Hannibal Lecter (Movies)/Bio & Battles

Born in the wake of World War II at August 7, 1944 on the Eastern Front, Lithuania, Hannibal Lecter was born of a Catholic count and at first led a pleasant life devoted to his younger sister Mischa. When the war was ending, Nazi turncoats and others fleeing the Russian advance into Germany hide out on their parents estate. Keeping them hostage, they run out of food in the harsh winter, eventually cannibalising his sister, leading her away by pretending they were going to play. Lecter apparently prayed daily for her return, but eventually found her remains, sparking his obsession with cannibalism and rendering him temporarily mute. It is also at this moment he loses his belief in God.

He later escapes from the deserters and hides in an orphanage, where he was found by his uncle and his Japanese wife, Lady Murasaki. He forms a quasi-romantic attachment to her after his uncles death, but she is unable to turn his from his obsession with revenging his sister. To this end, he hunts down, tortures and kills every man who caused her death, forsaking his relationship with Murasaki. He then enters the John Hopkins Medical centre.

Battle vs. Jason Vorhees (by Tesla Man)
Panting, the man ran, his construction helmet bobbing against his head, obscuring his vision. He took two deep breaths as sweat poured down his face in bucket loads, which were absorbed into his shirt. His shirt was now soaking wet weighing him down, slowing him enough for his stalker to catch up. His work belt was bouncing loosely on his hip, spilling a pocketful of nails across the floor. He looked back, not knowing were the man was. But that was his biggest mistake.

He turned his head around and reached for the keys in his pocket, his hands trembling in extreme fear. He was still running, constantly darting his head behind him looking for the man who looked like he was going to kill him, but his searches were to no avail.

He glanced ahead, seeing the road; his savior. Looking on, he saw the moonlight glimmer against the slick, mud painted sides of his truck. He darted his head back around, and of course, no one. He turned his head back to the road, trying not to lose time. He clenched the keys in his hand tightly, squeezing it until he lost the blood in his hand. He looked at the keys and scrambled to find the unlock button, clicking it multiple times. He glanced up, and what he saw, drained the life out of him.

The truck, the truck he was sure was parked a hundred meters away, was gone, as if it disappeared into the fog. He clenched his fish and rubbed his eyes, stopping in the middle of the construction site. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but trees and bricks. His heart sank to his feet, and his knees began to wobble. His entire body was collapsing from the inside. The butterflies that were in his stomach had turned to really angry dragons, and his lungs were compressed into deflated balloons.

He took a deep, shaky breath and released three words that were suppressed into whimpers, “Where are you?”

He waited a moment as the world seemed to spin around him, he turned his head behind him as if there were a spider on his back, and he moved the rest of his body in the direction of his head. He looked at the lake, the moon eerily danced across the water’s surface, illuminating a empty canoe that seemed to float in the middle of the lake.

Crystal Lake.

That was it. That was Crystal Lake, and this area, was none other than Camp Crystal Lake. The cabins, the forest… the lake, it all came together; this was the place he never wanted to visit.

His mind shot back to the previous night, him, Eugene, Max, and Benny, all sitting around the campfire after a long day of grueling construction work on the sight. His mind drifted to the words Max said.

He sped through every word, trying to think about the name of the killer.

‘Jackson? No. Jared? No. Jason…’ that was it, Jason, the kid who drowned, the kid who killed, the kid who was after him.

“Jason Voorhees, where are you?” His voice was deep, determined. He raised the helmet from his head, and placed it under his arm. “Jason Voorhees, if I must repeat myself, I surly will.” He looked around, nothing.

“Come on! I wanna see you!” He unbuckled his wrench, “I want you to get an up-close look at a wrench Mr. Voorhees!” He looked around, but with no success. “Cowardly B*tch!” He lowered his weapon, obviously discouraged.

He turned around, closing his eyes.

“Just a Dream, just a dream.” He opened his eyes. Nothing scared him more that what he just saw.

His car

His car’s front, with headlights shining bright was standing only meters from him, engine roaring. He raised his wrench again, he knew it wouldn’t do much damage, but it worked well enough for him. The engine roared to life, kicking up piles up leaves into the cold mist.

“Oh no”

He took a breath, imagining what being hit by a car would feel like, and something told him it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. A cold dagger ran down his back and he shuddered.

The car roared again, this time dispersing a flock of ducks sitting on the lake in the distance. The car slowly approached, showing no one in the driver’s side. Then the car leaped forward. Its wheels spun across the autumn leaves as it heavy metal lurched forward.

The man fell back, obviously realized, this was his end. The truck continued driving forward, oblivious of the man on the ground. Surprisingly, the man just barely fit, as the car drove over him, ramming itself into the tree behind him. The man stood, wiping the dirt from his jeans.

“Looks like you learned a new trick there, didn’t you Jason?” The man chuckled and reached for his wrench. His knees began to buckle as he started taking steps forward. He took a deep breath and leaned against a pile of bricks. He looked around for his human shadow that obviously was responsible for the fear he was feeling now, but he was able to mask the fear with bravery pretty fairly.

“Ok, I’ll see you around!” The construction worker plucked his hat from the ground as it found its way to his head. He raised his wrench as shook it as a goodbye gesture. He turned his body and began walking down the street, limping and taking deep breaths.

“Not yet.” The voice was quiet, ominous, and raspy. In the deep silence it echoed through the construction site.

The construction worker turned around, revealing a silhouette of a man, holding a machete.

“I knew you’d come!” The workers voice was shaky, but loud and powerful. “Now sir, come and play, were going to have a hell of a time!”

“I’m not here to play” The fearless, haunted voice shot into the workers ears like daggers, making him flinch. “I’m here, ‘cause this is my home.” The Machete man darted forward, raising his blade into the air, bringing it down on the construction workers shoulder.

The worker busted out in tears as the blood absorbed itself into his button-down shirt. Jason sawed the blade, back and forth into the man’s arm until it finally came lose, making the man drop his wrench.

He raised his blade and swept it down, slicing right above the man’s ear, diagonally until it made it to him mouth.

The worker gasped, taking in the last bit of air as Jason swung the blade down one last time, splitting the skull down the center.

Jason dragged the blade from the split skull and wiped the blood from its rusted shaft. He turned to the forest and walked away, wiping the blood from his machete onto a wooden sign, covered in overgrowth reading, ‘Camp Crystal Lake’

****

“I assure you Mr. Montgomery, all is just fine.” Hannibal cleaned his butchers knife with a blood soaked towel. “It is just one man.” Hannibal shoved the tip of his knife into the wooden cutting board that was painted with blood.

“But Mr. Lecter, I only wish safety to come to you, and you must be mad to just even step foot on this land!” George Montgomery scoffed, flipping through the news paper.

Hannibal leisurely walked to the table where Mr. Montgomery was sitting. “a dead man was found at the bottom of a lake on my property, probably happened years ago, how could it possibly be of any harm to me?” Hannibal drags out a chair and sits next to George, and snatches the newspaper out of his hand. “You do realize this man died a year ago?” Hannibal slaps the newspaper back on the table.

“You do realize this happened right where this house is now, and you do realize this man died while building your house?” Mr. Montgomery sat in silence taking continuous sips of his coffee.

Hannibal shook his head, “now Mr. Montgomery, many men die, it is human nature, but why do you seem like it is urgent that you must tell me, like it’s my life on the line?”

“Because sir…” George shook his head, “This man was murdered.” He placed the newspaper back on the table, sliding it over to Hannibal using only his fingertip as if he was afraid to touch it.

Hannibal cleared his throat and raised the paper to his eyes. “A dead, disfigured and slaughtered man was found in the middle of Crystal Lake by a fisherman.” Hannibal lowered the paper and stared at George, which was followed by a nod of George’s head. “Police claim it was another murder, on the site where several others were brutally murdered.” He again lowered the paper and shook his head yes.

“Friends and fellow workers of the diseased believe it is another attack by the same man who caused the killing streak many years ago. The dead body was presumed to have died a year ago while working on a house now currently owned by resident…” Hannibal’s voice trailed off. “…Hannibal Lecter” His voice quieted.

“You see here Mr. Lecter, there is a man out there who wants to kill you and others. “ Mr. Montgomery pointed a finger at Lecter. “There’s a story that goes along with it, about a disfigured child who drowned in the lake." He pointed in the direction of the lake, "his mother avenged his death, and when he came alive, he killed those who dared step foot on his property.” He looked deep into Hannibal’s deep red eyes. “I suggest you watch your back.” Mr. Montgomery’s voice was deep and sincere.

“Oh, Mr. Montgomery, those are nothing but campfire stories, made up to scare the kids into going asleep, like the Boogieman, and, well, murderers” A smile lit up his fang like teeth. “and I assure you, I believe in no such boogieman.”

Mr. Montgomery looked down at his watch, “Oh, I beg your pardon Doctor Lecter, but I must part you now, seeing how I am late for my wife’s anniversary.” George Montgomery stood up, and pushed in his chair, “I appreciate your hospitality.” With a nod of Lecter’s head, Montgomery was at the door.

“There are many things in this world to be scared of, and what you cannot see is one of them.” Mr. Montgomery tipped his hat.

“It is just a ghost story George.” Hannibal stood and walked over to the counter, and plucked the knife from the wooden cutting board.

“So it is doctor.” Mr. Montgomery opened the door, and paused. “So it is” He muttered under his breath and stepped out the door, slowly closing it behind him.

Hannibal pulled a packet of raw meat from the fridge and unzipped the Ziploc bag, dumping the meat on the cutting board. “It’s just a ghost story.” He sliced the knife through the raw meat, spraying blood on his apron.

He pulled the curtain in front of the window over the kitchen sink open. It was pitch black outside, but the porch lights of his new vacation house that was built upon the previous and rundown Camp Crystal Lake, lit the outside just enough to illuminate a figure.

Laying on the ground was the blood soaked figure of Mr. Montgomery, and on the shore of Crystal Lake, was the darkened shadow of a man in a coat, holding a machete.

Hannibal’s voice was hushed, almost in a whisper. “Maybe there is something to this ghost story after all.”

TIE.

Expert's Opinion
The intelligence, tactics, martial arts, and overall skill of Hannibal Lecter matched the brute strength, brutality, durability, and weaponry of Jason Vorhees, leading to a tie bewteen the two.

To see the original battle, weapons, and votes, click here.

Battle vs. Victor Zsasz (by GothamCityRiddler)
The men inside the armored truck bounced about as the man in the mask, tied up in a straight jacket, grimaced (though the expression was lost behind the plating over his face). The radio crackled to life as the driver’s voice dispersed through the air.

“Now entering Gotham City”

The man in the jacket rolled his head back against the trolley he was fastened to.

The guards, armed with a shotgun sitting next to them on benches were facing each-other engaged in a game of cards. Mr. Lecter knew their vulnerability, he knew everything about them. He also knew a third thing: The trolley wasn’t fastened correctly.

In a burt of life, Hannibal shot from the trolley, the straps holding him down clicked apart. Landing on one knee, the other one horizontal to the ground, he pulled with extraordinary strength and the latches on his straight jacket ripped, freeing Mr. Lecter’s arms.

Quickly, he swung a kick into the first guard’s face, a satisfying crack ringing out telling Hannibal that the guard’s nose was snapped. He took a lung for the shot gun at the time the second guard fired his. Quarter sized dents appeared above Hannibal’s head as Hannibal swung the butt of the gun as the guard, blood spraying against the metal wall.

Hannibal stomped his boot on the radio as he raised the shotgun to the door’s lock and fired, a hole smashing through the back door’s lock, revealing Hannibal to the squad car behind the armored truck.

He reached for the baton dangling from the belt of the dead cop, and pulled it out and unleashed a devilish grin on the police car behind him.

Dodging bullets coming from the passenger policeman, Hannibal pulled himself to the roof of the armored vehicle and disappeared from the cop’s limited view. The squad car pulled up beside him and he gazed down, as the policeman fired 3 more rounds at the roof of the truck. Hannibal counted to three and leaped, crushing into the trunk of the police car.

In a shocked panic, the police man whipped around as Hannibal fired a round into the rear window, cracking it, followed by Hannibal kicking in the window and lunging into the car, lashing out on the passenger policeman, beating him until blood sponged into the seat.

In one quick and fluid swing, Hannibal took out the car’s driver who was firing rounds at Mr. Lecter while radioing the rest of the squad to pull over. The driver’s head cracked against the window and the steering wheel twisted, crashing through the highway’s railing and rolling the car down a hill, coming to a satisfying creak as the rest of the cops followed.

The cops ripped open the door to reveal two dead men, their heads both brutally cracked, and no Hannibal Lecter.

The armored truck pulled up quickly and the driver stepped out and observed the back of the truck, the door broken open and the straight jacket lying torn on the floor.

With a quick thud the driver collapsed on the ground as Lecter threw the blood splattered butt of the shotgun down onto the body, bending down to retrieve the keys.

From around the corner of the van, an armed officer approached, loaded gun straight and aimed. Hannibal cracked a smile and lunged for the officer’s legs, the police man on the ground now in a headlock with a key blade pressed up against his neck.

Dragging the hostage out into view of the other policeman, with all their guns pointed at the tossed vehicle. Slowly, Lecter approached the truck’s door, hesitant to not attract the attention of the officers.

With a squeal, the hostage ripped his vocal cords with a powerful scream to attract the policemen’s attention. Swiftly Hannibal dragged the key across the victim’s neck, blood pouring out of the wound as if it was a second mouth.

Hannibal ducked into the truck’s driver seat and thrusted the soaked key into the keyhole, smashing his foot down into the idle gas pedal. Pulling back up onto the highway, Lecter drove away with a parade of squad cars behind him and a gliding man above him.

“Ah.” Lecter cackled. “It appears I have awakened the bat.”

Zsasz perched atop an empty warehouse a part of Jim’s Scrap Metal Co., gazing down upon a warehouse just across the street, where the Batman had broken in to just moments before. Zsasz kept an eager eye open to see the fight unfurl. Zsasz knew Batman wasn’t after him, he knew who he was after- and Zsasz knew one more thing: That he was going to surprise the Bat.

The fishing industry was big in Gotham, they’d reel in millions of dollars a week in fish, now the warehouse in front of him was reminiscent of that.

In the light provided from inside, Zsasz watched the shadows of Batman and the man he knew as Hannibal go toe-to-toe.

Clearly Batman was superior. Nobody was superior to Batman. Nobody. But the more that Zsasz watched, the more he found an opponent in Hannibal as he watched the shadows dance the ballad of a beautiful fight unfurl- one that ended with the Bat losing.

Zsasz watched in horror as Batman was beaten to the ground by a chunk of plywood. There was no blood, no, it appeared almost as if Mr. Lecter didn’t want to kill him. At least not yet.

He took this as a chance to come to a conclusion of years of hard work. He was about to kill Batman.

Sure, it wasn’t the theatrical fight he would have hoped for, but it was still killing Batman, and it was still adding just one more slice into his flesh. Looking down at his tallied flesh, Zsasz knew it was worth it.

He swaggered into the room, twirling his throwing knives around his fingers, their reflection bouncing the artificial light across Batman’s restrained and unconscious body lying against a large metal fish chopping board. In the corner was Mr. Lecter, chopping a variety of vegetables with a rather large butcher knife.

Without turning he responded to Zsasz’s entrance. “There you are Mr. Zsasz, wonderful of you to join us for dinner.”

Zsasz continued walking silently. “You know, most people can’t make it to my dinner parties. They’re either ‘sick’ or ‘out of town’. But I make sure they get a chance to be at my dinner table, I always do.”

Hannibal turned his head smirking at Zsasz, “I’m assuming you’re here to kill your little friend?” Hannibal directed his knife towards Batman. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you do that. You see, I have a very special way of preparing my food and I don’t want other people’s fingers doing it all wrong.” I’m sure you can understand.

The scars on Zsasz’s face pulled closer to his nose as he narrowed his view.

Hannibal stopped his chopping and turned to face two throwing knifes hurdling towards his face; both missing but at least a foot.

Hannibal retrieved one of the throwing knifes from the ground and tossed it gentle back at Zsasz. “Try again.”

Zsasz crouched down and spun in circles, each revolution delivering one of three throwing knifes. He lunged quickly and withdrew a hunting knife, hammering it down at the body of Batman.

Hannibal kicked the wheeled platform which stationed Batman towards Zsasz, flipping him over the body, as he landed in a low crouch, his rage even more obvious.

He withdrew his second hunting knife and ran towards Hannibal.

The Doctor stepped aside and Zsasz continued, kicking off of a shelf flipping over Hannibal and dragging his knives both down with him, only one making noticeable contact with Hannibal’s body, leaving a scratch down Lecter’s chest.

Hannibal responded by delivering a kick to Zsasz’s face as the scarred man fell next to the body of Batman.

Using the one knife still in his hand, Zsasz jabbed at the body, the knife made a clang as it contacted with one of the only parts not occupied by the body.

He turned to face Hannibal who was now swinging his butcher’s knife at Zsasz’s arm, still holding on the the knife stuck in the metal platform.

Letting go and rolling away, Zsasz found one of his throwing knives and his hunting knife on the ground. Jumping from the ground, Zsasz delivered a blow into Hannibal’s back, getting caught before contact was made by the firm grip of Hannibal.

Zsasz’s arm was twisted violently and a snap broke out as a bone in his wrist popped out of place. Holding back a yell, Zsasz chuckled as tears dropped down his face.

He turned, viewing Batman, and the tears stopped. Zsasz grabbed the piece of wood used to beat Batman, and delivered a blow to Hannibal’s face. Hannibal spun as Zsasz stood, swinging the wood at Hannibal again, this time it was met with Hannibal’s knife, splitting the wood.

Popping his wrist back into place, Zsasz ducked down and picked both of his knives up, and starting releasing a storm of swings at Hannibal, clipping has nose, cheek, and ear.

Dropping, Lecter swung a leg at Zsasz’s and a snap echoed the room as his leg broke, dropping him to the ground. Hannibal fell onto of Zsasz, stabbing his knife into his back as he was thrown the the ground as Zsasz stood back up, once again refueled with rage.

Hannibal grabbed his sickle from the table and swung multiple times as Zsasz, the fiery man dodging each attack. With a kick of the leg, Hannibal was thrown away from Zsasz as Zsasz flung his remaining two knives at Hannibal, one bouncing off the ground and dropping onto Hannibal’s chest.

Lecter stood and wiped the blood coming from his nose as he tossed the throwing knife between his hands, viewing Victor as he smashed the glass window and broke a five inch shard from the damage.

The two men’s view tightened, Hannibal’s on Zsasz, Zsasz’s on Batman.

Zsasz darted forward at advanced human speed as the two men collided, Zsasz’s glass shard entering Hannibal, the older man grunted and drew a weak breath, chocking in the air as he held back a smile. He released Zsasz from his grasp, the body laying on the floor with his own throwing knife in his abdomen.

Hannibal pulled the glass shard from the threading in his newly purchased motorcycle jacket, dropping it onto the floor as he approached Batman.

“Wake up, Batman.” He slapped his masked face, “We must get ready for dinner.”

Winner: Hannibal Lecter

Expert's Opinion
None written

To see original battle, votes, and weapons, click here.

Battle vs. John Doe (by Battlefan237)
None will be written.

Winner: Hannibal Lecter

Expert's Opinion
The votes tied, so I flipped a coin to determine the winner. Hannibal Lecter claimed victory over John Doe majorly due to his proficiency in various hand-to-hand skills, superior intelligence and knowledge in psychology, as well as experience of dealing with other psychopaths that share similar traits with John Doe, allowing him to beat John Doe both physically and mentally.

To see the original battle, weapons and votes, click here.