BOOK 2
Chapter 1
So, Beowulf was on the hunt again: this time, however hungry, his prey could not escape. He had tortuously tracked the tremendous sea-serpent down to the coast of a tiny island. He could see its inky black form inching in the ill-lit depths below. He gazed at his glaive in hand, "Not good, that this giant weapon could burden my gait." He threw it thither onto the sand and lept therin into the cold thin-iced water. The sea serpent, he supposed, was large; But as he swam swifter and closer, he came to see it was surely some twenty steps or more. At least, he thought, it's not poisonous, noting the pattern of its segmented pale yellow and black stripes.
It sensed his spirit and swatted with a swipe of its tail! "Oh, Fuck me!" Beowulf bellowed, but below water it was just bubbles. He supposed then that this was a sword-tailed serpent. They pick up the pieces of fallen warriors piecemeal with their prehensile tails and wield them as weapons. Beowulf knew he must use all his cunning and fervor to fight this fierce foe. Therefore, he punched it right in the fucking face. It twisted, blinked blankly a few times, and drooped mouth as if to say, "What the fuck, man?" Beowulf punched it yet again: Right in the fucking face. It probably hurt a lot. The sore serpent was severely stunned. At this time, Beowulf attenuated he was almost at the end of his air. He could only conserve his breath for coming on twelve miniutes. He knew while the serpent was shocked he could swim to the surface, but now, here it reared, his one regal chance sans retreat to do this monster in. He weighed his options warily, and decided to carry on, without wondering about the risk.
He started moving his hand up the serpent's body – combing the scales backward until he found its spot most vulnerable to penetration. Then Beowulf- mighty cock in hand, began to fuck that terrifying sea-serpent up the butt. The serpent writhed in pain and a sort of reptillian homophobia. Beowulf just kept fucking forcefully, further enraging the furious foe. But at last through the langour it had lashed out its last. It was defeated. It looked back at Beowulf before swimming far, far away. He was much too embarrassed to ever harrass the seaside villiage again.
But this is when Beowulf began to choke. He could tell by the sun's position in the sky above that he had been below the surface for eleven minutes and thierty-eight seconds. Beowulf might drown! Oh no! He looked up. He would never have enough time to swim straight up to the surface. He scanned the murky area, for a grotto or air pocket. There was naught to be found. O, What a way to die, Beowulf thought. This is some major fucking bullshit. I should have fucked that serpent on land. That would have been smarter. Just then, Beowulf saw an eel swim by. He snatched it with great fortune – held it to his lips and twisted it like a dishrag. He wrung all the sweet air out of it, and breathed it in. Now he was ready to make the swim back to the surface. When he reached the top, he heard a deep voice say, "Who the hell are you?"
Beowulf looked up and saw, standing on a boat, a slightly sunburned man, stout, hair, and muscular. He had sandles with white cotton socks that went up to his knees. They were the only bits of clothing on his body besides a bleached pair of tight, white underwear and a full, bushy beard. With a burning cigar in one side of his mouth and the neck of some scotch whiskey in the other, one couldn't quite tell how he said the following, "Hello. I'm Ernest Hemingway, slayer of exotic animals and all around bad-ass"
"I'm Beowulf, sodomizer of forgotten monsters and all around bad-ass."
"Ha!" Hemingway laughed, "I like the cut of your jib (no homo) let me give you a lift to land."
Hemingway threw his heavy, calloused hand out. Beowulf took it and was hoisted from the water below. They didn't know it then, but Hemingway and Beowul were about to become the best of friends and go on many adventures together.