Meanwhile, Sif's nose wrinkles in distaste at the foul smell of the fumes rising from her wounded assailant, but she isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Now that she can see it, the thing doesn't stand a chance.

It turns out that her sword has another trick, and she accomplishes it with muscle memory alone, twisting the double-ended sword apart into two separate swords. She would pause to marvel at the ingenuity of the thing, but instead she goes on the offensive. Strikes as fast and as powerful as lightning hit at the Fallen, and the fact that it's wounded only slows it down.

Its arm is cleaved from its body, then its head, and it drops to the snow with a muffled thud. Sif flicks her blades to shake off the drops of whatever served for blood, then moves to help her friends.