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The dragon proudly gazed at his destruction. With the smell of burning flesh in his nostrils he flew menacingly through the shadowy grey smoke, not knowing his evil demise would eventually come to an end.
Beowulf stood boastfully, preparing for the inevitable bloodshed that was awaiting him ouside. He knew what had to be done. The screaming cries of pain and agony continuously going off in the distance were clear to him. With his battered, bloodstained sword and trusty shield, Beowulf gracefully marched towards the terrorizing beast. The town constantly watched him as the clashing sounds of his armor and weapons slowly faded away.
Scorching flames repeatedly shot at his hopeless shield. Beowulf knew his sword and shield had failed him now. He tried fending off the monster, but was impaired by the dark smokey air in front of him. Ruthless smoke filled his lungs inside. Gasping for a breath of air, he held his shield high above him. Eventually the shield had no will to fight, and started entirely melting away as embers beat against it, having no mercy.
Quickly, Wiglaf came in a heroic attempt to save Beowulf's life. With all of his might, he courageously plunged the sword through the dragon. Wiglaf's hand became charred and blistered by the red and orange flames, but it didn't stop him. The dragon cried in pain and fell hard onto the floor. Beowulf laid motionless on the ground as Wiglaf and the dragon battled to the death, but he mustered up the strength and hacked the dragon with his dagger
Beowulf was weak, gasping for his last breaths of air. He could feel a fiery burning sensation in his neck, like the venom was slowing tearing through his veins. He spoke softly, almost like a faint whisper. His last dying wish was the reward of their heroic accomplishment, the dragon's treasure. Death would be bearable if he could see his last prize. As he requested, Wiglaf went through the foggy tunnel to get what they earned. In front of his eyes were beautiful diamonds, in red, blue, and green. They were so pure and shiny that he could see his reflection, and all the gold they could imagine was in arms reach.
Wiglaf could not fathom what the town would do without their king. Beowulf was stone cold, and as still as a brick. He could not carry on his fame and legacy himself, so with his last cold breath he told Wiglaf that he is the last of their family. Wiglaf knew that Beowulf's followers had to be punished for his death, they were not courageous nor brave, and the result was the dreadful death of their king. That day, the sun did not shine, the flowers did not bloom, and the night was as cold and bleak as his corpse .
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