Pachamama felt the intruder. A giant. A maker. She rumbled with Mother's Tremor, shifting the Andes to block his path. She summoned the Terracecraft to bury his feet in stone.
Pangu stood tall, holding the sky with one hand and his axe in the other. World-Bearing Endurance. He looked down at the shifting mountains.
To him, they were not obstacles. They were texture.
The Architect
"The earth is too close to the sky here," Pangu noted. His voice was thunder. "It needs room."
Pachamama lashed out with Ayni's Blessing, trying to overgrow him with vines and jungle.
Pangu ignored the vegetation. He swung his axe. Cosmic Cleave.
He didn't hit Pachamama. He hit the space between the ground and the air. He forced them apart, expanding the world. The force of the expansion stretched the land, flattening the terraces and calming the tremors.
Pachamama found herself part of a newer, larger design. She subsided, recognizing that while she ruled the soil, he had built the room in which she lived.