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Beowulf is dead. His bones long ago littered his tomb. Over a thousand years later, his foe wanders the land.
In the boozy streets of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, a monster stalks the shadows. He knows his nature. He knows his bloodlust. It is not mean. It is not evil. It is something else. Something... rotten that refuses to die.
In his own self-loathing, the monstrous descendent of Cain looks to his journey over the centuries, from smoggy London, burning Paris, putrid Cologne. How did he get here? Where is he going, if anywhere?
The nightwalker. The shadow-stalker. Sceadugenga.

This novel is of an experimental style, designed to push the boundaries of contemporary writing.