Transformers Rumble G1 Novels & Stories

Jake didn't hesitate. RUMBLE— The familiar dark-golden light flared again—but this time, there was a hint of blood-red in the glow. That was the color of war machines. The high-grade alloy ingots in the warehouse seemed to answer some unseen call, liquefying into streams of molten metal that surged into the RV's frame. The sound of metal being forged and reshaped filled the air. The RV stretched wider, longer. Its chassis grew more solid, like a mobile fortress taking shape.

His carved titanium alloy-covered shoulder muscles shimmered from the auto factory ceiling’s lights shining down on his six-foot-four frame. “I would like to introduce you to 2Pac GX7. He’s a prototype designed to look like the real 2Pac. He has an infinite neural net processor inside his head that helps him learn new things.” Irena tried to introduce 2Pac to Amy, who felt fascinated and creeped out by Irena’s cybernetic soldier. Amy wanted to get her child out of 2Pac’s arms. Somehow, she could feel the technological heat radiating from the metal man’s body. “Mommy!” Omar stretched his little hand out toward his mother.

Hushed conversation from below caught our attention and made Royce glance over the edge of the level, shining the torch down at it. I heard his gasp before he dropped the torch and stumbled back, almost falling over his own feet. He tried running before he could stand, flailing about as he tried to escape. I listened to his stumbling steps as they gained stability and echoed up the level, before peering over the edge at the beam of light at the bottom of the Base where two creatures stood on either side of it. The one on the right had two very long, thin ears that were pointed forwards curiously as it inspected the torch. Between the ears were two small horns that sat above a thin black line

Steam vented between each beat in sharp bursts—scalding, cutting through the air with a high-pitched shriek. They emerged into the twilight of the Palace District. Ten feet tall. Broad as a tank. Plated in dull Barzil-steel that sucked the light out of the air. They didn't have faces. They had sensory strips—flat, dead red light that cast a bloody shimmer over the marble. "Golems," Wolfy whispered over the comms. The sound was a dry rasp in my ear. I felt the sweat on my neck turn cold. "Automated heavy infantry. Pre-Fracture design. Upgraded with Citadel tech."

he said again, like saying it a third time would make it stick. He wasn't fine. He hadn't been fine for weeks. Standing in front of him now, in the quiet of the corridor with no party noise to cover the silence, it was more obvious than ever. The Marcus I'd known for most of my adult life was loud in a way that filled rooms. Reactive. Quick to anger, quick to laugh, quick to give you his opinion on everything, whether you'd asked for it or not. The person standing in front of me was wearing Marcus's face and speaking in something close to Marcus's voice, but it was like watching a recording of someone rather than the person themselves. The light was wrong. The presence was wrong.

"Shotgun! I call shotgun!" Tank was bouncing around the lobby, which was no longer the serene boardroom. To match the night's mood, Ren had purchased a "Garage" skin for the lobby. The walls were covered in neon graffiti, oil drums burned with digital fire, and the air echoed with the sound of revving engines. Tank was wearing a new skin: "The Road Warrior." It was aggressive and loud—spiked shoulder pads, a mohawk made of holographic flames, and a leather jacket that said BORN TO FRAG on the back.

I feel a warm energy flow through my arms, and my hands emit a glow. 'Your eyes? They’re glowing silver, and your hands are glowing too! How are you doing this?' he panics. I can't stop the glow. I’m not even sure what is happening. My hair flows behind me despite no breeze in the room. The glow continues as warm energy flows through my body and then works its way out of the palm of my hand under Alpha Tate's back. A crunching sound is made from his spine snapping back in place. Alpha Tate cries out. Then my hair drops back below my shoulders, The blue returns to my eyes, and the glow disappears.

They instead replaced them with the colors of the Ravens - a matte black with hues of blues and greens and purple under the right angles. All of them still had the shield and machine pistol combo, except Raijin had an Unranked Multi-beam Plasmacutter on her shoulder. It was purely utilitarian and industrial in nature, but she wasn’t there to fight in the first place. Max on the other hand, had a C-ranked Ragnarok Armaments Grenade Launcher. It was simple, effective, and devastating. “Want us to bring down the pain?” asked T-Rex. “‘Coz we can. And we want to. Nothing crazy.”

He explained further. “My sister lets me ride all the time.” I shrugged. “They were mere betas. I am—“ “The all-powerful Kent. Got it. Nevermind. You transform. I’ll go on the mountain all by myself.” I said. Before I completed my sentence, Kent's face went stone. His nose was the first thing I noticed. It was no longer human before I could focus on the rest of the changes. Kent's skin had gray and white fur on it, and eventually, I was looking at beadier red eyes. In front of me now stood a wolf, a few inches taller than me. All around the wolf, I saw torn clothes on the ground.

The two leaders moved into the open space between the armies. No weapons. No interference. Just strength. Just power. Garrick shifted first. His wolf exploded outward—massive, heavily muscled, built for brute force. Ronan followed. But his transformation— Was different. More controlled. More lethal. More… dominant. The moment they faced each other— The ground trembled. Then— They attacked. Claws collided in a violent crash that echoed through the ridge. Garrick fought like a storm—raw power, relentless force, each strike meant to overwhelm.