If you imagine reality as planes, then you can clearly see the sheet of metal I describe.
The Master Smith bends reality to his will in this way. He folds and bends it into shapes to suit his whims. He engraves grooves along which we move, in intricate, spiraling, unknown patterns. Perhaps he adds pieces of other materials, or links the pieces into intricate puzzles of strapping, chain, and layering. He makes a beautiful work of art to his specifications.
Every so often there are mistakes.
The Smith has apprentices. They mold reality as well, with far less finesse than their Master. They bend the planes to their whims, lacking knowledge or power, and fold imperfectly. The imitate their Master eagerly, but the things which they create, they create with flaws.
Sometimes, in fixing a flaw, you make more.
You hit the material, trying to smooth out a ridge, and in doing so, more ripples form. You end with a hole where the material wore too thin, or cracks and breaks where you bent the plane at unsustainable angles. You can patch your mistake, but it will not approach the perfect, pristine beauty of the plane the Master Maker first gave you to work with.
At what point do you throw the piece away and start with more? At what point to you call “Apocalypse,” and throw the broken pieces of Reality in the trash?
Do those tied to the broken plane of Reality have a hope of fixing it?