Transformers Wing Blade Novels & Stories

William placed his hand on the hilt of his black blade and winked. - I turned out to have a lot of my own good things, and therefore the goddess’s gift consisted of something else... The rustle of feathers made the guys freeze. They watched in awe as powerful, black wings unfolded behind William. - Wow! - Felix exclaimed, looking in awe at the new, amazing part of his friend.

I have never seen such beautiful wings in my entire life. His crimson-red wings are described as metallic with each feather sharp like a precision blade. Each feather/blade has the top part crimson with the hairs or fibres sticking out of the sides, while the end of the blade itself is black. I really envy him. Why does he have to have such beautiful wings? Why is mine not like his? I cried in my mind and again looked up at him. He was waiting for me to go up. So I spread my wings too and flew up to complete the rest of the fight.

“Night Wing, about 25 degrees from here and to the west, there is a cluster of about half a hectare land cultivated with around 20 men guarding the place, you take 15 men and take it out, not even a fly needs to be spared.” Night Wing knelt on one knee as he accepted decree; He tapped his left chest with his right hand, fisted with his head lowered before calling his men and leaving the aircraft by abseiling down. “Night Blade” Chris turned to Night Blade. “My Lord.” Night Blade knelt on one knee as he awaited his orders.

“She gets it.” Eryx inclined his head respectfully. “We’re your passengers and your pilots, apparently.” The engineer snorted. “Passengers? No. Anyone stepping on that craft is a mechanic by default.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “This way.” WING-01 rested like a sleeping predator at the far end of the hangar. Its body was sleek and narrow, made of layered silver-gold plating with faint luminous channels running down the sides. Folded wings extended from its spine, each feather panel lined with rune seams. Two fin-like structures ran along the underside, currently tucked against the hull.

"You didn't just love me, Jinyan. You used me to stay alive. Every time we touched, every time I felt that rush of connection... I wasn't just giving you my heart. I was giving you my life." He let out a jagged, wet breath. "I wanted to tell you... I tried to find another way. But the Father... he designed me to need you. I am Blade, Panni. And a blade has no light of its own. It only reflects what is poured into it." I felt the resonance in my blood begin to scream. It was a physical pressure behind my eyes, a heat in my palms that felt like molten lead. I was the Battery. My very existence was a power source, a reservoir of light that the Firm had spent fifteen years perfecting.

Wherever the blades passed, the air seemed to tear, emitting a piercing screech. Cloudwalker's expression remained unchanged. He waved his fly whisk, and the golden light surged, the whisk's threads tracing graceful arcs in the air like golden chains, wrapping around each incoming black energy blade. With a flick of his wrist, the fly whisk snapped, instantly purifying the blades into wisps of black smoke that dissipated into the air.

"Is your stomach a dimensional crack?" The winged hybrids did not dilly-dally nor did they wait for Diana to let her answer. Two winged hybrids from her left and back sides dashed to attack her. To hasten her speed and double her agility, Diana concentrated half of the wind attribute Kayorum Infigris to her feet. Dodging her opponents with one clear move, she maneuvered her hands. Aiming at the roaring winged hybrids, two blade-like winds cut the two winged hybrids in half in the blink of an eye.

Zephyr screamed from the prow. Saoirse looked up. diving from the cloud layer above them were three shapes. They looked like birds, but they were too big, too angular. Their wings didn't flap; they locked into place. "Iron-Wings!" Vane cursed, spinning the wheel. "Imperial Interceptors! They’re mechanized wyverns!" The creatures shrieked—a sound of tearing metal. They were biological horrors, wyverns that had been flayed and fitted with jet turbines on their wings and cannons in their mouths.

And vulnerable. With a single motion, he drew his blade and made two clean, practiced slashes through the back of the tunic, right where the wings could slip through. He didn't speak. He didn't explain. He just did what needed to be done. "Turn around," he said at last, his voice deep, urgent, but surprisingly gentle.