I, the powerful monster of evil, also known as Grendel, am stealthily entering into Herot, where I can smell the delicious blood of feasting humans.  This celebration is dragging out my evil, bitter motivation to kill.  I suddenly notice all the innocent, good people sleeping, and I make my evil attack, in which I enjoy thirty tasty people.  Although I am delighted by the shock of King Hrothgar, some people survived, which means my job is not done.  I continue on to a second violent killing, and I, the evil symbol of life, am winning the battle against good.  Being the one to put Herot into vacancy fills my cold heart with joy, and I feel no guilt, but only pride in my actions, which motivates me to keep killing.  Although all this basic killing is easy for me, I am stuck in quite a pickle.  Because I once belonged to God, and He kicked me out, I have a small, but very large fear of Him.  This fear of God would not be a problem, but because King Hrothgar is protected by God, I cannot attack him. Other than this small default, I am just a un-lean, mean, killing machine. 
I was informed that Herot is not vacant anymore, and I am by all means surprised, but I am also excited because now food is available.  As I quietly sneak through the swampy, marsh on the journey from my castle of doom to Herot, I try to stay out of the people’s sight.  As I get closer to the proximity of Herot, the sense of difference is so strong, I can feel it, smell it, and almost even taste it.  This feeling is placing an anxious motivation to kill on me.  I, the destroyer of all good, cannot be beaten because of my intense hunger, which forces everything else to subside.  I meet my first innocent victim, my appetizer, and I tear him to pieces, but this does not fulfill my need to kill.  Next thing I know, I, the tree of death, am being fought back with, which has never been a problem for me in my entire life.  This fellow, who calls himself “Beowulf” is actually trying to beat me.  I am usually the most confident murderer out there, but for the first time, I am getting this weird feeling, which I think humans call “fear.”  I do not like fear at all, and I really want it to vanish like all the people I killed.  I am freaking out, and I need to leave this place because Beowulf is starting to win.  I do not know what to do to beat good, and the screams from my mouth are echoing throughout the city.  I have hope for my spell, that Beowulf will not be able to hurt me with his weapons.  I never even imagined that anyone, except for God, could ever destroy me.  I feel like this is round two of God throwing me out.  I am overfilled with disappointment by the feeling that good is going to succeed against evil.  All of sudden Beowulf violently rips my arm off, and I realize that this battle is over, and I am not the winner.  I cannot believe that I have been defeated, and because of this, my life is literally over.