Aloud, Frode commented "Less taunting, more curiousity at the apparent hypocrisy; if death is such a gift, why do you resist your own with such vigour?"

Via the comms, he buzzed Edward. "Those fat daemons popping out gave me a teleport trace." as he spoke, Edward's comm device vibrated slightly as a thicker mist of nanobots poured out, forming a small portal, barely large enough for Edward to dive through headfirst "This portal will get you inside the palace; just be careful. I've pushed it as far away from them as I dare, but it will still drop you very close to wherever those great fat things went."

Seeing the renewed attack, he huffed another irritated breath. Calculations whirled, and the double line of shining orbs split apart, then the orbs themselves started splitting apart into smaller units, surfaces wriggling in an odd fashion. Moving with blurred speed, they arranged themselves into a vast grid pattern, the same height and length as the tidal wave of skunge.

Frode waited a moment, commenting out loud "Tell me, Nurgle, have you ever heard the phrase 'at-fault divorce'?" And then the spheres detonated with an oddly flat "whack" sound, the forcefields that had been built into them shaping the explosion to go entirely one direction.

The wave vanished in a cloud of spray and steam as nearly five gigatons of energy met it going the opposite direction, any daemons between explosion and wave simply vanishing as they either vaporised or were smashed by the awesome overpressure. Winds that could scour steel howled down the new canyon Ensara had created, diverted skyward at the near end by an angled forcefield, and the death-fog was torn to patchy shreds, although not fully dissipated.

While all this was happening, Frode's forces were returning fire on the daemons, and he sacrificed a few outriders to the entropic barrage. Huh. Something like 10,000 years of aging in a single blast, at least in the larger ones. Impressive, but you'd need at least a thousand hits to overcome the cybertonium shells on my mechs, even if I weren't constantly repairing them. Buuuut...

He reached out into the mutable time of the warp, seeking with esoteric senses until he found what he was looking for, a stream of reversed time. Teasing it out of the larger Warp and pulling it towards him, he guided the flow between the two opposing forces and intensified it, and suddenly the entropic blasts were working backwards, healing and repairing where they struck.

Of the various diseases, the biological ones could be utterly ignored by Frode and his forces. The rust diseases could find no purchase on the cybertonium hides of the various mechs, and the mind-altering diseases were thwarted by a combination of perks and powers. The puppeteer spores were blocked or annihilated by Frode's shields, and any attempts they made to puppet his mecha were summarily ignored as Frode's own powers overruled anything they could do to manipulate the metallic soldiers, right up until the 'bots morphed decontaminators into existence and destroyed the fungal infections. And the Witch-Curse... that had to be handled a little more carefully. Frode rode the surge, then carefully funnelled the extra power into the Eye of Harmony that was his heart, the roaring cascade of energy not even registering as a blip in the limitless flow of the artifact that powered all of Time Lord society.

The sheer bulk of Nurgle's mansion was beginning to dislodge some of the Blank Drones, but his magic would find no purchase against their null field; and even if Nurgle's sheer power could force its way through, he would find that they were very well built indeed.

And through all the chaos and mayhem, Frode's gleaming cohorts soared or glided above the fetid ocean, weapons thundering as daemons were mowed down like wheat. If he was going to be a distraction, he was going to be the kind of distraction that left craters.