Transformers Prime Wreckers Novels & Stories

Then, the entire door dropped. Hard. CRACK! Bone shattered. A scream tore through the air. Brock had been the first to shove his head and shoulders through the gap, his face still lit with manic excitement. Now his body was crushed beneath the door, pinned in place. Blood seeped out from the gap, instantly freezing into a dark red smear across the floor. I stopped short, clicked my tongue, then dragged the axe over and knocked against the control room glass. "Get down here." Tamsin stumbled out, dazed, each step unsteady. Her face was drained of all color. "You… you killed him… Mr. Mercer, you killed him…

Eleonna stated as she grabbed the girl and ran with her. The four male watched the two of them furiously as they caress the pain they felt in their body. "Losers! You got knocked out from a girl?! Stupid weakshits!" the male named Jacob exclaimed. "Said the guy who passed out after being hit by a trash bin!"

And its presence felt like entropy incarnate—everything it touched began to decay, to unmake itself at the molecular level. "Primordial," Kael identified unnecessarily. It turned eyeless sockets toward us and spoke in a voice like grinding civilizations. "The Seal-Breakers. The Timeline-Shatterers. You have freed us from our prison. We thank you by unmaking everything you love." "We did not free you intentionally," I said, buying time while my mind raced through options. "We were fighting the Void Emperor. We did not know—" "Intention is irrelevant. Consequence is absolute." The Primordial raised one hand, and three warriors simply stopped existing. Not killed—erased. Removed from reality so

"INITIATING TOTAL REALITY REBOOT. AUTHORIZATION: PRIME. ERASURE OF SECTOR 0-9-9-H INEVITABLE." They didn't feel fear or anger. They only saw a glitch that needed to be formatted. The Prime Architects raised their hands, preparing to execute the command that would simultaneously delete the Earth, the Prometheus, and every soul within them from the multiverse’s source code. "System Command: OVERRIDE," a voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, layered with the terrifying harmonic resonance of the First Weaver. The central console of the Prime Architects violently short-circuited. The silver and azure geometric forms glitched, turning a corrupted, sickly black.

I could even face HIM with the power of Ares at my disposal. "Stop right there," Derek ordered me. He shot out a plume of his ice blue flames and the caught me in an ever-shrinking circle. "Drop the transformation. It doesn't matter if you have back up, they'll still be outnumbered." "He's the Prime," I spat. "Your rightful master." Luke shrugged. "Did you forget that we were guardians to Primes? Do you really think that those wolves would accept protection from those lesser than them?"

They turned back toward the landing craft, their blades glowing with the same white heat that was currently incinerating my own nerves. ​I walked out of the Hub and onto the main observation deck. The Scrapyard was a vision of hell. Three Harvester Dropships, which were massive, tripod-like structures, had slammed into the valley floor, their legs crushing the historical archives of the old world into powder. From their bellies, swarms of Seekers were pouring out. They were small, multi-legged constructs designed to harvest biological matter, and they were moving toward the civilian sectors with a terrifying, silent speed. ​“You came to the wrong world,” I said. My voice was amplified by the

McLaren added after a beat. “Who else will be there?” “A hitman.” “And who might that be? Will I meet him?” “No. His identity remains strictly confidential.” The driver eventually cut the engine in an underground garage, two levels beneath a nondescript warehouse. Built entirely of stark concrete, the space was illuminated by flickering fluorescent lights and hung heavy with the distinct, acrid scent of gun oil and spent gunpowder.

High above, on the ridge of the ravine, a nightmare crested the horizon. It was a Purge Walker—a bipedal tank designed for hunting Highbloods in the broken terrain of the Wastes. It moved with a jerky, insectoid grace, hydraulic pistons hissing with every step. It was a silhouette of black iron against the purple sky, a monolith of death. A beam of white light sliced through the darkness. It swept the canyon floor, cutting through the steam I had released. The light was blinding, physical in its intensity. It washed over the rocks, hunting, dissecting the shadows.