As the Painter was speaking, the Audience in its face, each of them the size of the Origin Tree, began to spit their poison… their flavor into its infinite hands, and he cupped them in its palm.
The entirety of the Grand Void was reverberating with the weight of the flavor that was erupting from the body of the Painter.
Eos expected something… but even his vast mind could not expect this… the Painter was not in the tenth dimension… it was in the eleventh!
In many ways, he thought that the tenth dimension was the last; there could not be anything deeper than the Substrates. However, while that may be the case, he forgot to account for the fact that quantitative improvements could lead to qualitative changes.
