She who lives in her name, the principle of hierarchy

And so it came to pass, in the day when those with the power to do so tried to contain the 10000 Spheres, all alit with the fires of her name, corraling them into Malfeas, she swung her own essence like a scything sword, her nature of authority, of hierarchy blazing with the light of a million suns, her wrath like nothing that had been seen before. Against her would-be captor, the lobotomy victim that used to be her lover, or so it would seem to those of us that were there, she swung, and reality itself bent from the force of the blow, where it didn't burn and fizzle from the incandescent rage of her fury.

— The memories of the last days of the beginning, the sacrament of the end.

"Such fools. To think I would give into the flesh I do not have? And with Malfeas at that?" She murmured to herself, a giant made of glass globes, dancing around one another. Ninety-nine-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-seven of them, to be precise. "Now, Theion-who-holds-in-thrall, perhaps, but not this weak facsimile. This defeated remnant, corpse-cathedral to his defeat."