Frode huffed an irritated breath, something that he probably shouldn't have been able to do in robot form.

"So, it's going to be one of those days." he sighed.

Releasing a drone to maintain the time field for the others, he stepped a good distance away and relaxed his own timefield, skipping across the temporal currents until he found one that was moving much faster than 'real' time. And then he overclocked his mind.

The sounds of battle droned deeper and flicked into silence as he sped up, relative motion freezing.

With that, he set to work.

First, the framework of portals appeared. Then metal started streaming out of them as they flickered to life, glowing softly in the weird half-light of Nurgle's Garden. Shapes began to form, some humanoid, some not, ranging from slightly bulkier than average quadrotor drones less than a metre across, to a quartet of behemoths standing nearly a kilometre and a half tall, two humanoid, two animalistic, a tyrannosaur and a scorpion. Two squads of tanks appeared as well... if the term 'tank' can really be applied to the aircraft-carrier sized Bolo Mk. XXXIII Planetary Siege Unit. Each one boasted no less than three of the absurd plasma cannon that Frode was wielding, with a host of lesser weapons.

In the air, five battalions of Dalek-shells formed, with an equivalent number of the spherical Mechanoid robots. Squadrons of Seekers and Sweeps formed, energon weapons beginning to glow evilly even as they were coming into being. A quartet of battle TARDISes formed also, their morphic shells beginning to sprout weaponry as their time missiles poked out of their launch silos. Nimrod Sentinels hovered, no less menacing for being pale pink, and their lesser brethren, the standard Sentinels, crashed to the ground in the standard superhero pose before straightening to their full five stories tall. And circling far above, a swarm of silvery flying-saucer drones the size of dinner plates swarmed so thickly that they were impossible to count, blurring away at absurd speeds after a moment.

From the outside, it would have appeared that Frode walked half a kilometre or so away (insofar as such a statement has any meaning in the Warp), blurred, and was suddenly standing at the head of tens of thousands of robots, from smaller than a human, to the size of a small mountain.

Re-synching the timelines, the mechanical army stepped forwards as one, the ground rumbling like an earthquake, and then, bizarrely, began to sing as they marched.

Moving with deceptive speed, the ground forces closed to firing range barely behind the aerial forces. And then space between demon and robot turned white as beams of every conceivable colour blended together, lashing across the daemon forces and evaporating the daemons five ranks deep over an enormous swathe of their front line. The massive robots followed their withering barrage barely a heartbeat later, engaging the larger daemons and mostly ignoring the human-scale ones, except to shake what was left of them off their 'boots' when traction started to become an issue.

Glitchlings, jumping gleefully into this onrushing tide of technology, found themselves abruptly isolated and destroyed as they discovered to their horror that every single chromed body was still firmly in the control of Frode's powers, and would do nothing Frode didn't want them to.

The battle in Frode's area quickly became a melee, with exotic weaponry blazing out of it every so often as a daemon vaporized rather than resisting the beam as long as expected, or a missile rose out to plunge back in with a roar that left brief openings half a kilometre across in the endless tide of daemons. Brief vignettes became visible as the writhing mass of pestilence and chrome heaved and boiled. Here a Great Unclean One is being grabbed by the arms by a squadron of the mighty Sentinels and torn unceremoniously in half. A strafing run by Seekers blasts open another brief window, and an Imperial Knight of Nurgle suddenly finds itself no longer in control of its own limbs as Frode's powers seize it, power sword crashing through a horde of Nurglings. Hundreds of Dalek-shells synchronize fire, lethal beams walking across the battlefield, and through the storm of energy can briefly be seen Trypticon's building-sized claws crashing down on the hapless daemons, crushing them by the hundreds.

And as the last of his gleaming ranks swirled past him, Frode rose into the sky with an oddly amused cant to his posture. Hovering in clear sight of his allies, he slashed his arm downwards, and the sky cracked. In a huge sphere with the Blighted Mansion of Misery and Mirth as the centre, the small silvery saucer-drones linked fields in a monstrous Blank field, a hollow sphere with 'walls' one hundred metres thick cutting off the giant chunk of Nurgle's domain from the greater warp completely.

Frode laughed and picked up the song again, stooping like a hunting falcon into the battle.