Jumpers vs. 40k IC1: Worst. Isekai. Ever.

[TeChameleon]

Frode stared at the oncoming maelstrom, then grunted.

The groundbound mechanical troops shifted a little, and their various wheels and treads vanished as they rose slightly into the air on repulsors and antigravity. Frode's initial portals reappeared, and more material streamed out, at first appearing crystaline and glowing green, before shifting to a more metallic appearance as it coated the various non-cybertronian constructs. Cybertonium, the living metal that birthed the race of Transformers, could go for more than ten million years without the slightest sign of wear. While Nurgle could undoubtedly get through it eventually, it would slow him down some, at least in theory.

With that taken care of, Frode floated a bit clear of the melee and sat cross legged in midair, clearly thinking, though his almost entirely covered robotic face gave no real hints as to what those thoughts might be. Then he muttered "Thank goodness Ororo was bored that one day and let me study her powers some..." and gestured, two large-ish grenades leaping out and away to crash open near the edge of the oncoming death-fog, two huge vortexes forming in the sky as a pair of weirdly-stationary tornadoes spring to life, diverting the gases away from the group temporarily.

"Those won't last for long." Frode announced through the communicators he had built. Hopefully Alexandra could pick up his transmission as well, somehow. "I have at least one more trick I can try as well, before we go in, but if anyone has a way to stabilize the air after a lot of it goes away, it would help."

Then he unfolded himself from his sitting position to strike a dramatic pose in midair, one fist clenched, the other arm outstretched towards Nurgle's Mansion as every metallic element in the onrushing mist of disease and contagion and thickening ocean swirled out, viruses denaturing as vital elements vanished, poisons abruptly going inert as they were radically altered on an atomic level, and the entire mess going oddly sludgy for a moment as Frode's powers worked.

The metals thus stolen swirled like ink in water for a moment before creating a double line of silvery spheres from the edge of where the fog had been, to The Blighted Mansion itself. Nurgle would begin reasserting his control of his domain in minutes or even seconds, but for the moment, Frode's Omega-level powers held the ominously-hovering spheres locked in place like they had been nailed to the sky.

"The best idea I have for clearing a path to the Mansion through all this crap is going to be very, very loud, and might even destabilize the Warp. I'm hoping somebody else' abilities can do a more subtle job of it?" Frode called over comms. "A tiny effort of will, and every one of those spheres is converted directly to energy. I don't know if you've heard of total conversion bombs before, but suffice to say that the end result is... well, let's just say that this army wouldn't be a problem anymore. It's not something I like to do, as it leaves me with a miserable headache, and it solves problems... well, the problems might be gone, but so is everything else in the general vicinity, including the general vicinity. Cracking the planet you're standing on might be a novel way to solve problems, but it typically introduces a whole lot of new problems."