Gynegean Stress Management


Written by Septia.


Three hours past T. Cion scooched lime hued pieces across a metallic grid, jotting down the expected positions. She kept her fingers lingering on the last piece. Eyes darted between the squads represented on the map, then towards her notes. The commander's antennae quivered with a ruffle of delicate fluff. She let it go, putting her palm to her temple with a slough back into her seat, forehead folding in deep grooves. 
	“My chicks are stronger than this,” she said, with her conviction wavering; a feather before a storm. Thoughts wandered towards her troops: capable, resourceful, and deep into hostile territory… What thoughts intended to calm Cion, did anything but. 
	-Chfhrlpggbgush- -Cbfowfht- A growl surged form her midriff. A shift in her core with a vague protrusion contoured on her side. This pathetic display yanked Cion to her senses. One relief Cion had to look forward to was when her body was finished with its maceration of her meal. If it was any similar to the species in question or the latent fumes of digestion lingering in her office, the end result would be stubborn. This, unlike the species, was something she looked forward to savour. She was surprised that there was any stamina left in her meal by now. She hooked a finger under her belt trawling it up from her waist over the domed middle and… -Snntchchpllpgbsush- letting it snap back, the belt clamping into her distended abdomen and sinking in to clutch divide the lump into two, semi-segmented bulges. Vibrations coursed from her stomach back through her spine. This seemed to do the trick. Trick… Her mind wander to Trixia, peering to the desk, seeing the guise of her daughter superimposed on the pieces. 
She rose, her stomach lagging behind with a heft of its stored bulk -Chglpthtshg-. 


T plus three thirty. She brought up a summary of the efforts on a display. Cion began flipping between statistics, concerning not only their current inter-planetary engagement, but the whole. Tribute statistics from planets in active protection, natural resources, birth rate. She compared the volume of rations coming her way, cross examining it with her active forces. The number would not add up. This was unavoidable. The stalemate had prolonged their efforts far past predicted estimates. She brought up the map of the region of interest. Flicking through the advances each day. Seeing the area of influence expand outwards from their base. Some days moving back, but steadily growing. Until… Cion kept flicking through daily updates watching the number change but the area remaining static. So, day after day, it was growing, yet… she could not afford to let this effort become a war of cents. 
	Her eyes glanced back to the allotted rations, then towards the strategic map. She picked up a handful of pieces, observing them in her palm, then placing them aside. Perhaps the rations would suffice… Was this what the other ruling houses wanted to tell her? She clenched her teeth. By instinct, straightening her back, taking in a deep breath. Such matters were a waste to consider at this time. -Ghhfrlprsgsh- Her stomach tightened, the lumps dressing her midsection smoothing another cent. It brought a certain peace to her thoughts; in the end even a tough meal would digest, and this would pass, as it always had. It always had… 


“Lady vun'Aran,” came from outside the door. Soon, the officer entered Cion's chamber. 
	“At ease, Kuldea,” Cion instructed her, closing the distance between them. 
	“Our squads have made a return.” 
	Cion's antennae twitched. “They have all rejoined us safely?” 
	Kuldea left the questioned hanging. 
	Cion took in the silence.
	The officer fidgets, and brings up a report. “Beta and delta are still-.” 
	“I understand," Cion interrupted, adjusting her collar. 
	“Will you speak with them?”
	“I Certainly shall. You expect me to forego an opportunity to appraise my darlings?” 


~ 1 ~


 -Ppfbbrrwpth- A flutterring well of fumes ruffled through the ranks, the air doused in a bout of toasted scales and methane marinated in liquid. The Responsible soldier's rear inflated around her hips to mark her as the culprit. 
	“Phuuf, Grifild that's foul.” 
	“Oh shut it you,” Grifild stretched, “what do you think hours of tension does to a gut?” -Fbhrroosffth-. A second flood of fumes filtered through the deflating suit. “Don't tell a girl to stop because yours cannot campoare.” 
	“Least I have the decency to hold them.” 
	“You definitely don't.” 
	A cheerful mood spread through the crowd. Several squads rejoining in the hangar, at attention and in full uniform, though their attitude severely relaxed. 
	It was this mood which greeted Cion upon entry. Along with the faint tang of fermentation. A number of the soldiers sported guts busy with various stages of digestion, less than half in total, but promising numbers. 
	“You have nothing to complain about, you've got your fill for the coming days, I haven't had a meaty meal in a week and I know we brought back a fair number of the juicy savages.” 
	“Someone thinking of knocking themselves up?” 
	“They're pretty impressive, I bet they'd suit you.” 
	“Pha, thas if, I want them because I know there'se not anything of value in there, and all will go straight through me~.” 
	“You are no't wrong.” Another one piped in and patted her stomach, which still sloshed and -Cbhrrplgphts- stretched to and fro from struggles in her midriff. 
	Kuldea sent out a buzz from their antenna. “Lady Vun'Aran on sight,” she called out. 
	Their eyes gathered towards her. 
	Cion held up a palm  smiling, “At ease, my darlings. I shall not be so prudent as to interrupt, I merely wish to see my dears happy, rather than a stack of stiff loboid limbs.” The building’s tension receded as the squads resumed chatting, discussing the operation, some bumping their guts together in a playful contest. Levity was an effective way to process. A clear atmosphere provided safety and security, contributing to an aura of confidence befitting their competence. As she stopped Cion could hear some shuffling from the crow, two of her soldiers coercing a third to get into the spotlight. -Chhbrgllpgsh- -Bvgkprshgs- One whose stomaching was acting as a plow to wedge them through the crowd, broad enough so she couldn't get her arms around it. 
	“What do I spy here? If not a particularly healthy harvest you are sporting.” Cion said. 
	At those words the woman's resistance petered out, standing tall and shifting to show her the protruding mountain of blubber in profile. “My sincerest thanks, Lady Vun'aran, I managed to down three of the brutes, a tight squeeze but well worth it… Hope the toilets will be enough for her though.” 
	“Yeah, save some space or the rest of us.” 
	“The soldier smirked and ground her palms beneath her gut,“Sorry, ladies. You'll have to take it up with these jerks, thou they'll be available in the lavatory in, hmmmmf, about therefor hours.” -Chglprhgs- -Clgghoghs- The stomach rumbled, clashing and sloshing together as a litter of slimy salamanders. “Make that three hours.” 
	“Quite impressive. You always make me proud, it elates me when you manage to impress, wont you say?” Cion affirmed, seeing Prastuol's stiff antennae vibrate on the casual mention of her name. 
	“I''ll strive to impress you, each and every day, for Lady vun'Aran and our grand empire.”
	They were all smiling at her. So Cion had to smile as well. Just as she was about to turn… 
	“Excuse me, I have, one request.”, Prastuol added, her stomach -Cbhrrkpgsh- growling in sluggish jostled, “It gets a bit, droll to only eat one species, and I'm aware there's talk of Caceumycin shipments today. Could I, still be granted my share?” 
	Cion's eyes snapped down to the gut. On an excursion of that magnitude, she'd be sufficient for days, in these times she would be fine for weeks. They knew how rations were distributed. Though, they had not seen the same reports as Cion. Everyone knew what to expect from her answer, an explanation of the systems in place, perhaps a cheeky jab at someone so stuffed asking for more. 
	“I, for one, gladly treat those who impress me so, darling,” she turned to face them. . You will have to wait and see for yourself, darling.” Cion peered along the hangar, inspecting them. She found scars in suits, and bandages hidden behind arms and palms. She made no comment. Until her eyes jutted back, lading on something, honed in on something, peculiar. A soldier she didn't recognize. A chiselled, oval face, and antennae straight and black, but covered in a thin layer of fuzz. 
	“Did we miss someone?” Cion whispered to Kuldea. 
	“Miss Lady Vun'Aran,” came from the girl. So much for being discreet. 
	“Would you be a dear and come over, let your commander have a look at you.” 
	She did. Aside from the suit being muddied by the environment, and her hair scuffed, she showed no signs of injury. 
	“It gladens me to see you unscathed, however, it puzzles me that I cannot place your face,” she said and held the girl’s cheek, “with any of my other chicks.” Mimicry and shape alterations weren't reported from the Bavonich planet, yet it was not unheard-of in this sector. 
	“Sorry about that, I should have signed in properly, there wasn't much time…” 
	Classic excused. Cion's eyes glossed over, scrutinizing how the enemy had managed to infiltrate their defences. Was this the plan from the beginning? How could she ensure that-. 
	“Venstrel, My mother, still has a bad leg from last time, so I am here to fill in for her.” 
	“Oh.” Cion didn't realise her utterance had been aloud until she saw their reaction. She released the girl. 
	“If that is the case, shall we have your official inscription now, what is your name?” 
	“Yotja, Lady Vun'Aran. Pleased to serve, and I am of age now, happy to give my all to secure Bavonich.” 
	“You sound eager, how long have you waited for this moment of sublime honor?” 
	“Since I was born.” 
	“Certain?” 
	“It has always been a-.” 
	Cion's thoughts wandered as the young soldier provided further details, Kuldea documenting it beside her. To confuse one of her own, one brimming with life and attitude, not unlike her own apprehensive chick, she could spot many of Trixia's facial features on her. She shook her head, how paranoid was she getting to… then, something caught her attention. “Your date of birth…?” 
	“Yeah?” 
	“That matches the start of our previous campaign, sixteen cycles ago.” 
	“You betcha, I was born just after we took off.” 
	This was not out of the ordinary. Many were born during campaigns. It was looked down upon, as providing for a young, post and during incubation, the need for sustenance increased. Yet it could also contribute further soldiers. Born, on a military vessel, having never seen their home, until they returned from conquest. 
	“I see.” Cion said. She leaned down, enough to stay level with Yotja, breaking her imposing stature. 
	“I am assured you grasp the cause we are fighting for. Without brave darlings, competent ones such as yourself, we would be on thin ice. But of course, there is no need to fear, is there?” 
	Yotja demeanor wilted, a dash of worry creeping in. 
	“Look around you, darling. I see a gorgeous group of girls, brave fighters, who stop for no obstacle, and can gobble any whom oppose them.” Cion stood tall, addressing the crowd with a voice that reached throughout the halls. “And doubt leaves my mind, whenever I think of you beautiful, gorgeous darlings. And as you continue to impress me, my heart only fills with joy, and conviction. Bavonich will come under our protection, and you will all eat well, all shall have their fill on Lady Vun'Aran's watch. So if you had your fill or not, today, savour the day, and savour an expanded ration. Celebrate, for Bavonich is soon ours, in the name of the grand matron herself, we will succeed.” 
	Cheers swelled through the hangar, other soldiers joining in, be they in active or inactive service. Morale was high. 
	It felt strange to invoke the Grand matron's name, though the effects were apparent. She peered over back to Yotja. This campaign would end, and she would be allowed home. 
	“Don't worry, lady. I will continue to impress you, every day, every year, all my life I will follow you to glory.” She called out. 
	Cion's heart sank, just one hatch down. She gave a nod. This was what she needed, what was needed, for any of their campaigns to succeed. For now, or for the all those ahead… 


Cion walked with Kuldea down the hangar, being briefed on the results of the latest skirmishes. 
	“How many captured, did you say?” 
	“Four.” 
	“Four hundred? Splendid, that should suffice for-.” 
	“Lady, only four.” 
	“I see. It might be for the best to have our dears pursue sustenance out in the field.” 
	“Lady Vun'aran, they are already-.” 
	“Get ya filthy slime paws off me ya degenerate sludge grobs.” 
	Cion caught the sight of the Bavonian, caught in a doublef nelson by two soldiers, escorting him along. 
	“They can be quite a bother, can't they?” 
	“Yes mam, I was about to tell you about them. He seemed to hold some form of authority.” 
	Cion stopped peering from Kuldea to the scaled, stout brute. “You deliver the news I desired, so... Mind setting up a room for me to talk to them?” 
	“Interrogation chamber, private, I assume?” 
	“You know just how I like them, darling.” 


~ 2 ~


-Ckkdnnth- The gate sealed behind her. The room laid vacant of colour, scrubbed clean and pristine in a dull grey, with not but the shackled Bavonian, kneeling in the center. 
	“You think you can do anything ya want,” he said, his physique smooth and sleek, deceptively hiding reservoirs of muscles. Tubes of liquids grafted to its scales bubbling as he raised his head to meet Cion, “Filthy Gybegebse scum.” 
	“I' would watch your tone.” Cion said, brushing off spittle that had landed on her suit. Or I might see to give it to my chefs, who'll put that muscle to better use than profanities.” 
	“Pheh. How very Xenial for a Gynegenese. So far you have just, Threatened, me with devouring me.” 
	“You speak as if I would not follow through,” Cion said, eyes sharp, grabbing the Bavonian general by the throat, “perhaps I see fit to tear it out myself, I am certain you are familiar with how we don't mind or meals, raw,” with a word she threw him out of her grasp, leaving him heaving and wheezing for air. 
	“Scfrfaah… scum.” 
	Cion huffed. This could take a while. -Gbrhrglpthts- Her stomach rattled in her grasp over her lap. The prisoner honed on the rumbling suit. 
	“You recognize your own? Makes sense by your hive behaviour. There is sparse left to feel of this, filthy, Bavonian though.” Cion said, walking around the general, grabbing and kneading into her abdomen, “should have been here but a few hours ago, they would not stay quiet, such chutzpah, wearing my gut down with such incessant struggles. It was only right I'd do the same to him…and they can repay me, with soothing, relieving lavatorial trip later, all I've ever had to thank one of your race for.” 
	“Think we'll have the upper hand, we've got you in our claps.” he spat out, still wheezing from Cion's choke hold. 
	“I certainly not, I only expect that you melt as well as this morsel, should you not comply.” She said, and felt the smog knot her bowels, standing straight with her rear in their general direction, just as the mounting pressure broke past her barrier… -Bbfrororpppffffhfhhrrht- a flood of sultry vapours poured free into the chamber. Cion's suit strapped taut to her rear, only allowing faint bubbles to sprout up and traverse along her cheeks before they filtered out into the air around them. The emission of fumes holding long enough for the force to build up as an oval protrusion in the center of her crack, the steady steam weaving into the air with a stench of rotting caceumyci husks and leathery dairy jerky. Cion's lips pinched together as she relinquished the stored odours, and near twenty seconds later the bubbling -Bflrlprthhts- -Bffophts- came to an end, leaving her to let out a hefty sigh, exchanging tension for a pickling, gossamer relief. 
	“Phg abgougsh wgoha”. 
	She heard him cough behind her. Certainly a bonus to get some tactical advantage from her relief. Her antenna fluttering as the smog settled. “That is the best I can hope from you, were you not to comply. A few instances of relief for muscles tired of dealing with this waste of a species. Can you see yourself in that scent? Because, when I look at you, it is hard to witness anything more.” 
	“Pfha fbhra. You are sick…” he wheezed. Apparently quite affected by the lingering miasma. 
	“It shames me that we are met with hostility. Younger races know not what comes for them, what horrors are out there. When we said we would protect you, we speak only truth.” 
	“You pfhs, a bastards harvers worlds for sacrifices.” 
	“We receive,” Cion cut off, “tributes, willingly provided. For our service.” She turned, and stared into his eyes. “Our records say Bavonich is a planet with a limited stellar web network. How do you know so much…?” 
	“My people could write books on what you don't know…” 
	It amuses me imagining a Bavonian reading, let alone writing.” 
	“Stop.” 
	Cion paused. 
	“That word…” 
	“Which?” 
	“Bavonians… it s not our name.” 
	“It is your galactic name. Seeing your planet being-.” 
	“Krutkals. We are Krutkals. We do ppfha haa… we do not fmm… claim our planet’s name our own, as those from Geogynegene does…” 
	Cion remained silent. As she faced him. “How do you know so much? There is more to you Bavonians than I would expect. As you have proven over this campaign. I want it to stop. It is wasteful to have our sides fighting. I intend to break that stalemate. You will decide how many further weeks will be needed in securing your surrender.”


A flush of vapours wedged into the silence between them, -Frrffrth- whisps of odour infected the well equipped, closed off interrogation room, with a reek of nut lard distilled into a fomenting alcohol. 
	“Phfha, cohoguhs…” The Bavonian struggled. 
	“It is my belief, that all have their place,” Cion said looming over the shackled captive, “be it yours to stand as an informant, or rot through an unguided tour of my rectum. A decision I provide you alone.” 
	“Hwatffpha... Phaghaa. Hpguaha, does it matter? It doesn't. Ghsa. Phaa.” 
	Cion's antenna stiffened. “Pardon, would you allow me to detail the canvas you have been put to fill in?” she said as she crouched to his level, an arm apart. “Few planets are under a homogeneous rule, there must be factions. Differing stances, thoughts, beliefs. Some, which you would rather be without.” 
	Cion saw the Bavonian's scales shift, vibrating, as he stemmed his coughs. 
	“By your request, those are the factions we shall prefer tributes from. We do not care who, after all. However you, darling, might be so inclined, would you not?” 
	He huffed, scales risen to a tilt; a field of jagged daggers. 
	“You…” 
	“Furthermore,” Cion interrupted, “I will promise not to devour you, despite the burdens you have brought me, and my dear girls. Otherwise… We can always find another…” 
	Then she waited, letting the information settle for the prisoner, allowing them to contemplate this position, their options, few that they now be. Each moment the potency of the gas concentrated; a whisper of their fate. 
	“Southries… they've done us no good. Mad bunch, nearly blew the lid off the powderkeg numerous times… you can take em for all I care.” 
	“I presume we have an agreement?” 
	“Rmg…” 
	“Cion remained silent. 
	“Guess we do…” 
	“Splendid. We desire a swift end to this battle. How are we to proceed, in a manner which will spill the least bile?” 
	The Bavonian peered up at her, grunting. “Really… Yeah… Don want more to suffer. Despite rumors, despite what we say, we ain't invincible.” 
	“As have been proved” Cion said, giving her stomach a nudge. 
	“We build tunnels, beneath battle lines, our soldiers need to recover, swaps out on schedules with those below.” 
	Cion's brow furrowed in contemplation, then raised. “Exceptional, ensuring your front lines-.” 
	“Always ready, always maximum. Wave, after wave.” 
	“So then…” 
	“Disrupt the cycle… the schedule, one wave out of whack, more follow. They'll be defenceless.” 
	“And thus, all lives preserved.” 
	The lizard nodded. 
	Cion granted the captive a smile. “You have been, most helpful, darling.” With a gesture the door opened. “I trust you transcribed eve our discourse?” 
	“Every detail, mam.”
	“Splendid,” she replied as she passed through the threshold. “Oh, and my darling Kuldea, your waist is as thin as a twig, is your sentence sufficient?” 
	“I manage, Lady Vun'aran.” She answered. 
	“Treat yourself, we have a snack bound and ready right inside.” 
	The shackles clanked and rustled as the Bavonian struggled. “Liar, you made a promise.” 
	Cion glanced over her shoulder. “Which I kept, your sorry self will stay far from my own digestive tract. I intend to keep my word, but we have yet to take official offerings, my hands are tied.” Cion said weaving her fingers together, and spreading them apart in a casual wave. Taking her leave as her second in command took to the chamber. 
	“Stop, she promised, awhtw mag-agpwhag Gmrmpgsagmwh.” 
	-Ghlglmpghs- -Osmgpghsgs- Struggles drowned in blooming expanse of starved flesh, as the doors sealed to mute the dampened excursion to a drone of drool and sinew. 


~ 3 ~


Cion peeked towards the entrance of her office; it was properly marked so unsolicited access to her chambers were prohibited. She nodded and withdrew to the bathroom, securing the door. The high commander unbuttoned her pants and uniform, allowing the pants to droop as she plunged her buttocks to smooch the toilet seat. -Bbrfooooooommpffrgllprth- an eruption of smog cascaded through her hind, reverberating in the bowl and having whips of heated emissions whipping up through the crevices not engulfed by her posterior. -Chrrllrhts- Her cheeks rattled and clattered onto the seat under the rush of flatulence, the air around her infused with raw guttural heat. Relinquished stress and brewing discomfort made tactile in a thrust of trunk thunder. 
	“Phaaa…” Cion allowed herself to relax, as her antennae roused to a flitter as she indulged in the lavish smog. “Even the stubborn fall to the patient.” Cion mumbled with her thighs jiggling from the relief. Sprawling to ingrain its roots through her nerves. 
	-Chrlrlpffrpsths- A crinkle of copious corpulence cracked from Cion's canyon. Their pucker rippling into a rhythm from her release, and droplets of colon fluids trickled down the rugouse trenches to fall into the shaken quell-gel in the bowl below. -Pfhhrgchlpgbrhrlsptsh- a flush of seaweed scented exhaust plugged by the creaking cluster of gunk stashed in the swelling pit. What nested behind the lip of her verdant brim had the grace of a hog and the carelessness of a caceumycin. A column, disfigured to a cragged bar wound up through the brim. The peach pink mass dense as rotting bark, clad in few, though dominant ruptures which laid the fractured insides bare to compare with the intestinal polished outer layer. 
	-Chhrth- -Chptpths- It protruded, but reeled back again, wedging Cion's brim wider, forcing her pucker to creep in a broader sprawl over the trunk of decomposing filth. 
	“Fmmgh fhms…” Cion composed herself, gritting her teeth and clasping her palms to her knees to keep them still. -Chrrlsths- -Cpfpfrhrhhth- Despite her efforts, her arms inherited the quiver, spreading up and down her limbs while her brim gaped in the assonance of muddy trudges. Cion doubling over and stared into the floor, for a moment picking out very spec of dust gathered on the ceramics whilst her brim ached and convulsed… 
	“Mmfpahaaa…” She heaved out a shrill howl of relief, straining up with a broad smile curving free under nibbled lips. -Chrlrlpsghhts- her brim blossoming to disgourge the bale of bowel corroded filth. It slammed down into the azure gel below -- as a stake piercing the exposed innards of a ripe citrus. -Chfjrjlpstsh- -Chrlrlthshs- The first hunk of stiff, grime nearly crumbling as dried clay and folding back into the porcelain cup. Though Cion's rear still nursed forth a mast of grime, trudging forwards with the pace of her fluttering pit. -Chrprlspfhhts- -chrlprsths- Her pucker spluttered to a spasm as alongside a bundle of fomenting suds billowed forth, spreading in a rippling cascade of methane trapped in a clustered web of gellating bubbles. 
	“Mfm,” Cion quivered, breathing out to pose her posture, expression still contorted in relief beyond her comprehension. The suds glistened, a prismatic dew reminisced of boiling oils and fume infused dairy. The spreading, shimmering hue hinting towards shades of amber, matching that of the Bavonian inhabitant's scales, the impregnable hull molten and reduced to a flatulence filled moss drawn out along with the creaking bar of coagulated sludge. The further along her dung crept free, the creamier its consistency became. From stale wood to rotten bark, from clay to putty, the filth sloughed free with clefts of ragged ruptured spiral as it folded free of Cion's hatch. The evaporated scale suds drawn out and gummed into the clefts of the gruel, pockets. The sight reminiscent of tree branches infested with parasitic mushrooms. -Chrlrls- A particularly broad, siphoned bale of the muck lodged itself at Cion's pucker, Dropping clusters of gutter foam in sporadic -Chfllprrsthh- spatter of gas fuelled spurts. 
	“Mmf…” Cion mumbled, musing over how their enemy in such a state still managed to ravage her bowels. A sensation she ravished in, immersing herself in the surges of a filling strain thrumming from the bale. Her antennae jittering at the concentrated methane air with an undertone of crisp fried meat to the bowel brewn lizard bog air consuming her bathroom. -Chrlrplsth-… -Chrlrpsufsss- _Churlrlrsths- A fracture in the dense grime budded, and cleaved apart at the seams, the bulge draining with a blackened phlegm percolating out in tethered globules of clotted bile, all of which dove into the quell-gel beneath, swallowed and contained along with the stubborn grime. Within the gel the muck laid preserved, trapped as a fossil in amber, and in the casing of azure giving the remains an air of preservation and importance. -Spflprrthsh- With the bile drained the husk of mortar squeezed together and drooled past Cion's hatch, expelled to the stuffed swamplands encapsulated in the gel, every cent of gruffled, cracks etched in mud engulfed by the bales of displaced goo, sealing away potential harmful chemicals, but porous enough to vent the raw musk of decomposing loam through the lavatory. 
	Cion leaned, reclining back on the porcelain throne, getting a sample of the fat of her meal, as stress and worry melted off. 


~ 4 ~


-Rrzzzcth- Cion strapped back into her uniform, adjusting her belt over her flat middle, the strap adjusting its circumference. She reached for the door. Then paused, as her antennae bobbed and flicked from side to side. She jutted out her hind… -Pbfbrrofffth- a breeze of brine and mud filtered through the inflating fabric, porousing the effusions of flatulence from her bowels. 
	“Mmf, splendid.” She noted, sampling the miasma cultivating in the chamber, indulging herself as it settled enough for her to leave the lavatory. There was quite a lot of business to attend to, drawing up new plans of infiltration; securing the right squads for the job; getting defences ready, cracking the Baonian's schedules wide open. But all that could wait, for just a moment, as the result of taking care of this business instilled her with confidence, glee. The War for Bavonich, would enter its final verse.