Dawn

For a fleeting moment, Domhnall fancied himself an Oracle. 

He could see the future. 

Guorthigirn was going to die. 

The Giant King clapped his hands together, the force creating a blast that nearly toppled Domhnall to the ground. 

It was some kind of spatial magic. Guorthigirn reached into a mysterious crack-- a rip in the fabric of matter or space... 

From it, he produced a weapon befitting his size: a massive, two-handed warhammer... a Giant Warhammer. 

Why?

No-- that was a foolish question.

A proper weapon was appropriate to wield in order to confront a powerful enemy.

A better question was: why in the seVeN HELLS did Guorthigirn not summon his weapon earlier? 

It was common sense-- if a trained combatant used some kind of weapon, that granted them... a greater reach... a greater threat level...