The entire terrain set by the Pantheon began to twist and distort.
It buckled where his Intent touched it, the rigid golden grid warping, and then, impossibly, it began to change into something else. His Intent and his Osmontian Source Infinity asserted his own weavings onto the surrounding existence, overwriting the overwrite, and where the cold geometric law had been, glorious stellar seas of blue Mana began to bloom. Cerulean oceans surged across the flattened golden planes, and from them rose farmland, rich dark soil and growing things, the homely impossible sight of crops spreading across a war-sky, the signature of his Prime Cause of Harvest made manifest.
The straight locked air loosened into living wind. The chessboard drowned under a rising blue tide of his own making, until fully half of the altered region had shifted out from under Vularch Sethis and become, unmistakably, Noah's.
