defies ethniu

Ethniu began striding forward, her giant form taking steps that would have made mine look like a toddler’s. “Yield!” she bellowed, and the force of it sent the skirt of Mab’s battle-mail dress flying backwards along with the unicorn’s unreasonably silken mane and tail, and Mab’s bloody starlit hair. “Bow!”
The force of will that condensed on Mab in that word was so dense that I thought it was going to break something. Like maybe the universe. It was a sphere of pure psychic pressure so intense that I knew that if it had been directed at me, it would have compressed my mind into something too dense and inert to function, like a tiny diamond formed from crushed coal.
I’m what you might call oppositionally defiant to authoritarian figures. Someone who doesn’t always do as he’s told. Maybe even a little bit of a troublemaker.
That will would have crushed mine, flat.
Period.
It wasn’t a question of weakness or strength. This was simply power orders of magnitude beyond my ability to contest. The force of that will wasn’t even directed at me, and it was everything I could do not to fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness in the face of that terrible rage.
Butters had an excellently ordered mind, but he hadn’t had the training I had in mental defenses. He let out a sob of utter despair and would have fallen if I hadn’t had his shoulder. I dropped to a knee with him, steadying him as he swayed, his entire body trembling violently.
Except for one hand. It stayed steady on the Sword.
I do not know what power she had won, what knowledge she had gained, what experience she had suffered, or what sacrifices she had made that enabled Mab to defy the absolute force of the Titan’s will.
But though her shoulders bowed as if under enormous weight, though the Winter unicorn staggered beneath her, Mab was Mab. She steadied the beast, and her expression locked into a cold, steady mask. She drew in a breath, barely visible as a blur in the air compressed by the Titan’s will, and said, simply, “No.”
The word rang out in pure silvery truth, her breath condensed into a Wintry plume.
Ethniu’s will recoiled, shattering like a sphere of immaterial glass.

Battle Ground Chapter 28, Page 266-267