Transformers Wing Blade Novels & Stories

Blade came out with his usual all black clothing—a big black sweatshirt, a black baggy jean, black glasses, black face cap, black sneakers— and a revolver carefully tucked by his side. To my shock, the passenger door opened and a girl came out. She was obviously young, probably fourteen or fifteen with red hair and a round hazel eyes which peered at me through the glass of the coffee shop. I couldn’t help but wonder who she was and why Blade had decided to bring her along. They both shared words before walking towards the coffee shop. “Emily!” Blade called as he walked inside with his companion right behind him. “I’m right here,” I said waving my hands in the air to draw his attention.

He was just standing in the sunlight, and Ravi squinted as he saw something gleaming in the man's hand. Ravi focused his vision further to ensure that the object the man held wasn't what he thought it was. The man's hand moved, still gazing, and Ravi's eyes widened when he could see clearly. Ravi froze, subconsciously gripping Raymond's wrist tightly. He saw a shimmering sword smeared with red liquid that was undoubtedly blood. But it didn't end there. Ravi froze further without realizing it, tightening his hold on Raymond's wrist as he observed the man's wings, which were white and almost identical to Raymond's. The wings flapped, and he flew away somewhere.

“It responds to you… like it’s alive.” “It is alive,” Maelis’s voice echoed suddenly. The seer stumbled into view, her staff glowing faintly, her robes scorched. “The blade carries the soul of the first starborn. Serenya, it will only reveal its wings to one who dares burn for love and kingdom alike.” Wings. The word seared itself into Serenya’s mind. She looked at the blade—and then, impossibly, luminous wings unfurled from its hilt, spectral fire woven from starlight. The wings wrapped around her like armor, shielding her from the next surge of dragonfire.

Seeing the Weapon Deck in Kaspian’s hands, his expression grew solemn and he took a step back. With a sharp whistle three pairs of wings that were as charred as charcoal, appeared behind him, reinforcing his status as Lucifer’s herald. Once those wings appeared, his aura grew more dense and his confidence returned to him. Without the prior hesitation he had shown, he grasped at the air, summoning his blade. And then he swung it! *Bang*

"This is the Flying Wings Formation!" "The Wind of Blades of Formation!" The disciple quickly backed away but was blocked by a dirt wall. Next, the wind of blades cut across his chest, immediately opening a wound and causing blood to gush out. Caspian could not help but lament. "These formations are working so well together."

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.