Mjolnir was swung with incomparable force. As it crashed down, the air before its head was ionized and compressed, whipping up a hurricane across the Golden Palace's viewing platform. The All-Father, who had been watching the performance with great interest, immediately rolled out of his chair. In the blink of an eye, Mjolnir smashed the throne—made from precious, exceptionally hard stone quarried from the primordial realm of Muspelheim—to pieces. A mountain-collapsing boom spread outward almost tangibly, only for the towering golden walls to hurl the sound waves back. Every guest present was knocked to the ground, and some of the frailer ones even began vomiting from the impact.
Thor pulled Mjolnir from the mountain of rubble, which was being melted by the high-temperature current running across the Warhammer's surface, then hurled it once again at the fleeing All-Father. Arm-thick arcs of electricity extended from Mjolnir, scorching wild, twisting trails across the stone-brick floor. The viewing platform, still touched by the afterglow of sunset, suddenly darkened. The blinding thunderlight unleashed by Mjolnir crushed all things that dared vie with it for brilliance; not even the light cast down by the stars could contend with it.
Everyone present was stunned by the brutal scene. The autumn feast hosted by Aegir had been violently brought to an end, beyond any hope of recovery. The beer brewed by the sea giant had been splashed from the cauldron Thor once carried out of Jotunheim. Smoking mead flowed across the ground as fire began devouring the carpets. Fresh salmon and beef bones were consumed by the spreading flames. Kvasir, wisest among the gods, with the mead of poetry flowing through his veins, slit his own veins because he did not wish to see such a horrifying sight again after being reborn.
Neither Vanir nor Asgardian nobles