The beast dodged every vicious swing of the sword. The Viking warrior showed no fear as he charged closer to the monster. The beast moaned and howled where it focused its compounded hatred for the warrior. The Viking warrior continued to thrust in longa stance where he managed to cut the beast enough to draw blood. The beast moaned in agony with a thundering holler, enough to vibrate the earth beneath them. The warrior was relentless, where he had to put the monster to rest so the Danes could live again. He had to prove to his native land of Geat that he was the strongest and the only warrior who could slay the troll.

They continued to duel along the craggy cliffs overlooking the thrashing Baltic Sea. The monster pulled back from the warrior feeling almost defeated. It noticed an undefined cave where it scurried into the cavity. The strong warrior followed with his menacing sword. The darkness of the crisp night and crystallized sleet caused the warrior to lose focus. He ran his strong hands along the damp walls of the cave realizing that without sight the troll may have its way. The warrior held his sword in guard of the long tail stance ready if the troll were to pounce. The warrior could hear the heavy grunts and coarse breath of the monster.

He stopped and remained still. He saw no image of the beast. The cave's stench was damp and musty, which overpowered the foul aroma of the troll. Long gnarly fingers hovered near the Viking warrior's throat. He couldn't see shadows or silhouettes, for the darkness was too blinding. He could, however, smell the troll's foul stench.

"Troll! I know you're here!" the warrior called out.

The troll was silent. The Viking could feel a dewy slime drip onto his chain mail vest. He knew the troll was too close, but he couldn't see its image. The troll's rough claws took hold of the warrior's throat. The warrior yelped, while in the midst of suffocation. The long bony fingers had a tight grip over the warrior's broad neck. The warrior dropped his sword to the ground.

A swirl of colorful smoke manifested into the darkness. The warrior gasped, kicking and punching the monster, while its grip was locked around the warrior's neck. An image of a petite woman dressed in a whisking black garment formed behind the smoke.

"Beowulf, you are wishing for my presence?" she asked.

"Witch!" he managed to say, while he tried to pry off the troll's relentless pressure from his neck. "Grant me out of this place."

"You force the words from your collapsing throat. You wish to be rid of here?"

"Yes," he grunted.

"I will then remove you from this century and place you in yet another time. It will be a time of no trolls. It will not even be Daneland or Geatland. It will be of a civilized land that you will not understand. You will never understand it. Yes?" He tried to nod, but felt himself losing consciousness. "You are a powerful man, Beowulf. You may have the strength of 30 men, but you may perish in your new world."

"Please!" he blurted. "I will perish here, but not in this different time you speak of. Please, grant me my wish and I will be forever grateful."

"You may very well perish in this different time."

She hovered above him. His hands had a tight grip around the troll's claws.

"A land of no trolls? Then I must be sent there," he gasped in his dripping sweat. "Grant me my wish."

"I will conjure your arrival near a dwelling, perhaps the inhabitants will take you in, yes?"

He could no longer speak or swallow. "Very well."