Cage Match: The Master vs. Miriam Blaylock

So here with are with Fighte the Firste, between the first boss of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the ancient vampire known only as The Master; and Miriam Blaylock, the über-fashionable and sexy immortal from The Hunger who inspired at least two generations of vampire-obsessed Goths.

And thanks to everyone who made their predictions in the comments section yesterday, but the first fight takes place in the poll button immediately to your right.

These fights, just as a side note, will not actually take place in a cage, but on one of the two vampires' home turfs. Miriam won this coin toss, and waits in her lavish New York townhouse for her opponent.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

As the light fades, Miriam walks through her sumptuous rooms lighting candles to set the mood. She knows little of her assigned opponent, only that he goes by the name "The Master." Men, she thinks, so hubristic ... such febrile egos to grant themselves such titles. And gauche at that, she reflects—could he not have had at least a touch of subtlety in selecting his moniker? I shall use that. She reclines on her divan, artfully allowing the shadows to fall across her face.

She does not wait long. The door opens, and a figure steps into the parlour. She cannot see his face in the shadows, but he is dressed simply, in what looks like a plain black suit.

"Miriam Blaylock?" the voice is a file drawn across a rusty chain.

"Indeed." She uncrosses and crosses her legs. "And you are 'The Master'?"

He makes a sound that may be a laugh, may be a snort of derision. "Yes. You would do well not to put my name in scare quotes, madam."

He steps forward, and the light of a cluster of candles illuminates his face. In their flickering light, the deep ridges of his cheeks and brow stand out in stark relief like canyons. His eyes burn red. He smiles, bearing his teeth, as he hears Miriam's sharp intake of breath.

This is all wrong, she thinks. He isn't ... human. The immortals with whom she has crossed paths over her long life have been elegant, sometimes somewhat wasted and gaunt, but always with the insouciance that came with lives spent preying on willing, even slavish men and women. This one ... He radiates menace and cruelty, she thinks, her mind working fast.

Miriam forces herself to stand, to step forward and reach out a graceful manicured hand to touch The Master's cheek. The other fingers the ankh around her neck, ready to draw the hidden knife when she sees her moment.

"My dear," she purrs, "I see now that I am truly matched against a master. Perhaps this is wrong—let us not fight. Let me help you, and together we can do undreamt-of things."

She does not see his hand move. Suddenly he has her wrist in his crushing grip, and his other hand is around her throat,

"No," he says in an oddly resigned tone. "I no longer employ minions. They only disappoint. I work alone now."

Desperately, she draws the tiny blade from the ankh and plunges it unto his chest.

"Oh my dear, no. No, no, no." He chuckles, shaking his head. "You see, there are a lot of people in this tournament, worthy opponents, that I look forward to facing. And scores to settle, I might add. You're in my way. I'd say I was sorry I had to do this, but ... well, I'm really not."

And with that, he squeezes. Hard.

Projected Winner: THE MASTER