Transformers Wing Blade Novels & Stories

The other curved backward in a brutal sweep, thicker than Apollo’s and ridged along its length, as though designed less for ceremony and more for impact. His wings were folded tight behind him, but even restrained, they carried weight. They were not the flexible, membranous stretch of Apollo’s; they were denser, layered in plates edged with serrated bone. Each ridge caught the firelight and fractured it, casting sharp shadows across the stone. In battle, those wings would not glide. They would cleave.

And just like Kali, they were each equipped with machine pistols and devastating two-handed melee weapons. There were two who wielded greataxes, two with greatswords, and two with great mauls. The wing’s aggressiveness was written right on their highly damaging loadouts. On the other side of the destroyer was the second wing. This one was captained by First Feather Freya, and similar to Kali’s wing, these held a loadout similar to their captain. Each one was a Varulv, and they were equipped with coilspears and tower shields.

For the Ebony Panther King was already on his way here. “Wing Augmented Bloodied Blade: Crazed Cut of the Blade King” Mane swung the sword with all his strength. The stone sword hummed strongly, glowing with a beautiful green light. The winds of change mingled happily with destructive lightning and created a greater output of power than either was capable of individually. For a second it looked like it was going to break. But it stood firm, handling the destructive energy of the Bloodied Blade technique before handing it over to something else – the crystal clad abdomen of the White Fox.

The first Harvester didn't scream when I took its throat. It couldn't. The vocal processors in its white synthetic shell weren't calibrated for pain, only for the clinical reporting of the harvest. I moved before its magnetic boots even settled on the marble. The Phantom Blade was a sliver of shadow in my grip, less a weapon and more an extension of the Sovereign engine roaring in my chest. It wasn't a lunge; it was a high-density burn that turned my muscles into coiled wire and the air into a haze of static.