"Wreav and I share the same mother. And nothing else."
-Urdnot Wrex to Commander Shepard, Chieftain of Clan Urdnot, during the Reaper War of 2186

"Again! Harder this time!"

Summoning his last reserves of strength, the young krogan loosed an ululating roar that bounced off the rocky crags of the box canyon and flew up into the ashen skies of Tuchanka. Even as he charged forward, thundering towards his target, he imagined that the spirits of warlords past were sprinting at his side, urging him on to victory. Darumm, Hurjat, Irinak, even reviled Okeer-all of them were his brothers in arms, and he the one worthy to lead them. Using this surge of battle fury, he bunched his fists and plowed into his opponent, who turned just in time to face him.

Who sidestepped, grabbed him by his shoulder hump and thrust him into the dirt, adding a kick to the backside for good measure. The young krogan grunted in surprise and pain as his face collided with the dirt, sending slivers of rock and metal scudding across his face. Already, he felt the birth of tiny cuts and bruises. These he brushed from his mind-a true krogan would not be stopped by little things like that. He picked himself up.

Once again, his father Jarrod glared at him fiercely, hands on hips. "Your strength is still lacking! You could not defeat me, even though I was off-balance. You're far too predictable, son. Learn from these defeats, or I doubt you will achieve what it takes to be a true krogan." He gave a disparaging sniff before turning away to go readjust the practise targets at the other end of the canyon.

Still breathing heavily, the unblooded warrior known as Wrex cast a hateful look at his father's colossal back and muttered a few choice words under his breath. Still, he knew better than to stand around doing nothing and obediently followed, wincing as his face was beset by the howling wind that had somehow managed to infiltrate the canyon. He growled, and pushed his discomfort aside. There would be worse to come, he was sure of it. As his grandfather had told him, before his descent into alcoholism and subsequent death, the galaxy was a nasty place, and Tuchanka wasn't the worst place in it. First nuclear winter, then the rachni, then the Rebellions, then the salarian genophage-they were hardly wanting for trouble in their lives.

None of this mattered now, and Wrex wasn't very interested in ages-old history anyway. Better, far better, to learn how to fight, and die, with honour. Not that he planned on dying soon. No, one day in the far-off future, Urdnot Wrex would be a name that resounded from one end of the galaxy to the other. He'd be a living legend among krogan and aliens alike, and the mightiest warrior to ever-

"Wrex, you sack of pyjak shit! Get down here before I carve another notch into your skull!"

And maybe even become an acceptable offspring in the eyes of his malingering old turd of a father. Stranger things had happened on Tuchanka.

He quickened his pace, breaking into a jog across the pitted landscape. Puffs of dust followed in the wake of his steps. These were snatched up by the howling wind, to become another member of the ferocious dust-devils that plagued the planet.

After about a minute, Wrex came to a stop beside his father, who gave him an absent-minded cuff on the head for good measure. He nodded towards the targets set up a short distance away, and thrust a graal spike thrower into his hands. "Start here. Move backwards if you hit all of your marks."

"I won't miss from here, "said Wrex, a little snappier than he'd intended. Not that he was a coward, but his father wasn't one to piss off when they were at training. It was enough to elicit a fierce glare and a low growl. "We'll see." Jarrod turned and leapt atop a boulder to watch his son's progress. "Begin."

Wrex shucked the charging slide of the graal, and sighted along the barrel at his first target. The weapon was notorious for causing a mess, but when charged it was highly accurate, traits that made the firearm prized among hunters of thresher maws. At first, he would've questioned the wisdom of using a shotgun as a training weapon, but past instances had proved the graal was a well-made piece of equipment. Aiming, he squeezed the trigger. Then, after four seconds of hearing the internal mechanisms whine, he released it.

A thermal-driven flechette, as big as a human combat knife, burst out of the gun and flew across the range, striking the target squarely in the head. Without stopping to feel pride (something his father had tried to beat out of and teach him at the same time), he emptied the second barrel and watched another spike fly. Reloading with the clips at his feet, he repeated this task three more times and made the shot every time. An exemplary effort.

Of course, exemplary didn't mean shit to Jarrod. With a grunt, he leapt off the rock and inspected his son's handiwork. "Not bad. Now do it again, further this time." He hawked up some orange-coloured phlegm and released it into the wind. Some of it splattered across Wrex's face, and he restrained himself from kicking Jarrod in the quad. Without a word, he stomped back about thirty metres and once again took aim. It would be harder now, as the gale whipped around him and shrieked into his ears. Already, grains of sand and rust had gotten into the twin barrels, and he worked to dislodge it. As he did this, he heard a voice call out.

"Well well well, if it isn't the infamous Urdnot Wrex." A nauseatingly smug sound, which made his teeth grind. Wrex knew who it was almost immediately. Turning around confirmed his suspicions. Urdnot Drachus, a royal pain in the ass and a friend of his father's, grinned at him through chipped teeth and wizened face. The old bastard waved a hand at him in a disgusting display of false modesty. "Please, don't stop on my account. I wish to observe the...skills...for which you are so famous."

He wasn't going to get away with that, the cunt. Raising his gun again, he placed his finger on the trigger and began charging it. "You want to see my skills? Last I checked you need eyes to do that." But just as he was about to release, and drive a spike through Drachus' chest, he felt an iron grip on his arm that wrenched him around. Then he felt something strike his forehead, and a blinding white fire erupted in his skull. The pain was overwhelming, but he refused to drop to his knees. He'd sooner have a female set fire to his quad than be humiliated in front of his father and Drachus.

When his vision cleared, he saw his father holding a clenched fist under his chin. "Do you want another? No?" When Wrex shook his head fitfully, he grabbed him by the arm again and thrust him back the other way. "Then get your head out of your ass and aim at something useful!" Shoving past, he went to greet his old friend. Slaps on the back ensued, and Drachus murmured something under his breath. His father guffawed and said, "I know, I know, but what else can I do?"

Try shutting that overused waste chute you call a mouth, for starters. Wrex planted one foot down for balance, as the graal had a fair kick-back when fully charged. He could feel the eyes of the two older krogan on his back, and shoved down the feelings of anger still swimming around in his head. They were useful for when he was pulverising klixen and rocks, not when he was trying to accurately hit his target. Exhaling into the filthy air, Wrex pulled the trigger.

The rock beneath his feet was not the sturdy surface he was accustomed to. Rather, it was loose shale, which gave way when his graal went off. His arm dropped slightly, and the projectile went wide, just managing to glance off the side of the target. Sure enough, snorts of laughter erupted behind him. Jarrod, the sycophant, was laughing along with his friend at Wrex's mishap. No matter. He would make his next shot. It was a shame, though, he would much rather be firing at Drachus, who deserved nothing less than a gory death-

His mind wandered, and so did his aim. The second shot was better, but it still missed the vital areas, and landed somewhere lower down. This time, Jarrod and Drachus did not even try to conceal their amusement, and their grunting laughter filled the air like the floating shit that it was. Half-turning, he saw his father's crony doubled over with hilarity. "I have a retarded half-son who can aim better than that! This is your legacy, Urdnot Jarrod?" The chuckling continued.

Jarrod's own good humour vanished instantly, and he pointed a finger at Wrex. "Miss again, and you won't like what comes after! You are a disgrace to my name and that of Clan Urdnot!" He knelt to pick up a rock and tossed it at Wrex's head with unerring aim. It bounced off and left a stinging weal where it had struck. Before he could throw anymore, Wrex turned again and faced downrange. Outwardly, he was a picture of calm and restraint.

Inwardly, he was seething with rage. He had been taking the brunt of his father's displeasure for some time now, and he was conditioned to accept it. But to be mocked and jeered by that smug pyjak Drachus, in front of his father no less...that could not go unchallenged. He immediately resolved to teach him a lesson as soon as an opportunity presented itself, his father's rule be damned. The overly-simplistic training was a waste of time anyway-the fact he was doing it alone confirmed that. Urdnot Jarrod had but one son, and that was Wrex. He had been groomed for this role since he was born. As soon as he underwent the Rite, he would be unleashed. Free of his father's shadow, at long last.

He was readying his next shot, when a foul smell washed across his face. He gagged, and the other krogan did the same. Jarrod waved a hand in a vain attempt to dispel the stench, and cursed. "What the fuck is that smell?"

Drachus pointed a finger downrange, his smirk now replaced by a scowl. "I think the targets are playing up again." He began trudging towards them, but not before making a passing remark: "Perhaps if you had fired straighter, we would not be breathing this crap in. Think about it, Wrex." Before Wrex could retort, he had put enough distance between them so the wind masked any sound. Another chance missed.

The targets in question were, in fact, the desiccated remnants of a turian recon team. They'd been caught about a week back, snooping around the Kelphic Valley on some sort of mission. As punishment for having the gall to set foot on Tuchanka, Jarrod had flayed them alive and propped them up as target practise. A few of them were already falling apart, partly due to weaponsfire and partly due to the planet's hellish conditions. But there were still plenty left, around a dozen or so in varying positions of death. One of them had a crude drawing of a turian fellating an elcor scrawled on its chest. Probably drawn by the youths that sometimes snuck into the training canyons to drink ryncol and shoot at each other.

Grimacing, Drachus waved away the flies that had come to feast on the rotting carcasses and reached up to unhook the dead turian's arms from the rough crucifix they'd put together. It was at that moment a particularly fierce gale kicked up, and the corpse fell upon him like a lover looking to embrace. Drachus swore loudly and fought to pull the disgusting thing off him, but the spear-like ribs had managed to hook into his armour, and were stuck fast. The turian's skull grinned at him like a gloating female who had just won an argument. "Fucking turian, get the fuck off me-"

A loud crack, and a sizzling spike blew the skull apart, sending bone fragments and brain matter everywhere. Drachus cursed as he tried to mop up the slime on his face, but shrugged off the corpse at last and turned to mock Wrex once again. "Impressive, Wrex! Maybe when you fight a real live turian you'll do as well-"

Unfortunately, Drachus had forgotten that the graal had two barrels, so he did not stop to wonder about the second shot. As it was, by the time he did, the answer was painfully obvious.

The smartass was still sniggering to himself when Wrex pulled the trigger for a second time. The graal boomed, and a spike neatly burrowed into Drachus' throat, stopping him dead. He dropped to his knees, wheezing and gagging on his own blood, and slowly keeled over beside the turian.

Wrex tossed the spent weapon aside, faced his father, and gave a smirk of his own. "Told you I wouldn't miss, father. Besides? I think I just did you a favour. He was a pain in the ass anyway."

Jarrod, not one for clever repartee, stepped forward and crunched a fist into the side of Wrex's head, knocking him out cold. For the second time in less than a minute, a krogan dropped to the ground and lay still. The howling wind was all that could be heard, besides Jarrod's heavy breathing. Rubbing his bruised knuckles (the young one had quite a dense head), he found a nearby boulder and sat, thinking furiously.

This had to be handled carefully. And careful was not his way. On one hand, Drachus had been, as Wrex said, a pain in the ass. Once, perhaps, they had been friends and comrades, but it was undeniable that the bastard had been getting too big for his hump. That jibe at his legacy's prowess was unforgivable. Jarrod had been tempted to kill the bastard himself after hearing that, but clan politics had restrained his wrath. Ironically, his defiant son had solved a major problem for him-he could not have acted himself. Now that Drachus was dead, the matter was closed.

Unfortunately, this meant another matter was opened. Drachus had had friends in Clan Urdnot, powerful ones. Then there were his distant kin in other clans-Jorgal Thurak, Gatatog Kravenk, the list went on. His death would mean serious tremors in krogan society. He couldn't simply let the matter slide-hell, if he could, he would have the most power on this blasted rock. He would have to make a sacrifice of some kind.

His eyes wandered over to Wrex's supine form, and an idea formed in his mind. Suppose he took on one of Drachus' offspring as a protégé? So far, Wrex had been his only son worthy of singular training-though he would never admit the fact to the rebellious little shit. Perhaps it was time he had a fellow warrior to pit himself against in the training...it would only mean more strength for Clan Urdnot in the long run. Wrex would be tougher, his own position would be assured, and this as-yet-unknown krogan youth would be granted a rare opportunity. And Drachus' death would be dismissed-this was Tuchanka, after all. If you weren't dead yet, it was only a matter of time.

He got up, and headed for the other end of the canyon. After a few minutes, he reached a small cave, where what little personal equipment he owned was stored. Rummaging amongst the dusty piles of outdated, salvaged machinery, he extracted an omni-tool and booted it up. This he had confiscated from an STG operative some time ago. The bastard had been part of a team making some sort of krogan census, or some pathetic excuse like that. More likely, they were here for their precious genophage project. Finding even more ways to doom their race to extinction and make the pile of unborn young even higher than it already was-

He stowed away these rising feelings of rage and despair, and focused on the task at hand. Searching through the census data, he found Drachus' file and perused it. He had six sons in all-impressive for a post-genophage krogan. Three were too young, and the other two were already in exclusive training. That left one other to fill the void, and ensure this mess was dealt with.

Jarrod read what data existed, becoming more impressed by the second. The youth had proven himself a capable warrior, skilled in brute force combat and weapon handling. Almost as good as Wrex. Best of all? He was of Urdnot.

His mind made up, Urdnot Jarrod walked out of the cave, mind ticking over at this discovery. "Urdnot Wreav, "he muttered. Let us hope you can help me, and by extension, yourself. Else this will go badly for you. No, I will not raise a hand against you. I won't have to deliver punishment.

Wrex will do that himself.

Greetings once again, my friends. In case you haven't noticed, I've had quite the Mass Effect fanfic addiction lately. This particular idea came to me about a week ago, as I was rewatching the Priority: Tuchanka cutscenes. I really wish there'd been more time to flesh out the relationship between Wrex and Wreav...so here's this, my own reimagining of it :P It should go for roughly four chapters, depending on the content. So please rate 'n' review, and I promise you more in the meantime!

-OhSoDeadly