked. “Very true Craya, so please, the lord Prime’s address?” Wyren pleaded. “I just forwarded the details,” she said with what seemed like a sigh. “Thanks…… Oh thank Draxel!” it exclaimed as it placed a box on the floor, typed in some things on the device, making the box disappear.

"Prime is offering peace. Reject it and Prime offers destruction instead." "We've survived destruction before." "Not like this. Elena was restrained. Played by rules. Maintained appearances." Cassandra steps closer despite the weapons. "Prime has no such limitations. Will burn cities to kill you. Will eradicate bloodlines completely. Will turn your victory into ashes." "Then ashes it is. Leave." Jamie's done talking. Cassandra shrugs. "Your choice. But know this. Prime predicted you'd refuse. Actually hoped you would. Peace is boring. War is interesting. And Prime hasn't had interesting in centuries."

**"You'll need more than fear to win this war." --- **The Fractured Allies** We find the **Chorus** in the Wastes-a nomadic clan of reality-weavers who've survived the Seed's corruption by stitching their souls into the fabric of dead timelines. Their leader, **Ravel**, is a child with ancient eyes and hair made of smoke. She rides a creature that defies taxonomy: part wolf, part storm, all teeth. "We've watched you," Ravel says, her voice layered with echoes. "The Upheaval. The Arbor Prime's failed heir. Why should we bleed for your war?"

"He's changed hasn't he. I hadn't noticed it until the other night when you left. He lost control but not in the way that you think. You did something unexpected beyond his gaze and it infuriated him." "What are you talking about? Just tell me already," I raised my voice slightly, feeling frustrated and agitated. I just wanted somebody to say the words that I had been in denial about since the moment his knee connected with my father's skull. "Prime has awakened," he said the three dreaded words. "How do you know that," I asked slowly, watching the swirls of the mark on my arm. It vaguely resembled the at symbol but had more swirls that formed more letters. There was an 'a' and what looked l

I narrowed my eyes and moved through them, swinging my axe with deadly accuracy. “Eugenius! I already took your left hand. Now I’ll take your head.” I called out, pointing my axe at my predecessor. The red aura that has been growing stronger around me surrounded my axe. The blood of the men I killed for standing in my way dripped from its blade. It is time to fulfill the prophecy. I am the Destroyer, and the fall of Olympus is in my hands. I shall not fail my people. I will not fail this world. I will not fail Ismene-Eirene.

Their eyes, usually vacant, flared with a blinding, silver intensity. "The Groundskeeper is coming," Kael whispered. "The one who sweeps the dust. The one who ensures the 'Broken' stay silent." From the center of a nearby "Draft-World," a massive entity emerged. It didn't look like a Keeper or a Mimic. It was a Scavenger of Form—a shifting mass of discarded limbs, broken gears, and static-filled voices. It was the biological and mechanical waste of a million rejected universes, stitched together by the Architects to guard their trash.

"We handled the Board. We can handle a few angry grandpas." "They aren't grandpas," Reyes said grimly. "They’ve spent the last century synthesizing their consciousness with pre-war combat AI. They are post-human. And they are waking up the Prime Forges. Neo-Angeles isn't a city anymore; it's a war machine. And they are expanding." Dax lowered his SMG an inch. He looked at the massive, crippled Crawler. Its treads were completely blown, and smoke was billowing from the primary intake vents. It wasn't going anywhere.

Then I slept. The next morning, the sunlight was harsh. My body still ached. I lifted my arm. The skin was still loose and waxen, but the deep, blood-red scratches were gone—every last one. Smooth and unblemished, as if last night had been a dream. But the residual sting was so real it made my head spin. A mad thought struck me. I sprang upright, joints cracking, grabbed my car keys, and sped to the Faulkner Group building.

The three of them were trapped inside the underground complex, the walls sweating moisture under the strain of the cooling units. Elias stood behind Damien at the master control panel, his suit jacket buttoned tight, his mind calculating the exact financial math of the damage. The main plot and the romantic arc were now completely fused; every line of code they altered was a direct strike against the families that had built them to be weapons. The stakes were no longer just about billions of dollars—it was about who got to survive the wreckage.