I am a monster. But I am not like the giant like, ugly, deformed chimeras that commonly steal my name. No, I am far more terrifying then any physical being for I am, simply and abstractly, an entity and just that. I exist in the ways dreams exist; I am an illusion—I cannot be destroyed. I am real.
Men say that the conscience drives human behavior by creating a fear of evil. I say that instinct drives human behavior by creating a fear of failure. Thus, my entire life I have spent testing whether instinct overpowers conscience in extremely trying circumstances. This is the story of my last fight, my greatest fight—the one I lost.
The Danes were foolish people, especially their leader Hrothgar. Not that they were weak in battle, they were strong, but they fought chaotically, with no sense of order except that Hrothgar always had to be in front of them all. Sure, they would win battles for their opponents never quite understood what was going on, but they fought for nothing but their own lands. But land is a natural entity that men only think they own, their prize to possess. There victories were meaningless, and so I determined to make them understand; I wanted to destroy them, to show them that fighting in war does not eradicate evil, the true monster of destruction, me.
For the passage of one moon I ravaged the lands and peoples of the Danes. Each night I formed into a hideous giant, twice the height of a man, with brown, peeling skin the color of excrement. My white eyes bulged out of their sockets; I had no pupils, I did not want to see my opponents. My other features I fashioned after human ones, just larger. My hand had five fingers, but a strength no man could contend with; my legs were long and thick, but they could run around the circumference of the world in one night. My heart hated the Danes, and so, every night, I destroyed their buildings, their fields, and their waterways. I killed their men, too, and their women; I did not kill their children—children should not be judged as their parents are. I left destruction in my path, chips of broken stone covered the land as grass did, and blood splattered the walls of every home and building like fresh paint. Rotting flesh fertilized the earth and for a month, the Danes' land stunk like a dead carcass. The stench killed many people. They were buried christianly—not for Christ—to bury the smell.
Finally, when the moon was full, I attacked the mead-hall, that vain semblance of camaraderie. I upturned half the stone tables and the other half, I split in two. The air was thicker than a human could breathe with the dust from the broken rock. I cut into shreds all that was wooden and laid the shards in the entrance way floor for I wanted to leave splinters to bleed the men's feet when they unknowingly entered. I stole five barrels of mead to pour in the river. The water was bitter and unclean the next day, and so the people could not wash the dirt away from their bodies.
A week passed and I thought that Hrothgar had forgotten the destruction and murder I caused, but on the eighth day after my attack, a foreign man arrived at the Danes' land and professed a wish to destroy me. In my hiding place deep under ground, I howled with laughter. No man could destroy me, the most fearful beast in existence. I am fear; I am not real. I am the guilt that people hide from when they know they've done wrong. I am, myself, guilty of persuading men to do wrong. Could this foreigner be so un-wise as to think that alone, he could destroy what history never could, that he could destroy me?
I learned his name was Beowulf of the Geats. I had never heard of such a land and greatly desired to test her men, to see if they were as foolish as the Danes. But the more I considered my opponent and his possible reasons for fighting me, the more apprehensive I became. Though I have never feared a human before, I began to be weary of our upcoming battle. Why should a foreigner with no direct connection to the Danes and who could win no land in battle, fight against a monster? How could he be so cocky as to believe that a mere mortal could destroy an entity of pure evil? Did he think that history would bestow upon him eternal glory if he succeeded in defeating me? Yet the Danes and other countries have proven countless time, that victory in battle is only a vain sort of glory for the rewards are tangible.
On the tenth day following my raids we fought. My strength was immense and my hide impenetrable. I was ready, confident that today would be Beowulf's last. When the moon had risen fully, I snuck into Heorot hall, the palace of that foolish Dane Hrothgar. There I saw Beowulf for the first time, lying in his bed, unaware of the demonic creature leaning over him. He was tall and slender, yet I could see clearly that his strength was great for his muscles were bulging from the thick, pale skin that hid his lively organs. His hands lay gently on his chest. They were beautiful hands, covered in thick, calloused skin that had obviously felt the glory of terrible battles and wars. His fingers were long and covered with small cuts and cracks from the cold air. A long, irregular shaped scar dominated the under side of his left thumb.
I leaned nearer to his slumbering body, and he awoke. His instincts were sharp and immediately he jumped upon me. I wondered why he had no weapons with him. Were the Geats a poor race which could neither buy nor weld their greatest fighter with protection? Were the Danes willing to send their savior into battle empty handed? But I had no time to think of these things for Beowulf's hands were wrapped around my neck and squeezing the air from me. Within a few minutes, I slumped to the ground, dead, but not really dead for I cannot be destroyed.
Beowulf had conquered me. Really, he had conquered himself. His instinct was to survive, but he wielded no weapons, he had no help. He fought with his bare hands because his morality and sense of fairness was greater than his own life. He won gold and riches from the Danes, but from me he won respect, respect which I have never given another human.
I always thought that humans were like all other animals and only able to function of the instinct to avoid failure. That was before I fought Beowulf. He showed me that conscious can overpower instinct if one's sense of morality is great enough. He is truly victorious.