But as Apedemak and Zakaz turned their attention elsewhere, they left behind a scene of carnage. Mountain ranges, crushed and trampled, their centers carved into new valleys; forests split in half; and everywhere pools of blood, from both gods, red puddles sprouting with new life.
And it was all wrong. Nothing natural should look quite like this. The Librarian pulled an old map out of her pocket, and began to make corrections. Jagged edges on mountainsides smoothed into erosion valleys; crushed forests softened into peat bogs. And pools of blood, as it were, separated, iron seeping into rich red clay, water running into rivulets and lakes.
Slowly, she observed, there was no longer a battlefield; simply lakes and rivers that had combined into one body of water running from the center of the continent to the sea. Mountains and forests parted where water ran through them, natural drainage shifted, as erosion and rich soil turned the water a ruddy orange. And, in the half-darkness—for there was still no sun, in those days—Zakaz's newest children flourished in the new ecosystem: bioluminescent algae, converting iron and sulfur into glowing light; fish that swam in the depths, and insects on the surface, themselves glowing from metabolism of the algae they ate.
Seeing her work done, the Librarian turned to her map, and named the new places that had come to exist.
Librarian spends 1 AP to create the Sea of Fire, a bioluminescent inland sea connected by rivers to the coast