In despair Demo saw Beowulf fall, his sword dropping from his hand.
Demo lunged forward quickly, was struck down as quickly. He felt a bump rising on his head where the blow had landed. He crawled forward, fell, lay still. The creature turned once more to Beowulf, its blood-drenched claws extended.
From the tree tops the white object plummeted, opened wide its wings and flew into the face of the fiend. Startled, the monster fell, rolled over and quickly slipped into the frigid waters of the tarn.
Athena stood beside Demo. Their eyes looked in sorrow at the prostrate body of Beowulf.
Even as they moved forward to help him he sat up, his hand searching for and seizing the hilt of his sword. Without a word he stood, shook his head, staggered to the brink of the tarn.
Sword clutched in hand, a look of resignation on his face, he dove into the Demon's Lair!
For a brief moment the water was still, not even a breeze disturbing its surface.
Without warning it erupted!
A huge shape rended its surface, fell back with a scream of anger! The green blood blended with the dark water of the tarn.
For hours the battle continued. The once calm tarn was now an ocean of waves and froth, and thunder sound above it. From beneath those waters rumbles of anger rose. Sulfurous fumes lifted from its surface, killed the trees bordering the dark waters.