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Gendel snachted at the first Geat he came to, ripped him apart...
Clutched at Beowulf with his claws...That shepherd of evil, guardian of crime, Knew at once that nowhere on earth had he met a man whose hands were harder.
All of Beowulf's band had jumped from their beds, ancestral swords raised and ready, determined to protect their prince if they could. Their courage was great but wasted: They could hack at Grendel from every side... but their points could not hurt him, the sharpest and hardest iron could not scratch at his skin.
...His power had gone. He twisted in pain, and bleeding sinews deep in his shoulder snapped, muscle and bone split and broke. The battle was over, Beowulf had been granted new glory...
Grendel escaped, but wounded as he was could flee to his den, his miserable hole at the bottom of the marsh, only to die, to wait for the end of all his days.
No Dane doubted the victory, for the proof, hanging high from the rafters where Beowulf had hung it, was the monster's arm, claw and should and all.
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