Thor

Tyr looked behind. "They are coming," he said. "The giants are coming."
They were indeed coming, with Hymir at their rear, urging them on: all the giants of that part of the world, a many-headed monstrous bunch, the giants of the waste, misshapen and deadly. An army of giants, all intent on getting their cauldron back.
"Go faster" said Tyr.
It was then that the goat Grinder stumbled anad fell, throwing them out of the chariot.
Thor staggered to his feet. Then he threw the cauldron to the ground and began to laugh.
"What are you laughing about?" asked Tyr. "There are hunreds of them."
Thor hefted Mjollnir, his hammer. "I didn't catch and kill the serpent," he said. "Not this time. But a hundred giants almost make up for it."
Methodically, enthusiastically, one after the next, Thor killed the giants of the waste, until the earth ran black and red with their blood. Tyr fought one-handed, but he fought bravely, and he slew his share of giants that day.
When they were done and all the giants were dead, Thor crouched beside Grinder, his injured goat, and helped it back to its feet.