Round One:
To determine who is the greatest dark lord of them all, Voldemort and Christopher Lee agree to a wizard duel. Technically, Christopher Lee isn't a wizard, but he has an honorary membership to any circle that practices dark arts and creepy rituals. The two warriors bow to each other, and then they start throwing spells. Well, Voldemort starts throwing spells. He opens up with, "Avada Kedavra," the unforgivable killing curse. A flash of blinding green light fires from his wand and strikes Christopher Lee square in the chest. From everything Voldemort knows, that should be the end of his foe. But the spell doesn't kill Christopher Lee; instead the ball of light bounces away harmlessly, leaving the actor unscathed.
Voldemort rolls his eyes and mutters a curse. "Don't tell me this is another one of those power of true love things."
"No, it's one of those power of Christopher Lee things." Christopher Lee gives a wicked smile and cracks his knuckles. It's his turn now. Round One goes to Christopher Lee.
Round Two:
With magic failing him, Voldemort turns to another arcane form of combat: swordplay. He draws a two and a half-foot long sword and assumes a fencer's stance. Christopher Lee's first intuition is to meet him head on. After all, he has performed more sword fights than anyone whose name doesn't end with MacLeod, and he's more than a match for anyone who doesn't happen to be a whiny Jedi punk or a drunken Errol Flynn. But he's getting up there in years, and his bones are a bit creaky. He simply doesn't have the fire to duel anymore. So he draws a different sort of weapon: a gold-plated pistol. Christopher Lee is literally the man with the golden gun, and guns generally beat swords anyday. Voldemort knows this, and he gets an "Oh shit" expression on his noseless face before dropping his blade and running for the hills. Christopher Lee doesn't run; his feet just sort of glide along the ground as he flies after his foe. He's going hunting for an archwizard. Round Two goes to Christopher Lee.
Round Three:
to my knowledge, Voldemort is not the most physically fit person in the world. Considering that he's spent most of his recent life as a face on the back of someone else's head, as a spirit from the past, or as an undead parasite, he hasn't exactly been doing Pilates four tiems a week. As such, he tires out pretty quickly, and it's not long before Christopher Lee closes in on him with the golden gun.
"I give up," says Voldemort. "You're not going to shoot me, are you?"
"Of course not," replies Christopher Lee. "This is just a prop gun anyway. I just wanted to make you run."
"Why's that?"
"Because a person's heart tastes better when it's been beating rapidly." Without going into more of an explanation, Christopher Lee tosses the gun aside, plunges his hand into Voldemort's rib cage, and rips out his heart. Much to his disappointment, Voldemort's heart is black, withered, and ugly -- hardly fit for eating. Christopher Lee sighs and tosses the organ aside. It looks like he'll go hungry tonight. In death, Voldemort manages to get back at Christopher Lee by preventing him from feasting upon his heart. Of course, Voldemort still gets the shaft, since he's dead and all. He'll come back to life eventually, but resurrections are always such a pain. Round Three and the match go to Christopher Lee.
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