Jackson stepped out of the Realmbridge, straight from the cold abyss...

Into paradise.

The towers of Iacon stretched high into the sky, into the blackness of space. Sentry souls paced along the high walls of crystal and gold, each getting a view of the thick white clouds below the city. The sun sparkled upon the metal streets, and the air was cool. Soldiers chatted with one another while on break, while others allowed their eyes to drift about and marvel, as if they did not see the beauty everyday of their now infinite lifetimes.

William Fowler sat back from his post as the Realmbridge died behind Jackson. The Realmbride was of common make, glorious to those who'd seen it once or twice. It was constructed by soldiers for minor tasks, such as small missions issued by the gods, or transportation into the mortal realm for a soldier who'd gained vacation time and wanted to slip on a Pretenders body for a jaunt amongst the creatures they'd left behind.

In his former life he'd served as a Warrior of Primus, protecting the monks at his town Temple who'd dedicated their lives to praying and studying over His word. He was a more recent soul, having been killed only thirty-three years ago by MECH soldiers who'd overrun the small town. As he lay on the cold stone surrounded by the dead and dying bodies of his comrades and his charges, Fowler had prayed to Primus for forgiveness, bemoaning about the fact that he'd failed his duty. And Primus had answered.

In a rare show of power, Primus had awoken and liberated the souls of Fowler and twenty-nine others, twenty-one Warriors and eight monks. When he'd awoken, Fowler had been checked over by a medic soul, and he and his Warrior comrades had been clothed and integrated into the life of an Iacon soul guard.

As Fowler stood up, his thick lips spread wide into a friendly grin, Jackson unconsciously stood straighter, for Fowler's armor told of his status and demanded instant respect. All guards wore the colors of the gods who had saved them from the pits of Kaon. Great behemoths of men, great fighters in their previous life were often seen wearing the thick, dark green armor of Bulkhead. The Amazons, warrior clans of fierce beautiful women who frequented the forests and were loathed by many a cowardly man strode about in blue and pink, glaring around at the men who surrounded them and generally frightening said men silly. But Fowler and his Warriors wore the rarest armor of all: theirs was a pure light blue from head to toe, signaling to who saw them that the Creator had seen them as worthy. Even the gods showed a degree of respect for them, as they were practically considered the second favorites.

Fowler clasped Jackson hand firmly. "Jackson! You okay. You said something went wrong during your mission."

"Not wrong. Unexpected. Do you have a containment jar on hand."

Almost on cue a medic soul strode past, balancing about a dozen sparkling containment jars. Fowler reached over and snagged one. "I do now. What you got?" He ignored the protests of the medic soul.

Jackson didn't answer, preferring to deposit the dark energon shard into the jar as quickly as possible.

Fowler blanched. "Is that...?"

"Yes."

The medic, dressed in amber and white armor, leaned forward to protest and caught sight of the shard inside his jar. With a gasp, he stumbled back, tripping over his feet, and sending himself sprawling to the ground. All of his containment jars hit the metal streets and shattered.

The commotion caused every guard around the bridge to turn and look. Upon seeing the purple glow in the jar, many cries of panic and horror went up.

"SLIENCE!" roared Fowler. Turning to Jackson he said, "I'll call you a hover. You were right; the gods have to see this."

Jackson stood silently as Fowler barked orders into his comm, ignoring the baleful stares of the other guard souls. Fowler was truly the only one he could call friend, and the only soul who treated him with kindness, rather than forced respect. Being the only living organic on Iacon wasn't exactly a good thing when you were surrounded by people who, warriors or not, were still technically dead. Considering the fact that he not only was alive, but the "Champion" of the gods made many dislike him. He'd told himself for years that it didn't matter what the souls said about him. But deep inside he knew he did care what they said about him, and it hurts that their opinions weren't likely to change anytime soon.

KThe hover arrived and Jackson hopped into the back. As soon as he was settled, the driver hit the gas sending the hover leaping forward, sirens wailing. Apparently Fowler had told the man exactly how much was at stake, for Jackson had little time to wave goodbye before the hover turned a corner and Fowler whipped out of view.

In little more than five minute of speeding through the winding streets, they arrived at the gates of Tyger Pax, the temple and home of the gods. The proximity to beings of such power made his runes tingle

He attempted to thank the driver, but the guard was so terrified of the dark energon, he sped off beforeJackson had gotten around the side. Sighing, the organic Champion of the gods turned to the enormous gates. As he walked forward, the gates opened before him.

The palace was the jewel of this paradise. And Jackson was bringing in a little piece of hell

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