Movie Villain Face-Off: Fate of the Great Eight

Here we go again. Hold onto your genitals.

Oh, cool...you're actually doing it. All right, let's get moving:

(Oh, snap - Re-cap: Movie Villain Deathmatch: Part 1, Part Deux, Part Tres, Part D, First Mean Sixteen, and Mean Sixteen 2.)

(Embiggen-klicken.)

Hollywood Villain Deathmatch - Fate of the Great Eight

Die Hard/Sith o' Vengeance Division:

Darth Vader Vs. Hans Gruber

From the start, Hans knew something was...different about this one. He seemed far more dangerous than anyone he'd encountered thus far. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, but less out of fear than out of anticipation of an actual challenge.

Vader, too, looked into the eyes of his adversary, and saw a pair much like he remembered his own to have been all those years ago. Cold. Ruthless. Cunning. He almost allowed himself to soften a bit as he approached his opponent, but Gruber's lightning-quick production of a snub-nosed 9mm Heckler & Koch pistol stopped him in his tracks.

"Hold it right there, you wheezing blackguard," said Gruber, never taking his eyes off of Vader for a moment. "I don't have the faintest clue who you are, but I don't care for the look of you. And I'll thank you to keep your distance." Gruber waggled the gun at his hip for emphasis.

"You are in no position to issue orders to me," Vader rumbled, "much less dare to point your Blaster. I will destroy you where you stand." He waggled an accusing finger at Gruber in disapproval.

"A 'blaster'?" replied Gruber. "Gott in himmel, what are you -"

Before Gruber could finish his thought (much less his sentence), Vader had produced his lightsaber. It sizzled to sinister life, throwing its bloody neon glow. The light reflected onto Vader's helmet, not unlike the bright-hot light of the lava beds of Mustafar that had once nearly claimed him. Gruber responded by also reflexively clasping his free hand around the butt of his VP70, and raising it to eye level, framing Vader's helmet directly between its sights with a steady, two-fisted grip.

"That's a pretty fancy trick," said Gruber. "But you won't be able to stop a bullet with a flashlight, I'm afraid."

"Don't be too proud of the technological terror you wield. Its ability to destroy me is insignificant next to the power of the Force, " Vader responded.

"Right, fine," spat Gruber. "I'm already weary of this. Good-bye." With that, Gruber squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession, never once pulling his aim. The first two shots ground to a halt in mid-air, as Vader raised a hand, effectively stopping them from finding purchase. The third, however, did find its mark...splitting Vader's helmet cleanly in two. And, while the mask absorbed the bulk of the impact, sparing Vader's skull...its destruction nonetheless severed a crucial link to his suit's on-board respiratory apparatus.

At once, Vader began withering, and slumped to the floor. Without air, he felt his strength leaving him rapidly. Gruber crossed to Vader slowly, pistol still aimed at his forehead, to finish the job if necessary...

...Not that it was.

As the last of Vader's sterile, artificial breath left him, he still managed to muster a grudging respect for his enemy, and marveled at the accuracy of this hitherto un-encountered Blaster variant. He had thought that not even Imperial Stormtroopers could be so precise.

Impressive...Most impressive.

WINNER: GRUBER

Beastly Brits Division:

Sheriff of Nottingham Vs. Hannibal Lecter

"Oh, most delicious," thought Dr. Lecter as the Sheriff drew near. "Most don't, but I do love a spot of good English food here and again."

"You there, old man," the Sheriff shouted as he approached the good Doctor. "Do be kind enough to direct me toward the nearest p-aaaaaAAAAIGGH MY GOD!"

Lecter hadn't been interested in waiting for the Sheriff to finish, pouncing toward him and snarling with ravenous desire as soon as he'd been near enough. Unfortunately for him, the Sheriff's reflexive combat training meant that he'd had his rapier out and ready while Lecter was still in mid-air. Thus, Lecter was forced to watch himself fall helplessly and painfully upon its sinister point. Within a fraction of a second, it had punctured his abdomen and traveled clean through out the lumbar, ending the function of several rather essential internal organs along the way. Lecter's thin linen scrubs offered little in the way of protection from its puncture. At once, they began to bloom brightly with hot, fresh blood.

Lecter's reaction was one borne more of irritation than of pain as he clutched at the blade's hilt, still firmly held in the Sheriff's glove as Nottingham stood gaping at him, slack-jawed. "God damn it all," muttered Lecter, disappointed. "I was still USING my transverse colon..."

Lecter's speech yanked the Sheriff out of his own shocked silence. "What? In the BLOODY? HELL?!?" he demanded, rivulets of Lecter's lifeblood surging and gushing over his glove. "Look what you've DONE! You've gone and gotten yourself killed, old man! And for what?"

"I...I - I was hungry," Lecter replied, and started to laugh in short, sharp barks. The Sheriff at once understood, reclaiming his weapon forcefully and with disgust, causing the last of the support strength to disappear from Lecter's legs.

"And you meant to eat...ME, did you?" the Sheriff asked, jerking a gloved thumb toward his sternum as Lected tumbled roughly to the dirt.

Lecter continued hacking wetly as he giggled. "Any port in a storm," he responded. "Speaking of which, before I forget...I've...*-HACK!-*...always wanted to...*koff-koff*...sample my own wares...and it looks - *KOFF* - like my opportunity...is...fading..." Even as he spoke, the Sheriff noticed that Lecter was working his trembling hands busily in the fresh wound, tearing out gobbety strips of moist meat. As the Sheriff watched in absolute horror, Lecter began popping wet, bloody chunk after wet, bloody chunk of his own vitals into his gore-streaked mouth, blood bubbling up fresh from inside and out as he chewed, laughing.

"Good CHRIST!" the Sheriff yelled as Lecter consumed himself.

"Sorry..." responded Lecter. "But...-*KOFF!*-...He's not invited." More wheezing giggles erupted as Lecter continued his revolting auto-cannibalism.

"In that case," countered the Sheriff, hunching down over his fallen adversary, "eat your bloody heart out, old man."

Nottingham stood, and prepared to continue on his way. As the last of Lecter's life drained away, he reached into one of his many belt-pouches, dropped a spoon onto Lecter's thin, wasted chest, and walked on.

WINNER: SHERIFF

Mordor Kombat Division:

Gollum Vs. Shang Tsung

By now, Gollum had gotten used to two things. Being underestimated, and the victory that resulted from it. Not to mention that his confidence had been boosted considerably due to the presence of his new Precious. So when Shang Tsung strode purposefully over to him, Gollum drew himself up to his full two feet and six inches, and croaked, "STOP!", holding out a thin palm towards the sorcerer. "We says you don't come no closer, you nasty Wizardses. No more! We are tired! Let us rest!"

Shang Tsung stopped cold, regarding Gollum with narrowed eyes, and a flip smirk. "But of course," he answered, his plummy speech metered with a not-very-subtle note of snide condescension. "Not until you are ready."

"Yes. Yeeeessss," replied Gollum, his sad, wet eyes darting uncontrollably in nearly every direction at once. "We only just now found a new Precious, and we still have yets to know all its big, powerful powers." He held his bony hand out to admire the ring of Ming as it spun freely on his slender finger, and its preternatural luminescence sent reflected golden glints dancing across the vast expanses of his sclera. The low, barely-perceptible hum of the sinister bauble was making Shang Tsung's teeth vibrate slightly.

"It is most lovely, my young friend," said Shang, his dulcet tones delivering a near-approximation of melody. "Tell me, how did you come by this beautiful piece?"

"OoooOOooh, it was a BEASTLY Wizardses, in a red, bloody red gown," said Gollum, flicking his eyes back and forth between Shang Tsung and the ring. "He's insides it now, like its a soul prison with his wizardsness trapped all in."

Shang's keen ears perked up. "His soul, you say?" he sang smoothly. "And he's a Wizard, too? Tsk, tsk. My, what a dilemma." He crouched, slowly, hunching down nearer to Gollum, who did not notice his sly approach.

"Yessss, a Wizzzardzesss, who had a big, shiny head, and a -HGURKKK!!*!!" Gollum's gutteral tone suddenly grew more so, as Shang had him by the neck in a flash. "GgggGGhhAAAAHH-" growled Gollum in shocked pain...stopping abruptly as Shang squeezed and twisted sharply, cleanly snapping his frail neck like a dry twig.

The life-force already having left his tiny frame, Shang dropped Gollum's body roughly, wiping his hands on his trenchcoat even as he let what was left of Gollum's soul go to its reward. He had no need of it, twisted and bent as it was. It was of no use to him. However, as Gollum's corpse lay still, Shang carefully bent down, and slipped Ming's ring off of the finger it had only resided on for the briefest of periods, and slipped it onto his own.

As perfectly as the ring hugged his finger, Shang had a notion that the prize inside of it would be an even better fit once he determined how it could best be liberated.

WINNER: TSUNG

Forfeit High and Rising Division:

{Null Set} Vs. Leatherface

Due to the HAL 9000/Anton Chigurh double-elimination last round, Ol' Leather-puss gets a bye this time out. So, with no victim to carve up into bloody chunks, he instead opted to go to town on a little chainsaw sculpture, creating this lovely totem in honor of his last-round opponent.


Isn't THAT nice?

WINNERS: LEATHERFACE, ETSY.COM

Next time: The long-awaited Semifinal matchups hit an unexpected snag or two. Will Leatherface's chugging chain be any match for Shang Tsung's fists and brain? Will Shang Tsung barge in on Hans Gruber and the Sheriff of Nottingham's round early, assuming that Shao Khan has set up a "face yourself" challenge, and morph into Professor Snape just to be a dick?

Only one way to find out. Be there, or be rectangular.

UPDATE: Final Four on the Floor.