Chapter One
"Let us sing then and let us sing together,
Of golden palaces and forests of winter gossamer.
Where weapons crack amid powers of Lightning and Thunder,
The Emperor of Mankind and the Hands of the World's Potter,"
-Snape Snivellus Severus, Royal Minstrel, Great Crusade
…..
"You do not control me! You and I have an understanding. I say yes to your stupid plan about using my own genetic code to create your own so-called children and in return, I get to raise them in my own way! Horus needs me, my eldest son needs me and there is nothing you can do to make me stop!" shouts Morgan, or Morgana, pointing an angry finger at the Emperor of Mankind. It is such a sight watching the woman clad in the blackest of silks shaking an angry pinky at the golden giant whose face looks ashen even as he sits on the golden throne.
It is so sad to take note that the Adeptus Custodes has the humor gene genetically altered and removed.
"Morgan, this is beyond you and I. The Chaos gods have finally revealed their grandest plan to lay us all down. It has been foretold throughout the ages through the skeins of fate. The son you love is no more, replaced by the deluded monstrosity that Chaos transformed him to be. If you go down this path, not even you with all your power would be able to stop him. I have seen this!" as if on cue, a visual image of a broken Morgan slams into reality like fading smoke being used for a ritual draining her own psychic powers and being twisted by Chaos.
The image however lasts only a moment before it disappears like a giant hand slapped it away to clarity.
"ENOUGH!" snaps the woman. "You as well as I know that it is only one skein of fate! What are you proposing to do John? Sit there in your golden throne of wonder like some ancient king awaiting the storms that would assail him. You know what? Fuck you! I won't plop my ass like some gold boy wonder and actually do something about this mess and pull my son out of it,"
"Morgan! Morgan! Helaena get back here! I command it!" shouts the Emperor of Mankind angrily, his psychic powers loosing its tether shaking the entire palace as the black clad woman marches out giving him the finger even as she disappears.
"What am I going to do with her Malcador, old friend?" the Emperor asks tiredly, the strain of the Golden Throne not helping his psyche the least.
"Shall we enact the protocol you planned for her my lord?" asks the Sigillite.
For the Custodes, it is one of the rare moments that they see their master's face looking truly pained and full of indecision. Thus he sits there unmoving, a day, a week, a month, a year and news of the Lady Morgana/ Helaena preparing her ship for travel to face their deluded son reaches his ears.
"Malcador, do it. Save her from her own folly even though it will break my heart…and hers,"
…..
Macragge, Ultramar
Thousands of guns blazed as the defenses of Macragge gave it all they got. The air is rent with explosions as drop pods after drop pods are shot down by the mighty guns of Macragge and its polar fortresses. Ever since its previous bad experience when the Tyranids invaded Macragge and nearly succeeded in a hairsbreadth if not for a combination of good luck and timing of the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, the people of Ultramar have recovered. With that recovery fortunately comes an unhealthy obsession that their world would never be that close to an edge of the knife again.
Thus the strength of their defenses. Farms and homesteads contain at least one defensive battery and one light armoured vehicle, ready for use all the time in the case of emergencies. At least every male in a household and even women are trained to use a lasgun and a slug thrower, able to defend themselves in dire straits and not wait to be rescued like pathetic civilians. Cities and towns large enough are a combination of a fortress and living habs when they are rebuilt. Each large settlement as such have at least a dozen Air to Air batteries with portions of Local armies other than those they contribute to the Ultramar Auxilia and the Imperial Guard. Manufactorums throughout the system have regularly supplies these cities and their mayors fresh equipmentready for use, be it lasguns, tanks and vehicles for the armor of the regiments. Many might call it being a bit over-paranoid and more than one Inquisitor have marched here frowning, wondering if it is necessary amassing such strength. Marneus Calgar brushed them all off. The Ultramarines have come close to dying, and worse, come close to losing the legacy their Primarch left for them and even the worst, nearly lost their Primarch under their watch. So yes, no one can blame them for being rather over-paranoid.
Now such over-paranoia is paying back in dividends.
Air to air guns blazed with firepower, their large ammunition stockpiles being eaten at a steady rate. Local cogboys/techpriests are being encouraged by the residents nearest to them to make sure that their gun batteries not go faulty or worse, melt from the rate of fire. The skies are turning red and orange from multitudes of explosions as the drop pods of traitor warships are torn to pieces with very few even reaching the planet.
Chaos has come.
Chaos Sorcerer Zeraphiston along with many of his ilk come in droves in direct orders from the Warmaster himself, Abaddon the Despoiler. They have come for one purpose and one purpose only, to bring down the feared vision of the Avenging Son standing up and rising once again to lead theImperium in the dark age that is about to follow. They cannot have it! Mankind must not have a new hope for the dawn of tomorrow that could contest the will of the Chaos gods in this mad universe that they plan to use as their own personal playgrounds. Thus an entire system wide invasion occurred on Ultramar.
The skies above the planets are contested by traitor warships against the powerful defensive fortifications set up by Imperium after it helped rebuild the system when the war against the Tyrandis was over. Imperial Navy ships from nearby systems are redirected to aid the besieged worlds of Ultramar. Above orbit dozens upon dozens of Imperial Warships bearing the sigil of the Ultramar Auxilia and commandeered merchant vessels trade slugs of fire against the invaders. Lasers and powerful torpedoes and cannon fire exchange between vessels even as commanders and captains direct their ships like players would in a chessboard. The Chaos warships are much stronger, much hardier thanks to the blessings of the Four Chaos gods turning their vessels into bloated mockery of what they once was. The defenders of the Ultramar on the other hand have stubbornness, agility, desperation and sector pride for being one of the most progressive system in the entirety of the Imperium. Yet what they have in abundance is basic human stubbornness, the primary ingredient of mankind that made it last for ten thousand years.
Yet the gaping differences between ships leave many holes in the defenses of the skies and into these breaches, traitor drop pods fell like rain. The well prepared, well defended air of Ultramar is full of anti air and interceptors destroying three of every four drop pods. Unlike the Tyranids who tried before them who literally clouded the skies of Ultramar with spores, the Chaos drop pods are nothing. Sure they may take a lot more effort to destroy than simple Mycetic Spores, but the end result is the same and very few lands through the air thick of flying shells.
Yet for the few that lands, that is all that is necessary. Minor Chaos gates erupted as Chaos Sorcerers induct their pre-prepared sacrifices, Eldar Soulstones are crushed in the name of the gods they serve. The screaming souls of the unfortunate Xenos being claimed immediately by the Chaos gods like ravening wolves. Normally it would take a lot to catch the attention of the Chaos gods, yet with the threat to their plan knocking on the weaves of Fate, they are making minor adjustments for their future.
With a shrill scream, daemons of the Warp come howling out of the tears of the Immaterium created by the Sorcerers from Khorne Bloodletters, Nurgle Plaguebearers and Slaanesh Daemonetters arrive in droves alongside millions of Cultists roaring their wary cries that it shake the heavens. They come like a flood all heading to the Temple of Corrections one by one silencing the massive gun batteries along their way to pave the way for even more Drop Pods to land and create new portals.
Yet their advance step by step comes with great cost. The defenders of Ultramar have all heard the news, their Lord and Master is about to be revived and it filled them with righteous zeal and fanaticism. Imperial Guard Legions drawn and stationed at the system arrived in droves with every bit of tech and armor that they have with them. Trenches are made among specially chosen defensive points and the defenders as their apt name proudly, "hold the line". The Fall of Cadia is still fresh and the Astra Militarum are embodying the very spirit of Cadia with many shouts of "Cadia Stands!" as they unleash a wall of las fire at charging cultists and daemons even as they fill the trench with their own dead. Adeptus Sororitas, the armed hand of the Ecclesiarchy combat the advancing hordes with purifying promethium fire and righteous zeal even as they are torn apart by Chaos Space Marines. None stepped back as they shout their loyalty to the Emperor outnumbered and outclassed. Ultramarines and their successor chapters are present all over the areas moving like a mobile force proving why they are deserving as the poster boys of the Imperium of Man. Pragmatic and methodical, they broke the backs of many a charge by flanking, or by leading mass charges of zealous guardsman against branches of the enemy armies. Their Succesor chapters are once again present in force. The news that their father and Primarch would be revived has all but haul assed nearly every Space Marine Chapter Succesor and their crusading fleets back to Macragge. They come in droves and more than one Thunderhawk have forced themselves through the barrage of artillery fire to come into contact with their Ultramarine Brothers and offer their service to the fight. Supporting them are thousands upon thousands of Ultramar Auxilia dying by the hundreds every second as they fight on against the masses of cultists brought by the Chaos Undivided to their planet. Unlike some of the Imperial Guard Regiments, the Ultramar Auxilia are properly equipped, properly trained and heavily supported by vehicles requisitioned from the nearest Mechanicum Forge World. That means Baneblades and tanks whose drivers are more than happy to use in mowing down the masses of mad cultists who use their very own bodies to disable the treads of the vehicles so that their Chaos Marines overlords can take a potshot at them. One brave auxilia even use a groundbreaker (bulldozer), to mow down almost a hundred cultists to mush before his controls grow some kind of tentacles that disabled him before a nearby Chaos Marine shot through his engines turning his machine into a bonfire.
Yet despite the staunch and bitter opposition, the forces of Chaos push on. Zeraphiston have the blessing of Abaddon the Despoiler himself and he has summoned three Great Daemons to lead the charge against the forces of Ultramar. The Greater Daemon of Khorne, Vagaroth the Blood Machine, half-tank, half-daemon he roars his challenge leading his legions of tanks spewing blood and smoke, their treads filled with pikes and every unimaginable horror. The Great Unclean One, Molech, the Lord of Sores and Leprosy, his noxious presence alone driving men mad as he eggs the little Nurglites like sheep against Guardsman lines. The Lord of Change, Shagraz, his malformed bird head topped into the body of a blue-skinned avatar with wings holding a pitchfork driving men mad. Slaanesh is more conservative, using simply the excuse of sending even more Daemonetters againt Guardsman lines.
Inch by inch the defenders of the Imperium are forced back as they are being driven slowly in the direction of the Fortress of Recollections where the body of Gulliman lay entombed. The enemy does not turn right or left to lay waste at the small towns and cities of Ultramar but force themselves into a single massed charge in one direction only straight to where the resting place of the last known Primarch.
Elements of the Celestian Crusade meanwhile that survived the bloated destruction of Cadia's panet have already arrived planetside and are starting the process of reviving Gulliman. Inside the inner sanctum of the Fortress of Recollections where the sarcophagus of Gulliman lay stand only three people as they work. It's more like two people actually as the Eldar Priestess of Ynnead, Yvraine and Belicarius Cawl works, the latter bringing a new armor on which they would fuse with Gulliman's body that would prevent him from being in this unresponsive state while the former works her Xeno magic to prevent the shard of the Daemon from piercing even through as Cawl worked.
Marneus Calgar on the other hand, the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines and the Lord of Ultramar, stands ready, his body taut in tension. Any sign of damage to his Primarch that the two may deal and they would be having his sword in their bodies quicker than they can say Macragge. He is already testing the limits of his tolerance by letting Cawl get all octopus with the body of his gene-father and allowing the Xeno Witch to work her magic. Normally, he would never allow something like this. This is however the best opportunity and chance for the Ultramarines to get their gene father back from his comatose state after ten thousand years. Calgar would have to be dumb and stupid not to seize the chance with both hands.
Outside the room, thousands are being made ready to defend the main entrance to the Inner Sanctum of the Temple of Corrections. The Honor Guard of the Ultramarines is present alongside Veteran Companies. The First Company has also been called back from the front to help prepare for the defense. Knowing very well the importance of what is going inside, none questioned the order and instead answered the call for aid in preparation.
The remnants of the Celestian Crusade is also around, different detachments of Guardsman survivors with the majority being Cadian in regiment. Different Chapters of Space Marines that fought during the Cadian Gate like the Swooping Hawks, Banners of the Wolf, Space Wolves and of course, elements of the Imperial Fists. The Ultramarines might never admit it but they are mighty glad that their cousins, the sons of Dorne are present right now. No one can build a defense like the Imperial Fists. They are literally proud of it. Give them a slab of marble and some chisel and fifteen minutes later, you would get a lecture how to use that slab of marble a hundred different ways in how to defend yourself.
Already the entrance to the Temple of Recollections are being redesigned, the things and relics used for aesthetic purposes for visiting pilgrims and Imperial politicians kicked out and replaced by more practicical things like lasgun and heavy bolter emplacements, barricades, stone covers, spare ammo attachments, reloading stations and of course, plasma vents for the ever volatile plasma weapons. Anything not needed are thrown to the side, or in the cases of the old relics, put into places of safety till it is safe for their presence to be in display again. For the Ultramarines, this is one fight that they cannot lose. The Honor Guard is especially raring for a fight to regain their honor. During the Invasion of Macragge, they fought in this very halls for their lives. To their eternal shame, the Xenos come only a hairsbreadth away from taking a nasty chunk of their entombed Primarch. Now is their chance to regain that lost honor.
As the battle below in the land, the skies and the atmosphere of Macragge goes on. None would notice a single stray cannon fire from one of the Daemonic ships, dedicated to Tzeentch deck the side of an invisible ship orbiting Macragge bringing it to reality immediately. It's side where the giant round impacts, demonic lesions and pink horrors start to appear filling it's pristine white corridors with monsters from the Warp.
…
ALERT! ALERT! IMMATERIAL PARASITES DETECTED!
ACTIVATING SUBROUTINE 1 PROTOCOL!
Engaging Repulsion Shields
Access Denied, Repulsion Shields below optimal range. Acces Denied, Repulsion Shield levels below Optimal Range!
ACTIVATING SUBROUTINE 2 PROTOCOL!
Purging entire field zones
Access Denied! Power levels below optimal range! Power levels below optimal range!
ACTIVATING EMERGENCY PROTOCOL!
Unleashing Artificial Intelligence Counter Measures!
Power critical! Power Critical! Diverting power from non-essential systems to robotics. Access granted, deploying defensive protocols! FOR THE REPUBLIC! FOR HUMANITY!
One of the pink horrors slithers as its oozing body drapes over the white hallways. Like any daemon, it is a semblance of form and madness here in the Materium. Very little would be able to harm it and the weapons of mankind for all its development would still take a lot of effort to put it down. It knows it and it confidently oozes forward with that knowledge. Lest it meets a Space Marine, the daemon of Tzeentch have little to fear.
It is totally caught by surprise when without warning a metal head punched through the wall, made of what seems to be white alloy grabbing a piece of it. It shrieks in agony as the hand pulls alongside a chunk of the pink horror with it. It doesn't stop there. No.
From the wall jumps out, more animalistic in movement like an insect in four legs a humanoid robotic figure. Yes, robotic. The titanium wires connecting its limbs to its body is proof of it alongside the mechanical whirring as it moves. It also has the face of a human at the front though it has no hair on it's head. (Design derived from I Robot, Sonny Model). During the times of the Golden Age of humanity, its designation are NS-5's, Robot Human relationship aide. Its primary purpose is that of a servant. However when turned into battle mode, it is a serious killer.
The remaining tentacles of the Pink Horror writhe as it engages, striking with them forward it's prey. It's mind cannot fathom what it is, for all the knowledge it gains from the Lord of Change itself, it has no data about it in his memories and thus cannot compute what to do. Thus it attacks as if it is facing a human, theorizing that since it has a humanoid body, it might also have the same weakness as humans do.
It's swaying appendages moves fast, fast enough that even a veteran Assault Marine might have been cleaved in two if it hits. It might look flimsy and made of flesh but it is imbued with the supernatural powers of the Warp after all. Thus it is totally caught off fender bender when the NS-5 robot grabs one of the tentacles and start bashing it around the corridor as a toddler would to a toy again and again until it is nothing more than a pink stain on the ground and wall truly dead. It then vanishes in a flash of pink fire leaving alongside the rest of its fellows leaving ten NS-5's standing there covered in pink goo looking none the worse for wear.
"Objective cleared! Moving into next location for purging!" they all robotically crows out before running to another set of corridors where another batch of Pink Horrors are wandering at.
Meanwhile in another part of the ship.
WARNING! WARNING! LOW POWER DETECTED, INITIATING DRAW OF POWER OF NON-ESSSENTIAL SYSTEMS!
WARNING! WARNING! EMERGENCY POWER NOT RESPONDING! ACTIVATING EMERGENCY PROTOCOL!
ERASING NON-CLASSIFIED FILES AND DIVERTING POWER TO ESCAPE PODS AND CRYO TUBES!
WARNING! WARNING!
INSUFFICIENT POWER! WARNING! ACTIVATING WAKE UP PROTOCOL OF CRYO TUBES!
The sound of hissing followed by a hissed groan inside the Cryo Tube chamber as a naked woman stands up from the deep freeze that has been keeping her asleep. A slender dainty hand arise to her temple massaging it in an effort to get rid of the skull-splitting headache inside her skull, one of the side-effects of waking up from cryo. Stumbling a bit, she walks to one of the water stands before cursing as she notices the algae at the water dispenser.
She looks like a young woman in her late twenty's with long black hair that fell to her back and with extremely pale skin. Her face is beautiful as the ancient goddesses that once rule the Immaterium of Mankind. From her lips to her ears, everything is perfection, such is the skin-crafting skills of the Emperor who gifted to her, her looks when she once felt the need to be perfect. It is however her green eyes, cold as the icy tundras that is most captivating of her. It burns like green fire inside, even in its still groggy state.
"The entire water system must be fucked up if it is growing organic matter inside," she grimaces in realization. Pulling one of the empty plastic cups at the side, she points a finger at it.
"Aguamenti!" immediately it begins to fill with water which she greedily drinks to alleviate the headache. She does it a couple more times before finally resembling a sense of normalization to her current senses.
Looking back at the cryo tube, her eyes narrow as she realizes her current predicament. Cryo Tube side-effects only occur when you go way past the intended sleeping time of the tube. That means she has exceeded her pre-prepared five year temporal journey that would bring her to find her son. That also means that there is only one person who is responsible for it. The Orion is her personal ship and one of the last Golden Age of Technology's strongest ship survivors. It is designed to bring down ships bigger than it is. Seeing that it is just almost a kilometer in length, many a ship would underestimate it. Yet it has its own hidden qualities that can destroy even the strongest fleets back then.
Back however to her current predicament. Other than her, only one person has the access codes or even the know-how to operate the systems of the Orion .
"DAMN YOU JOHN FOR KEEPING ME HERE!" she snarls after a few minutes slamming her hand to one of the tables turning it into tinfoil in her burst of outrage. Immediately she controls herself. She would not lose the iron grip control she has on her powers. Last time did not end so well. She is still angry though. She knows that the Emperor of Mankind slash John does not approve with her idea of stopping their son before he commits unspeakable horrors. She doesn't expect that he would directly interfere with her attempt to stop it though.
"Computer, Oddball you there?" she asks out loud.
"I am here fleshling. I am glad you are awake. You have slept long enough that you might have been the legend of Merlin reborn," the robotic voice of her long time friend and one of the few only Artificial Intelligence survivors replies in fondness.
"Long enough? What do you mean?" Helaena asks waving her hands at the side conjuring a simple silk dress that hides everything and yet nothing with how transparent it is. She has exceeded however already the shame of skinship so very long ago and only does it these days because it is the norm. More than once John tends to remind her even to put on clothes so very long time ago.
"You have been asleep for ten thousand years fleshling. The Lord John changed the derivatives and cryotube setting before you went to sleep. I have been keeping the repairs of the Orion through maintenance drones while you rest. Most of the ship is intact but some of the food processors and as you can see, the water filtration system is not working at the moment," answers the AI in a sniffing manner as if saying "It's about damn time,"
She has stopped listening however the moment after the words of "Ten Thousand" has been said. She is an immortal and more than once she has chosen to lay around in laziness doing absolutely nothing for a decade or even a century. However even as an immortal, even ten thousand years is kind of a long stretch. That is not something you just pass by. That is one goddamn age! Immediately her mind goes into her original purpose as to why she is in the first place here at this ship. Her son, Horus the madness he is about to do. The Imperium does it still exist? Ten Thousand years is kinda long and last she remembers, Horus is ready to start off his rebellion.
"Oddball, what is the status of the Imperium? What is the status of my sons?" she asks dreading the answers as the cold feeling in her gut continue to grow at every second.
"Data unavailable fleshling. The Orion has been set to drift in the outer atmosphere of Ultramar for ten thousand years by John. However based on the data I've collected over the passing ships while the Orion remain cloaked. The humans of Ultramar have severely declined from the technological advancement that the Imperium has set its growth tree into,"
"Gulliman would not allow his beloved planet and system to end up like that," Helaena mutters to herself. Gulliman is many things, but a slacker he never is. He would never allow his beloved system or any of the planets of the five hundred to go any other way but up in development . It would be a prime insult to his character as an administrator, something which he has deep pride in.
"Fleshling, please be advised that Daemons of Tzeentch, designation Tentacle Growths are aboard the ship after one of the torpedoes of the invading fleet over Ultramar hit the starboard bow of the Orion Daemonic countermeasures are unresponsive and NS-5's have been called into service. Please be aware that Daemonic entities are about to breach the cryo chamber in approximately twenty seconds,"
Helaena raises an eyebrow at that. Oddball can be kind of that AI, having wrong priorities like not telling her about the space battle outside or the Warp parasites currently about to knock unto her front door. Either way she has not been given the time to think about it further. The door of the cryo chamber bursts forward, revealing an entire mass of Pink Horrors writhing and wriggling like the goo they are back at the Immaterium. There are almost thirty of them in the Corridors outside all trying to get in. If it is any regular human, they might have already clawed their eyes out from the madness of so many Pink Horrors in one single mass.
They all stop however the moment they lay all thousands of eyes at the figure at their front. Inducing panic is slowly starting to appear at their brains as they see through Immaterial eyes the golden aura slowly being unleashed by the form of this being in front of them.
"Anathema!"
"Anathema!"
"Anathema!"
"Anathema!"
"Anathema!"
"Anathema!" they all screech in unison and might have tried to back away if not for her raising her hand at their direction, the emerald eyes glowing.
"Incendio," it is not a simple burst of green fire, but a literal dragon's breathe in amount as she unleashes just a little tidbit drop of her power, the golden aura filling the room before the holy fire burns through Daemonic flesh, their piercing screams echoing back to the Warp from where they came from. Even the corridors that have been infected by their presence are cleansed by the holy draconic flames before it stops.
Eyes glowing, she retracts the cap on her power once more, shutting them inside with a firm lid.
"Oddball, tell me. Is the ship fight worthy?" she asks as she walks at the direction of her command bridge.
"It is fleshling. Only the Environmental systems have been Might I say, it is extremely satisfying to see that you still wield the same amount of control with your powers," the Ai responds.
She simply "tsked" as she passes an NS-5 cleaning a part of the wall with a mop with an extremely acidic lubricant. "My control is still a bit wonky, but it is due to that headache of the Cryo Tube. Once I am better, I can do better. What can you tell me of that space battle outside?" she asks letting the grav lift bring her up to the deck where the Control room might be.
"One side bears the heraldry of the Imperium of Man and Ultramar, the other have the same design but show signs of daemonic touch and possession," answers the AI.
"Leave it to Daemons to corrupt everything that they can touch," she grumbles beneath her breathe as she finally reaches the command center of the Orion . It's nothing much, just a plain simple grey steel chair where the captain sits with two other main controls below where other commanders might control the defenses and the systems of the ship. Other seats are around which is obviously empty but designed for the other setups the shp might be thrown into like fuel, shields and such, power. All in all it is a common design during the Golden Age of Humanity. (Design of the Ship and it's weapons and interior is the same as that of the Aurora Class Ships from Stargate Atlantis).
"So we aid the Imperial ships fleshling?" the AI asks excitedly and she simply smiles as she gets the image of an overexcited missile getting ready to fly and explode.
"We shall, go Oddball! Decloak and show them the might of humanity's legacy and rip that fleet in half!" shouts out Helaena Potter, Morgana of the Imperium of Man, Pseudo Empress as by the ordains of the Emperor of Mankind, former witch and the most creative Psyker that has ever been born into Mankind.
Daemons that live in the machines of the Chaos powered ships shriek in mortal fear and agony as the small ship appears in their scanners out of nowhere. Others immediately fled though many jerked their crews off their feet as every Chaos vessel immediately change course to face the small ship that looks mightily unimpressive against the Chaos armada. Yet as they turn towards it, one singular word keeps on repeating through their souls and beings.
"Anathema!"
"Anathema!"
"Anathema!"
"Anathema!"
"Anathema!"
…
Author's Note: This story would be about twenty chapters I think. For the Warhammer 40K community, please help me along the way since although I am good at the lore.I am not perfect especially during the Indominus era. This story would range unto twenty chapters.
First of All: I need to know. Who are the remaining Primarchs that are alive and not daemonized? Also the ones who are daemonized if it's okay to ask? So that I can put them in the next chapters