After idly watching the vampire and Primordial for some time with no notable changes occurring, Atlas sighed out of boredom.
He couldn't do anything more after spending all of his divinity points. Now, all that was left was the mundane- watching the little people perform their everyday tasks or wander for endless hours.
Once all the major events had settled, peace had returned. Even the new danger he’d placed on the Western continent wasn’t acting up. It was just slowly consuming, slowly growing.
Burp.
Atlas mindlessly tossed his sixth beer can over his shoulder. It fell through the floor into the endless galaxies below. He watched it disappear before his gaze rose to his apartment, floating in the abyss, his vision swaying slightly.
"Fuckin’ can't imagine doing a drunk driver’s test on this kind of floor," Atlas hiccupped, lifting a foot and touching his nose in pretend.
The galaxies spun in his vision- well, more than they already did- as he stumbled slightly. Wisp watched, shaking its head in disappointment but saying nothing.
"Hey, Wisp," Atlas slurred. "Are there any other godly things I can do? Lift meteors? Throw lightning? Descend like a titan and kick over mountains like playdough?"
His fingers pinched together as he imagined holding a tiny human up by the scruff and giving it a little shake. "Like toy soldiers coming to life."
"Perhaps Weaver Atlas should get some rest."
"Perhaps you should shut up!" Atlas slurred, a tinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "This stupid job—I don't even get paid for it."
Grumbling under his breath, Atlas swayed around the conjured projection.
It was still the same.
A globe, now encased in a metal chassis and metal rails surrounding it. Consoles for accessing different control panels were placed against the rails. Even if he wanted to do something in his drunken stupor, he had no points left to cause mayhem.
Atlas sucked in air through his teeth before bellowing out, "Hey, Wisp! How’s the magic and stuff done in this world?"
"What do you mean, Weaver?" Wisp sighed, chirping unenthusiastically as it flew over.
"How’s it work?" he slurred again, his words somewhat broken. "Y’know, the system, like this." He waved erratically at the globe.
Wisp hesitated before responding slowly. "There is no defined system in place. While I cannot disobey Weaver Atlas, I highly recommend waiting until you sober up."
"Nonsense! Let's start now! What does it look like currently?!"
The globe flashed with a vibrant display of colors before a subtle blue hue spread across the landmasses. Different areas varied in gradient and depth, while others were barren of color.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Wisp continued, though it clearly chose its words carefully.
"These colors represent the density of magic throughout your world. There is currently no direct conduit or transference of magic running through the world- so its current generation is erratic."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Conduits! Got it."
While Wisp clamped its beak shut, Atlas giggled stupidly, a wide grin spreading across his face. His eyes settled on the Primordial Mountain, sticking out like a sore thumb with majestic creatures circling it.
Atlas’s hands got to work, his head rolling around absentmindedly. "I bet if these people saw me, they’d be madly impressed."
"A few finger pokes and I got their magic sorted. They’ll be awed by my- how do they see me?" His head lolled back. "How do they see me, Wisp?"
"I do not know," Wisp shook its head. "No one has tried to peer into the beyond yet or practice theurgy."
"Aaaah, let's get that sorted. My name is perfect for their beady little mortal eyes!"
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As Atlas’s drunken stupor led him on a journey of haphazardly altering the world’s very fabric of creation for magical creatures, the world began to shift abruptly.
Magic, which once flourished and spawned at random, now flowed into unseen rivers.
The mountain where the Primordials made their home became the focal point. Mana rivers branched out from the mountain, stretching across the world. Streams, acting as both outlets and tributaries, webbed out from these rivers, spreading mana further in a complex network.
Such a change to the magic of the world affected certain regions. The furthest coasts of the eastern and western continents became less rich with mana, while, as one approached the Primordial lands, the air thickened with it.
The result was that more wildlife- subtly and openly using magic- began springing up the closer one traveled to the central landmass. Meanwhile, older species farther away retained their magical properties, but magic became less powerful and dense.
Some creatures noticed, others didn’t.
Those that didn’t- the Dark Elves, who used Red Mist, a variant that didn’t mix with the world’s mana, dwarves who had yet to develop their Arcane crafts, and humans along with most beastkin- continued about their daily lives completely unaware.
The Primordial beings, however, noticed the shift and felt pride swelling inside. Even the Black Dragon, who despised and hated his own kin out of jealousy, felt a twinge of pride that it was his species that had been chosen.
Elves looked to the earth, not quite understanding but sensing the change. No longer was magic as easy as breathing- it had become currents they had to draw upon. Magic still lingered in the air, but it was no longer so pungent.
Meanwhile, on the corrupted land, the Smiling Tree of Wishes groaned and cracked. Within moments, the already massive tree grew several meters taller, its roots spreading further, covering the entire landmass.
The entire landmass now fell under the Smiling Tree’s influence, whereas before, one could land on the shores and avoid immediate detection. Even some of the sea creatures surrounding it became tainted due to the influx of mana.
And upon exiting the planetary view- if one wished to scry upon the gods or observe the world’s astral projections- Atlas fiddled with that too.
True to his name, in a faint blue hue, a humanoid figure now walked around the sun, expression tightened under the strain, carrying the planet on its back while his hands turned it. It was not entirely the same, however.
While the figure was bent over like the traditional Atlas, the globe rested on what would have been his upper traps—but his back mirrored his front. His rear reflected his frontal features exactly.
What would have been the back of his head instead mirrored his face. His arms weren’t contorted to balance the strain of the world on his traps but rather held it like a heavy stone pressed against his chest.
A faint, radiant thread of magic twisted from Atlas’s astral-projected form's forehead, wrapping around the planet to maintain constant contact with the Primordial Mountain’s peak.
When Atlas observed specific points on the globe, the astral projection’s eyes followed. Otherwise, it remained fixated on the Primordial Mountain, even if it was on the other side of the world.
And despite all of these changes- the mayhem and grandeur he had created- no one knew it was the result of Atlas’s drunken stupor as he continued to meddle with the world.