You come into my hoard, you steal my gold, and now you have the audacity to come back and fight me? Once I'm done with you, I will burn the rest of your lands and I will destroy the rest of your people.' The giant, winged serpent stared down its opponent, the armored warrior who had defeated many a foe; a fleeing army behind him.
'Yes, flee, flee from the true king of the hoard. Your army deserts you. How, now, do you plan to defeat me, king?' Beowulf readied himself, sword drawn, shield held high. 'How dare you challenge me?' The beast sucked air in through its nostrils, tilting its head slightly. Angry, biting fire, spewed from its mouth. The wooden shield on Beowulf's arm burst into flame, shattering from the heat with the warrior narrowly escaping the burn.
Beowulf swung his sword; it bounced off the scales without leaving injury, barely giving a scratch. Amusement sparked in the dragon's eyes. 'You aren't what you used to be. You've grown old, your age weakens your bones and lessens your spirit.' The bright steel glanced off the serpent's armored body again and again, only making it flinch once it struck its face. There was one other human in the chamber, but he was of no concern to the beast whose scale shone like bronze, armor plating in the light. He tossed a shield to the king, escaping another flame by mere moments.
'You can't hide behind that sheet of metal forever. I will defeat you, and then.. I will burn him. Anyone who stands with this intruder shall, too, be treated as an intruder.' Rage boiled inside the serpent, spilling out every once in a while in bursts of sparks and smoke. The sword connected with the shoulder and was suddenly dancing across the air; a million, sparkling, glowing shards of metal. Beowulf let out a cry and the dragon seemed to almost smile as he watched it glitter across the room. 'Well, well, well... What will you do now?' It sneered at Beowulf. Another spurt of flame and the warrior had been caught off guard enough for the dragon to snap his teeth into his flesh. 'Now, no matter the odds, you will suffer, and you will die.'
A dagger appeared in the king's hand. There was a piercing screech when the blade touched scales. 'There is nothing left for you, only death.' Heat shredded the air, clawing its way to the warrior, who used it to his advantage and spun around, dagger digging into the monster's stomach, cold and unforgiving. The fire ceased, a stunned look spreading in the dragon's eyes. The knife drug between scales, slowly but surely spilling its blood onto the stone battleground.
'So, I am not the victor. I am no longer the beast under the mountain. I am the vanquished. I am the conquered. I am overthrown. I am-' Beowulf stumbled and dropped to his knees, the hoard-guard watched from the floor in glory as blood leaked from his wounds. 'I am the king of the hoard.'
The warrior's soldier helped him to a pillar to help him sit upright. The guardian of the hoard stared at his trove, acceptance seeping into his more and more lifeless body. 'I. Am. Death.'
