Frode allowed himself a moment of amusement at the various daemons' reaction to his graffiti. Sensing through his network that the City-Titans had the Mansion in hand for the moment, he allowed the bulk of his consciousness to move away from them and make certain that things were proceeding apace with the other mechanoids. 'Feeling' a horde of Dalek-shells atomize a flight of Rot Grubs, then sterilize the ground below them so that the Ocean of Rot boiled into putrid steam before the steam was atomized in the plasma stream from one of the giant Bolo tanks.

Overall, his segment of the battlefield seemed to be doing alright, so he decided to give vent to his pettiness once more, casually booting the more venturesome daemons that were attempting to attack his ankles away before rising into the air for a better view. His drone-formation Cornucopia of Death rotated, then, in conjunction with his sanctified Hellbore plasma cannon, started carving various chemical formulae and DNA encodings into the landscape down to five hundred metres deep, bleach, antiseptic, antibacterials, even the encoding for white blood cells becoming vast, yawning chasms as deep as they were wide, every letter twenty kilometres tall.

As he worked, he kept a wary eye on Alexandra. His psionic abilities weren't really on the same wavelength as hers, but the lightshow was a pretty broad hint that something big was going down. Hopefully she let him in on whatever was going on so that he could back her up, if the need arose, or even so he could just be a more effective distraction.