AN: Hey, it's Primordial Soul with the first chapter of Dominus Mortis!

I came up with this idea when I was thinking about how to make Mass Effect more awesome than what it was in the games. I wanted to create something, write something that was different than the typical game rewrites. So, I came up with these eight points to guide me.

1) No stupid endings. The Reaper's will be defeated without the use of the Crucible.

2) Shepard is going to be Renegade-like. Shepard will be Male. Don't have enough of those.

3) Shepard will be badass, much more than he is in games. He'll work for it though.

4) Shepard is going to be Earthborn/Ruthless and is going to be very effected by his childhood.

5) Cerberus and the Council will not be given the idiot ball unless absolutely necessary.

6) Turians and Protheans will be a major part of the story. Shepard will distrust Alliance.

7) Shepard will be paired first with an OC Turian female and then later Nyreen Kandros. Pairing isn't used enough.

8) 1st person perspective, longer length than usual, more world building/description.

That's what I'll be including and basing my ploy on in this work. This will be Pre-ME1 to Post ME3. This is an AU.

Watch the rise of Samael "Sam" Shepard from a street rat in NYC to becoming the Avatar of Victory and the Master of Death. "The more things change, the more things stay the same".

This is rated M for good reason. If I follow my plan, I will be showing things that will be... well, intense. Violence, torture, rape, drugs, sex... yeah. Do not read if you are squeamish about hell, anything that could possibly come up. The bad stuff won't happen for a little while, but you'll know when Sam starts to fall into the abyss inadvertently. Sam's fall is ultimately not his fault, circumstances threw him into it. But he is guilty for continuing down the path.

He won't stay fallen, thankfully, and the story moves away from all the bad stuff when Sam joins the Alliance, but some dark stuff happens during his stay on Earth. I will let you know if I change my mind regarding writing the explicit dark stuff. I will also warn what happens in each chapter.

Is the FF MA purge still going on? I don't want to get this story deleted due to the stuff I plan on writing, which I believe is necessary to show and develop Sam's background and character.

I don't own anything. Please Review and Respond.

Chapter 1 has many references to deviant acts. Nothing explicit.

Interrogation Transcript: Top Secret Confinement Facility Trevelyn

May 15th 2186

Location: Classified

5 months, 27 days since prisoner confinement.

Subject: Classified

Interrogators: Operative Nemesis, Operative Praetor

[Begin]

Operatives enter cell, eyes on subject. Subject stares at the two.

Praetor: Something funny? [Approaches the subject and forces him to look up]

Subject: [Smiles] Just that you're keeping this charade going. Don't have the guts to put a bullet in my head?

Praetor: [grabs subject and presses him against the wall] Funny! I'll show you funny, you traitor!

Nemesis: Enough, Praetor. We have things to discuss. [sits down on one the empty chairs]

Praetor: [Grumbles and sits in the other empty seat. Subject is still amused at the sight]

Nemesis: [Two second pause] I assume you know why we're here?

Subject: [Leans forward] It's obvious really. It's just a surprise to see you two down here. After Thessia and all that.

Praetor: Thessia was a victory that locked you away for good.

Subject: Absolutes? Never use absolutes, Vega. A plan never survives contact with the enemy.

Praetor: You're not my CO.

Nemesis: Enough, Praetor. Now, you know what we want to know.

Subject: [Smirks] I do. I've lasted almost six months and you think I'll break now? The Alliance is more arrogant than I thought for my entire life.

Nemesis: Don't twist around the subject.

Subject: You're making it too easy.

Praetor: [Hits the subject again] Stop back talking!

Nemesis: Praetor! Enough! Let him be.

Praetor: He deserves it, Lola. You know what this... thing has done!

Nemesis: I course I do, Praetor. I've pursued him the longest anyone has and I was the one who led the force that captured him. But that does not excuse us from crossing the line that he already has!

Subject: [Smirks again] Good cop, bad cop? Come on. I've faced far better than that from Hanar for Spirit's sake!

Nemesis: That does not excuse you. Now, answer the question.

Subject: Forty-Two

Praetor: [Throws his hands up and growls. Subject laughs]

Nemesis: You know the question; don't twist it. What and where is the Apex?

Subject: That doesn't matter; you lost it six months ago. By the way, how's the war coming? Pretty bad I take it?

Praetor: Actually, never better! You've been pushed back halfway to the Perseus Veil. Cerberus is gone. It's only a matter of time before we win.

Subject: Even better. About time you did that. I was getting worried that you were too incompetent to get where you needed to.

Nemesis/Praetor: What?

Subject: I've been playing these games far longer than you. Don't doubt my skill. [Pause] Oh why the hell not?

Nemesis: I'm sorry?

Subject: I've been bored for the past six months while the galaxy is at war. Time to have some fun. All right... I'll tell you everything. Least I can do for your 'hospitality' for all this time.

Praetor: You're telling us everything... just because you're bored? Why?

Subject: Of course. We've reached a point in time where my secrets don't matter. It will all end sooner or later. Goodly or badly... that's yet to be determined. [Stares at the camera] You listening? You better be! This is my autobiography, you here it! I'm only saying this once!

Praetor: A damn autobiography? Come on! Just tell us what we want to know!

Subject: Nope. We're doing this my way or I stay silent. What's it going to be?

Nemesis: [Sighs] Go ahead. Any data is preferable to none after six months of no results.

Subject: [Smiles] I knew you'd see reason, Jane. Even in chains, I still have control. Now, where was I... [Pause]

Subject: Heroes are not trained, but chosen. Heroes are individuals forged in the fire of service and battle—those whose actions elevate them above the rank and file.

Praetor: You're no hero!

Subject: History will say otherwise. Now where was I... Ah. I know this all two well. From my primordial steps to my presence here today, I have been chiseled, melted and formed to who I am today. The past makes us who we are.

Subject: My past is conflict. I constantly struggled to succeed, to survive. War is my sculptor and I'm a prisoner of its design. I've done reprehensible things, been scorned by a galaxy for my choices, blamed because of my past. And I don't regret a thing.

Subject: Everything I've done has been for the greater good. All sacrifices are okay, every slaughter can be vindicated for the most important thing of all. The survival of everything.

Subject: Years down the road, if we succeed, if we win against the coming enemy, people will look back and judge my actions with the credit they deserve. That despite my flaws, despite my crimes, I did the things no one else will. The things I did...that saved us all.

Subject: I am known as the Avatar of Victory. Others call me the Butcher of Torfan. Others describe me as the Arbiter of Judgement. I've been named a traitor, a monster, a freak, a xenophile, a bastard. All of those are correct. But one name holds the biggest connection to me. What is it, you may ask?

Subject: [Pause] Dominus Mortis. The Master of Death. For that is what I do best.

Subject: This is the autobiography of Samael "Sam" Shepard. Destroyer of the Tenth Street Reds. Butcher of Torfan, first Human Spectre, Savior of the Citadel. Archangel of Death.

Subject: My life began in the urban sprawl of New York City...

"There is nothing new in the world except the history you do not know" Harry Truman, 33rd President of the United States of America

2162: Urban Dead Zone, Lower Manhattan, New York, New York, United North American States, Earth, Sol System

The first memory I can clearly remember today was fire.

It was a glowing inferno, torching everything its tendril's touched. It was primal, it was savage, it was old. Fire started our civilization just like it did many others. It existed long before life. Its golden, orange, and red hues, glowing in the dark night sky, were capable of enthralling anyone within its sight. It possessed a strange beauty, an elegance of days passed. Fire was a force of nature; something incomprehensible to mere mortals, something that refused to be tamed. It humbled the pride of others for it is unrelenting, ever vigilant, fueled by the very air we breathe. It constantly fought, trying to free itself from the bounds that constrained it.

Maybe I remember that day because I finally saw myself? I still don't know why I do. Was it a remainder of better days? Was it a symbol for my future? I still don't know to this day.

I stood there, a measly eight year old gazing at the inferno claim another building as its victim. People were screaming, running in all directions trying to get away from the burning building. They thought they could escape its wrath when in actuality, it will just appear again years down the road and feast upon your bodily offering.

No one came to stop it. I learned this lesson early on. No one gives help freely. No one watches out for others without purpose. We are all tools to someone's mercy, pawns to sacrifice for some agenda. The people here weren't worth the effort to them; we were just offerings for them to sate the demon to save themselves.

Too morbid for a eight year old? I say not. One living on the street tends to learn these types of things. I know twenty different ways to kill a man with a knife, ten different ways to pick common locks. I know that you must do what's necessary to survive. Morals have no place here. I know that no one can be trusted implicitly. We are all tools for someone to control and you are only safe when you are the one who is controlling.

No one pays any attention to me as I slowly approach the roaring tempest in front of me. They all just care about saving their petty lives; living another day of pointless suffering in this urban mess. Why bother, I consider. Isn't endless peace better than twenty more years of suffering? Less? The street rats don't get much luck in the life department.

I slowly stop and take the burning flame building in. The old 21st century concrete was barely holding the fire at bay, but it will give into its embrace soon. This used to be "The Den", a place where nobodies like us could unwind, take a breath, and get relaxation from the brutal world we live in. It was a nice place for the streets where you could do what you wanted. Drugs, sleep, food, water, cards, booze, Mama Collins let anything go. Except violence. If a fist is swung or a weapon pulled, you're out, kicked to the streets, never coming back. Leave it for the alleyways, she says.

Back then, I could recall the times I've been in there. When Father couldn't scrap up the materials we needed to survive, I always went to get us things. A little extra bread. Water. A towel once. Dextro rations for Father. A blanket. Mama Collins was nice to us kids. A little extra food, some advice where to sleep for the night, what weather is coming, what gangs are going to have a fight. I knew it was an act though. We were all tools for others to control and Mama Collins was cutting her niche. She was making herself valuable to us and therefore incapable of being removed.

I frown, the movement marring my previously stoic face. This fire was going to change everything down in the Zone. No Den means there's no safe spot to protect your self from the gangs. No place to get some extra food. No place to get some shut eye if you lost your sleeping spot. No place to do things the police would look down upon.

Mama Collins will most certainly be dead by morning I think; she's lost control of the situation. She's lost what made her valuable. She didn't invest in a back up plan. That's going to cost her... permanently.

I idly wonder if someone else would continue the legacy of the Den? Make other place for street rats to gather, to have a place to stay? I doubt it. Down here, you do what you have to do to survive. Mama Collins was one of the few whose actions to save herself led to helping others. She didn't do it for altruism; she did it to survive.

Still, I'll... miss her in a way. Not in any real importance and I'll probably forget her as the next person comes around, but she was... different. Tall, broad, caramel skin, dark brown eyes, fierce as a lioness, her mouth a roaring flood. She was quite a sight down here; not many people could manage the nutrition needed to reach her physical state. They were some attempts early on to see how her pussy held up to a man, but she always beat the crap out of them, castrated them with an ancient, rusty shiv she had and left them to be picked off by the gangs. No one ever tried to fuck her again. The hard attitude towards her subjects, her protectiveness, her way of staying alive... it was commendable for a lack of a better word.

I remember the last time I saw her. Two days ago, I came back to this very spot to get some water. Father was too busy focusing on keeping our shelter to worry about getting the vital liquid we needed to survive. Mama Collins, like she always did, motioned me to the back. Like always, she grabbed the large bottle and gave to me, helping my small hand wrap around it. Always looked me in eye and tilted her head in that knowing gaze of hers.

"This is mine. The Den is mine. This is the way I live, this is the way I survive. Everything I give you, it came from me. Remember that. Think of what will happen if I fall. Remember that. Always be in control and never be controlled. Remember that."

I did. I tried following that lesson since the day I heard it a year ago. Too bad Mama Collins didn't think it through fully.

After several more minutes, watching the fire slowly grow and turn the building to ash, I turned and walked away as the familiar sirens rang out. Rule Number Three: Always run if you hear the cops. They don't come down to the Zone as much as they should, but they still make sweeps and raids looking for criminals to prosecute. The Zone's too big and crime's too infested for the police to completely eradicate it. Besides, they got the rest of the city to deal with and they won't stop helping the rich, the merchants, the politicians, in order to clean out a crime infested area of New York City. Last time I heard, what to do with the Zone was a controversial topic up in high society.

Nothing will get done for a long time.

As I began the trek home, I thought about how the latest chapter of my life closed today. Mama Collins wasn't there anymore. Gang violence was going to rise again. Father and I were going to have to watch our backs more. Supplies were going to be harder to get. Police were going to crack down on the area. Social Services... I firmly clamp down on that thought.

Rule number Eight: If you're a minor, never get caught by Social Services. Life on the streets is better than Earth's foster care or the orphanage. The horrors we've heard... no one wants to go through that. Least of all us.

I slowly trudged my way through the streets, quietly staring at the sides of them. As the poorly maintained lights flickered on and off, they illuminated shadowing shapes lying on the sides. I squinted my eyes slightly and cocked my head a little to get a light source shining in my eyes. As I did so, I clearly saw the shapes in the dark who in turn could barely see me. A trick my Father taught me to improve 'my horrid human night vision' as he says. I resented that comment for a time before I learned of its validity during a close call I had with wild dogs about four months ago. I totally agree with him now and he just basks in it. His trick doesn't work into absolute darkness, but it helps a ton in the near darkness the streets of the Zone are blanketed in.

A half dozen people were clearly seen along my side of the rarely used road, sleeping or staring at the ground. They vainly tried covering themselves with cardboard to protect them from the elements. Fools. Cardboard doesn't do a damn. You need a pipe, a dumpster, a broken down car. If you could get inside a building, that was great. To get beds, water and power inside a building like Father managed to get for us is absolutely fantastic and is rare among us paupers. These people must be new to the homeless world.

I look them over closely using my perceptive eye. They all share the same 'baby' look. The dirt and grime are there, but their features are too soft, too curved to have lasted in the streets for long. They still wore nicer clothes and I could spot a backpack with supplies hiding by their bodies...

A flashlight, good item to have. Blankets, jackets, hard to get down in the Zone. Good shoes... Wait... is that a apple!

My stomach growls at the mere thought of one.I haven't had one of those since Father managed to get one for me as a Christmas gift. It was exquisite to my tastebuds back then; it was the best thing I had ever ate. I sigh in disappointment as reality settled upon me. If only I was older, I'd be able to steal their stuff. I would never be able to carry the bag or get away with the massive age gap between the two of us. Stupid age. I slowly walk past them, not sparing them another thought. They're new to street life, ignorant and not worth the brainpower. They'll be dead in a week if they're lucky.

I cross the street, lamps barely flickering with light. Two goons were smoking and eyeing me with the look. They think I'm a target? I make myself thin and scarce and as small as possible.

Rule Number two: Never pick a fight you can't win. As I walk away, I can hear their discussion turn off me and to the next gang hit they'll pull. Good. Remain inconspicuous. Remain in control of your body if nothing else. You'll live longer. I mastered this long ago with Father's help. It's been a life saver.

I pass more homeless people, a tattoo shop, Lucia's brothel hiding as a cheap barber shop... I quicken my pace. Never remain near a brothel unless you're looking. They might take it as an invitation no matter what your age is. If you give them a single reason, they'll take control from you and do what they want. If they're merciful, they'll kill you when they're done. No one will care. You're just another one of the pack.

That's happened to Little Billy. The ten year old got too close to the brothel and loitered too long outside waiting for something. He was snatched inside by hormonal men and women looking for something new to fuck. He never came out again. I hope he went six feet under before too much time passed.

Out of the corner of my hearing, I hear a feminine scream. I slow slightly, hearing a man's reply. I turn my head to see a crying woman manhandled by a lecherous man with a knife in one of his hands. Her belongings were stuffed in a large pocket in the man's jacket, a watch hanging out of the pocket. He slowly dragged the woman off into the darkness, her screams echoing in the air, his meaty hands drifting to the belt buckle on her pants. I shake my head in resignation and continue to walk. Yet another one. It's all too clear what's going to happen to her. Stupid upper class woman, I thought.

Rule Number Six: If you've reached puberty, never walk alone by yourself at anytime, especially at night. You'll regret it. Hopefully when the man's done, he'll just kill her. It's so much worse when you keep them alive for later. Father saw that particular situation when he first found me when I was three. He still has nightmares from time to time over what he saw that day. He's glad though that I didn't experience the delicacies of the flesh at that age.

In fact, that's what happened to an acquaintance of mine. She was an average girl, blond hair, brown eyes, white skin, nothing special. She got nailed and banged up by a group of men late at night about six months ago. Each one raped her multiple times ... you name it, they did it. She was broken beyond measure after the incident and she simply lost the will to live. Thankfully, she committed suicide by hanging a day later. At least she got release from the memories and the pain.

However, I would never take my own life even if things got bad. Why? Father drilled this into me my entire life. Everyone has a responsibility to society and to the community. The group matters more than the individual. Not to the extent of blindly following society's customs, beliefs and orders, of course. Individuality should always be protected and encouraged. However, you have a responsibility to those around you and they come first if you have the means to do so. By killing yourself, you are voiding and running away from your communal responsibilities.

You're also admitting defeat to the opponent that victimized you. In his own words, "Suicide is a sign of capitulation, a sign that your opponent has bested you. I taught you better than that. You are better than that, son," I've taken that lesson to heart.

As I reach an intersection, I turn right and start heading to a moderately sized building, around ten stories tall. It was inconspicuous enough, just an average building surrounded by the typical activity of the Zone. Two guys were smoking cigars close by, probably waiting for a shipment. Three more people, two women and a man, were bartering drugs amongst each other. Another guy was watching the whole show; probably an info junkie from one of the other gangs gathering information. I slowly walk up to the door of the building, my right hand slipping to grab the dagger hidden in my black hoodie. As I did so, I quickly rubbed my hand along the inside of the hoodie, basking in it's smoothness. I love this hoodie and its softness and comfort. Father made it for me himself for my seventh birthday. I've never figured out how Father did it. He never stopped complaining about the effort, but I could tell by his shining eyes that he enjoyed making me the gift. I've never taken it off since.

Refocusing on the world, I examined the guard outside the door I needed to get through. He was tall for his age of seventeen, black skinned, black trench coat, stern face, eye patch, carrying a shotgun... Great. Fury had to be the doorman today, didn't he? I thought sarcastically.

Fury eyes me with barely restrained contempt as I stare at him with a blank expression. As we stared at each other, I straightened my body and raised my chin. I puffed out my chest a little, bared my teeth a little and stared at him right in the eyes. An instinctual and predatory challenge, just like Father taught me.

Rule Number Five: Earn respect, but not too much. Challenging those too high gets you killed. Not challenging anyone makes you a target. Earn your niche and fight to keep it.

"What cha doin, kid? Aight you a little... small to messing with da gangs?" Fury drawled, hefting his shotgun a little.

I refused to be intimidated. Don't show any weakness. It will be exploited.

"No. In fact, my size is a perfectly suitable one for me. Are you a little small for this? You seem to be overcompensating for something." I dryly said, motioning towards the shotgun he carried.

Fury's eyes alighted with anger as he pumped the shotgun and aimed it at my tiny body. "Ya feelin... lucky, punk?" He snarled, his voice promising brutal retribution on the implied insult I had just said.

I could feel spectators eyeing us, watching our confrontation. I know more than a few dollars were betted on my untimely demise. I stood my ground, staring at the barrel of the gun pointed at my chest. I could see the smooth bore inside of it, the powder from old shots that I know for a fact claimed some lives. I saw it happen a week ago. I could see his hands tense around the gun, ready to blow me to bloody bits at the smallest sign of weakness.

I did not falter in the face of adversity. I was still in control. I still was able to direct the conversation. He was receptive to me, not the other way. I was going to win this exchange... hopefully. The universe could just go 'screw this kid' and smear my brain all over the pavement. My heart sped up a little, but thankfully human predatory instincts aren't very good and Fury didn't catch it.

"I believe I am, Fury." I state confidently, turning my head to stare at the black man's sole eye. I did not reveal my slight inner turmoil. Come on, Fury... don't be drunk... Remember the exchange...

"... What's da most important thing in our world? ..." Fury asked, not moving a muscle. The gun never swayed, never shifted. I was staring Death in the face. My body feels with excitement.

I won.

"To be the master of our fate" I reply, removing my hand from the dagger and moving them behind my back.

"Actually...it's being da captain of your soul" Fury said, his eyes lighting up in delight. Wow, he's blood thirsty tonight. Must be high on dope instead of booze.

"Invictus by William Henley? Nice choice. It does have some many comparisons to our daily life" I say, enjoying the smugness coming over me as Fury's eyes darkened in annoyance. My heart returned to its normal rate. I smile slightly, breaking my mask in the face of victory. I remained in control.

I won.

"Get in." Fury says, quickly motioning to the door with his shotgun. I nod and head up the steps, my feet quietly crunching the loose concrete beneath them. As I head up to the door and as Fury returns to his position, I hear the moans of the spectators as they watched the result of the encounter. I shake my head in amusement. Rule Number Four: Never bet anything. You'll just lose what you need to survive.

I wandered inside the building, one foot in front of the other exactly like every other day. The entry way as usual was packed with people, shoved to the side of the floor to make room for people to walk. Their bodies were decaying from lack of care, their skin sagging, their teeth yellow, their hair ratty and disgusting. I unconsciously keep my body away from them as I walk the halls. Sickness was prevalent down in the Zone and I didn't want to take chances even with my apparently strong immune system.

As I approach the stairs, two guards, members of the gang running this place, blocked my path. One of them patted me down rather roughly. I didn't flinch and didn't cry out as the guard, a white man twice my height, forcefully checked my person for any guns or 'unapproved' materials I may have on them. When they found my knife hidden in the inside of my hoodie, the man narrowed his eyes and stared at me.

"You lookin to cause trouble, kid?" He barked.

"Only if someone starts it" I replied, looking up at him right in the eyes. The man considered my reply for a moment, then turned to look at his partner.

"Ya found anythin?" He asked his gang buddy, a Latino.

"Na, the kid ain't got nothin. Just the knife" he replied.

The man pondered something for a couple seconds, then handed the knife back to me butt first. "Keep da knife, kid. Just no funny business, capeesh?"

I nod as I accepted the knife. I already knew that the gangs would let a knife slip through to the rooms as long as you didn't attempt to smuggle anything else in the gangs would be interested in. Drugs, guns... you get the idea. Or kill a fellow resident. That's a death sentence.

The two men moved aside to let me access to the dormitory stairs. As I walked to the stairs, I quickly ducked into the kitchen and collected my food ration for the day. Old MRE's from the First Contact War plus a side helping of some sort of edible substance I couldn't identified. Lovely.

I quickly ate my meal as I climbed the stairs to the tenth floor where Father and I lived. I don't know the exact details, but Father managed to get the gang in charge of this building to let us live in an empty room they had. In return, we were supposed to give up a third of the supplies we scavenged to the gang. That's okay though. Having a roof and actual beds is a miracle in the Zone. I'm forever thankful of Father's actions. He is the reason I'm still alive today.

Once I reached the tenth floor, I toss the trash out the broken window and headed out into the hall. The hall was as decrepit as the outside. The paint was mostly peeled away, revealing the drywall and the boards underneath it. Dust and debris was strewn across the way, making have to step over the material in my way. Only two lightbulbs were working in the entire hall, making it frightening to the unaccustomed. I've grown used to it though. I've faced worse.

As I walked to the end of the hall where Father and I lived together, a pile of dust collapsed from the ceiling, covering my entire body. I coughed and hacked, trying to clear my lungs from the tiny particles. After a solid thirty seconds of coughing, I managed to quell my fit and regain my breath.

As I stood there, breathing deeply to get fresh air inside my lungs, I looked out to see Luna, halfway above the horizon, easily seen from the window I was standing at. I stared at Luna, trying to see the tiny dots signifying our accomplishment, the proof that we were a galactic power, something better than the life I lived. After a minute of futile searching, I gave up and walked to the door where we lived. I've never seen those dots, those ships that signified a better existence.

I once dreamed that I would be on one of those ships, traveling the stars to find a purpose in life. I quickly stripped myself of that fantasy to survive my world. Dreams get in the way of logic, of instinct. Dreams, although inspiring, get you killed.

I stepped inside the room, closing the door behind me. I took off my hoodie and hung it on a small hook that we found while scavenging. I placed the knife on a little table next to the hook and walked inside the room proper.

The room Father and I lived in would be classified as small. One bed, two desks, two windows, a tiny closet, a small bathroom with no shower, a single light and just enough room to do the callisthenics Father and I do together everyday to get in better shape. That, together with water and power, made this a fucking five star suite compared to most of the Zone population.

I sigh in relief as I see the familiar figure of Father, wearing simple grey and blood-red clothing, sitting at his desk, writing something that I couldn't see behind his massive body. I quickly ran up to him and hugged his body, rubbing my face against his metallic carapace.

"Father! I'm back!"

Father chuckled as I hastily expressed my exuberance at being home. He put the writing stylus down and swept me into his taloned hands, lifting me up.

"Hm... it appears you are. Welcome home" His comforting, tanged voice rang out, causing me to smile radiantly. Father was the sole constant of my life since I was a little tyke. He helps me get through life, he inspires me, he inspires a sense of optimism in me. In return, I provide him with joy, a purpose, a responsibility in the world Father found himself in.

I smile yet again and hug him again, watching his mandibles flicker excitedly and his eyes glow with joy at my presence. Five years living with a Turian as a father helps you understand their facial expressions.

"How was your day, son?" he asked, moving the two of us to the bed so we could be more comfortable. I frown again, remembering the events earlier in the night.

"Well... something did happen..." I began. Father hugged me tighter as he let out a low growl at the thought of something bad happening to me.

"What." He curtly said and I knew right then not to sugar coat it. That tone promised death and mutilation to anyone who even looked at me funny.

"The Den went up in flames when I was right outside it. It's gone now and Mama Collins won't survive the morning." I said quickly, informing him of the situation as soon as possible.

Father sighed and dropped me to his lap as his talons went up to rub my short hair. "That's unfortunate. Were you hurt by the fire? By anyone on the way home?"

I shook my head negatively. I wasn't that stupid. "No. But, the Den helped us get food and supplies we couldn't normally get. How are we..."

Father raised a talon and placed it over my mouth, stopping my sentence. "Don't worry about that. We'll be fine. We've had these problems before and we'll get past them again. We just need to step up our scavenging so we can have more. Maybe call in a favor..." He realized that he too was about to go on a speech as well. "Spirits, don't worry about it, Sam. We'll be fine."

I nod hesitantly as we both knew how important the Den was. Things were going to get much more difficult. "Okay, Father." I yawn suddenly, taking the two of us by surprise. "Sorry, Father, seems like I'm more tired than what I thought I was."

Father chuckled and replied, "Don't worry. It's been a long day. I was about to go to bed as well." He leaned over and put me on my side of the bed. "I'll be right back."

I nodded as Father got up and locked all the window bars, barring any access through them. He then moved to the door and swiftly locked it with the five locks we installed on it to provide better security. He then turned off the light and climbed into bed with me, wrapping his strong, wiry, muscled arms around me.

I snuggled closer to Father, pressing my body against his warm carapace. Father was fire, his warmth transferring to me. His warmth, his subtle breathing, comforted me in a way no one else had ever done. I had a place to rest, to protect myself from the outside world. Here, I was safe. Safe in the arms of my Turian Father. I slowly drifted off to sleep, feeling content for the first time today.

Ignis Antares smiled as he watched his son Sam fall to sleep within his embrace. As he closed his eyes and joined his son in slumber, he knew that his son was safe. Safe from harm. He was fire, he was protection.

He was home.

AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Dominus Mortis!

What did you think? Good? Dark? Confusing? Bad? The first three? Please review and respond.

This story is not one of my major stories so updates will probably not be as frequent as one may want them to be. Hell, it may not even be continued. Depends on reader reception. The more reviews, the more incentive I have to write this.

This will be a slow story. ME1 won't happen for a while. Sam's life will be explored and we will see the growth he undertakes the kid he is now to becoming the Avatar of Victory and the Dominus Mortis.

Blessed and Lord are next up on my update list.

That's it! See ya!

Primordial Soul