History prefers legends to men. It prefers nobility to brutality, soaring speeches to quiet deeds. History remembers the battle, but forgets the blood. However history remembers me before I was a President, it shall only remember a fraction of the truth...
— Abraham Lincoln

Born in Illinois, Abraham Lincoln was raised in the places where slaves were treated with prejudice and without equality. When Abraham and a slave friend where whipped by his father's boss, Jack Barts, his mother yelled at Barts. While he was sleeping, Abraham watched Barts infiltrate their house and murder his mother. Several years later, a drunk Lincoln seeks revenge on Barts. After revealing he is a vampire, Barts nearly kills Lincoln until a mysterious man saves him. The man is revealed as Henry Sturges, a vampire hunter. He teaches Lincoln his art, who moves to Springfield  and hunts down several vampires and even Barts. He soon abandons his career as a hunter and makes a new life as a politician. He makes his way to become the President, and sets to free the slaves. Adam, leader of the vampires, soon has his vampires join the side of the Confederacy and massacres Union forces at Gettysburg. Lincoln has several silver weapons delivered to the Union forces, and confronts Adam on the train carrying them. Lincoln finally kills Adam, the remaining vampires flee to South America, and the Civil War ends soon afterwords. After speaking with Henry one final time, Lincoln leaves to watch a play and is assassinated.

Battle vs. Blade (Film) (by Oshbosh)

No battle was written.

Winner: Abraham Lincoln (Vampire Hunter)

Expert's Opinion

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Battle vs. Franklin D. Roosevelt (American Badass) (by Lasifer)

No battle was written.


Expert's Opinion

The warriors were tied, as FDR's limited mobility was balanced by his superior technology, while Lincoln's greater physical strength was offset by his less advanced weaponry.

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

Battle vs. Gabriel van Helsing (by Cfp3157)

The Vatican is quiet, eeriely so. The morning dew and fog clouds most of the ancient buildings, with the sun winking on the city from behind the cover of clouds. A single rider, covered in black and wide brimmed hat shadowing his face, travels down the cobblestone streets. Clip, clop. Clip, clop. Dismounting, he walks into a single church small compared to others. Removing his hat, the feared killer of werewolves, giants, and even Dracula himself genuflects before the host. Kissing his thumb and making the Sigh of the Cross, he stands and confronts the priest before him.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned. My name is Gabriel van Helsing, and it has been-" The priest raises his hands, clearly irritated. "Yes yes, Gabriel. A month since your last assignment. Come now, we have a new assignment in need of dire attention." The two men walk down the hidden passage, torchs reflecting their shadows like beasts in the night. Walking into the arsenal filled with priests and friars making new weapons, and Gabriel stands with his equipment. "So, what is it this time?" The priest smiles a sarcastic grin and chuckles. "You've got a challenge on this one, Gabriel. His name is Henry Sturges, and he's in the US." Gabriel holsters his revolver. "Don't worry, I got this." The priest raises an eyebrow. "Oh do you? Just like you handled Dracula?"

Gabriel starts a reply, but the priest cuts him off. "Ten people killed, and several more wounded. An entire town nearly destroyed." Van Helsing looks down, clearly disappointed, lets out an exhausted sigh. "Just....take some finese into this mission, okay? God bless, Gabriel." The vampire hunter gives a tip of the hat, and begins to leave the armory. As he returns to the staircase, he sees his old friend Carl. "Carl, how's going?" The friar looks up from his work. "Good, Gabriel. I can't come with ya on this one, but good luck!"

Van Helsing smiles. He looks at the Gatling Gun, spitting rapid silver rounds into a target and tearing it to shreds. "Seriously, why do I never get the good stuff?!" The priest and friar chuckle as Van Helsing begins his long journey.

I awoke covered in dirt. As I stood up and brushed the dust and dirt off ot my suit, I realized suddenly that I was in graveyard. I let out a single cough, and looked at what was behind me. 'President Abraham Lincoln, 1790-1864' it had read. "Surprised, Abraham?" I turned to the voice and found mu longtime friend and mentor, Henry Sturges. "Sorry it took so long, friend. Had to wait for a time when nobody would recognize you by face." I rushed at him, getting right in his face. "Why would you do this to me?" Henry remained silent, not wishing for things get violent.

"Abraham, I had no idea that you wished to not turn. However, some men are to.....interesting to die." After some extremely frustrating talking, I realized he was right. Both of us agreed that, even with a majority of their leaders in South America or their graves, that those that remained would continue to wreak havoc upon America.

Abraham put his pen down, glancing around his hotel room. He walks to the window, examining the great New York skyline. Times have changed since thirty years ago. It'd been a few weeks since he's been back, but his skills were still sharp as ever. Henry was in the city doing some recon, leaving 'ole Honest Abe a couple hours to himself. He knew his comrade would be back soon. He grabbed a couple knives, sheathing them in his coat jacket. His trusy axe was by the door, sharpened for the hunt. Finally, his final weapon.

Abraham lifts the table up with a single hand, feeling his muscles slightly heat up at his newfound strength. Smiling, he put the table down and saw Henry through his window. Grabbing his axe, Abraham walked onto the street prowling for the undead once more.

The duo walked through the streets, neither truly drawing attention to themselves. Abe did a good job of keeping his axe hidden, and nobody gave him a glance for his top hat shadowed his face. As they draw near the harbor, they spot their prey; A young harbor master and Union veteran by the name of Jonathan Grant. The two slowly approached him, not drawing attention. He was talking to a man in a wide brimmed hat, and trench coat. Sturges walked towards them, and Abraham kept sentry by the docks. "Hello. Are you by any chance Jonatahn Grant?" Jonathan looked surprised, but his comrade not by much. Henry had never noticed, but the man had a rather large crate in hand.

"Yes, and you're Henry Sturges correct?" Now it was Henry's turn to look shocked. "....Indeed, sir. You are?" Van Helsing slowly reached inside his jacket, and out came a silver stake. "Your reckoning, demon." Henry's shock turned to fear, and he sprinted away as Van Helsing thrust the stake into empty air. Van Helsing put his stake away and drew a revolver.

"Abraham! Abraham, get ready!" Abe looked to see his mentor running, a sudden fear upon his face. "Henry, what's-" Bang! A single shot echoed in the air, and Henry fell. Abraham ran to his mentor with lightning speed, but quickly saw his master's assailant. Van Helsing held the revolver in his hand, smoke pouring out the barrel.

Abraham's rage rose immdiately, and he charged at van Helsing. The speed of Lincoln surprised even van Helsing, and before he could release another shot Lincoln threw a knife. The blade cut a gash in van Helsing's shoulder, and he dropped the gun in pain. He quickly busts open the crate, revealing his crossbow. Firing from the hip, he sends a flurry of bolts at the former president. Lincoln quickly rolls behind the pillar of a gunsmith. The screams rage on as pedastrians flee in terror. van Helsing keeps the barrage up, firing in bursts whenever Abe reveals his face.

Abe sits behind the pillar, comtemplating his next action Every time he moves, a quick succession of thwacks send splinters into Abe. As he searches the environment, he spots a Henry rifle undamaged in the fighting. Lincoln quickly grabs the rifle, pulls the lever, and cracks off a shot. Van Helsing ducks behind his cover, and Lincoln sprints, randomly shooting off rounds from his rifle.

Van Helsign had no idea what to do. He had been told Henry was deadly, for sure, but never knew he had an apprentice. He abandons his heavy crossbow, as it was overheated and damaged from the rifle. He unholsters his other revolver, intent on finishing the fight. He peeks over his cover only to be staring down the barrel of a rifle. Abraham pulls the lever, and prepares to finish his opponent. He pulls the trigger...Click.

Van Helsing smiles smugly, and raises his revolver. Lincoln takes the rifle and quickly trips van Helsing. He throws the rifle aside, drawing his axe. Lincoln swings his axe downwards, but Van Helsing rolls aside. He retrieves his two Handheld Saws and swings them wildly. The axe's handle breaks like butter, and Abraham stumbles back in surprise.

Left with nothing, Lincoln watches as Van Helsing stands with his saws. He swings the two weapons, but Abraham dodges all the strikes with ease. As Van Helsing swings upwards, Lincoln lands a swift punch into Van Helsing's stomach. "Guh!" Van Helsing gasps in a breath of air. Abraham takes his opportunity and grabs Van Helsing by the throat. Using his new strength, he throws Van Helsing into the harbor. Van Helsing struggles to swim, and Abraham quickly reaches over to Henry.

Lincoln saw the life leave Henry's eyes, and he quietly lets out a sob. He sniffles, and closes his eyes. "God be with you, my old friend." Lincoln then quickly leaves the scene. He spots his top hat laying on the ground, and puts it on as he walks off into the night.


Expert's Opinion

Even with Van Helsing's additional training and experience, Abraham's past experiences allowed him to use his vampiric physical advantages without having to worry as much about their weaknesses. Van Helsing may have dominated the fight at the longer range, but Abraham's speed and endurance let him close the distance where his superior strength and melee weapon allowed him to seal his victory.

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Battle vs. Connor (Assassin's Creed) (by Wassboss)

Chop. Chop. Chop

Abraham Lincoln wipes his brow and leans on his axe, a small log resting on a tree trunk. He had received a letter from Henry a couple of days before about a vampire that has been preying on the inhabitants of a homestead and he has been posing as a labourer at the site, helping locals with odd jobs during the day and hunting for his quarry at night. He has had no luck thus far but he persists with his mission, Henry has never been wrong before. He wipes the sweat off his face and sits down next to the stump, picking up a water flask that is lying next to his axe and takes a long swig, savouring the refreshing taste. Little does he know that he's being watched.....

Connor watches Lincoln from a tree, hidden from sight by the foliage. He doesn't trust this helpful stranger, he doesn't look much like a labourer, he looks more like a politician. Without Achilles to advise him, he has no idea if this man is a Templar but he certainly dresses and acts like one. He puts his hand on his back, feeling his bow and musket, contemplating which to use. He decides on the musket and silently takes it from where it's slung over his shoulder and peers down the sights. Lincoln has put down the flask and is standing up ready to start chopping again. Connor checks his aim again and the pulls the trigger.


Lincoln hears the shot and immediately throws himself to the ground, the round ball ricochetting off the log and bouncing of into the forest. Lincoln peers around but he cannot see where the round was fired from. He grabs his axe and looks around for his other weapons, cursing as he remembers he had put his coat down by another tree trunk, which is about twenty feet away. He gets to his feet tentatively, his eyes scanning the area for any movement. He dashes over to his trench coat and puts it on, picking up his Spencer rifle and jamming the butt into his shoulder. He begins pacing around the area looking for who or what fired off the shot. Connor watches from his position, his suspicions confirmed, why would a labourer come armed with a rifle. He draws his bow and notches an arrow, waiting as Abe turns his head away to check out a large bush. Connor raises himself from behind cover, drawing the string of his bow back as he does and fires off a shot.

Lincoln hears the whooshing of the arrow and rolls out of the way and onto his knees, spotting Connor stood in the trees. He fires off several shots from his rifle as Connor expertly navigates the branches of the trees, dodging the shots. Lincoln changes tact and starts aiming for the various branches around the Assassin. Connor hesitates as a branch in front of his is blasted and another shot puts him off balance, giving Lincoln the opportunity to get a good shot. The bullet only grazes his shoulder but it is enough to make him fall from the branch. He does a small twist in the air and lands on his feet, raising his head to look at his adversary. Lincoln is frantically reloading his Spencer Rifle and Connor takes out his Tomahawk and throws it. It slams into the Spencer Rifle, shattering the barrel and getting wedged in the mangled remains of the firearm.

Abe throws down the destroyed rifle and takes out his axe, swinging it around as a show of strength. Connor draws his Sabre in response, twirling it around. The two men charge at each other, sparks flying as the two weapons collide. Connor manoeuvres his blade around expertly but every attack is blocked by Lincoln whose more powerful blows making Connor stumble back. This exchange goes on for a few minutes before Connor gets a lucky break and manages to stab Lincoln in the shoulder, the thin steel blade going right through and poking out of the other side, making Lincoln wince in pain and drop his axe involuntarily. Connor forces Abe back with a flurry of attacks, who can do nothing to interrupt the attacks now that he has dropped his axe. He takes out his Bowie Knife and ducks under a swipe, surprising Connor by ramming into him and taking him off his feet. He tries to stab Connor but his vision in impaired by the assassins cloak and Connor manages to wriggle out of his grip. Now that his vision is clear Abe throws a punch which catches Connor right in the face, sending him reeling back. Abe then takes out a trio of throwing knives and launches them at Connor. He dodges out of the way of the first two but the third one is too near to dodge and he instead catches it with his left hand. In one fluid movement he then flicks the blade back at Lincoln and it hits him in his injured shoulder, making him cry out in pain.    

Connor takes advantage of this by thrusting forward with his sword but Lincoln moves out of the way and grabs onto his arm, twisting it up and wrenching to make him release his grip, his sword clattering to the ground. Unarmed, Connor panics and jumps forward with a flying kick, knocking Abe back and making him release his grip, allowing him to run back to where his Tomahawk is embedded in remains of the Spencer Rifle. He pulls it out of the wreckage and feels a whoosh as something flies past him, going through part of his cloak and narrowly missing his torso. He turns to see Lincoln crouched down, crossbow in hand. Connor charges at his adversary and swipes at him with the Tomahawk but his strike is expertly blocked by Abe with his Bowie knife. The Vampire Hunter then knocks his opponent back with a powerful left hook and advances with the knife, stabbing Connor in the chest before he can react. He lets out a gasp of shock but Abe has misplaced the strike and it misses his heart by a couple of inches. Connor pushes him away and draws his Flintlock, aiming it square at Abe's chest and firing, the power of the shot coupled with the close proximity sending the big man flying backwards. He lands with a thud and doesn't move, his eyes closed and his muscles relaxed.    

Connor clutches the wound at his chest, pulling back his robes to reveal a deep cut in his chest. "I'll need to get that looked at by Doctor White," he thinks to himself "But first." He stoops over his fallen opponent, unsheathing his hidden blade, ready to draw it across Abe's throat. Just as he is about to though he feels a sharp pain in his right ribs and as he glances to see what it is, he is thrown away, scrambling in the dirt to regain his balance. He watches in amazement as Lincoln gets to his feet, staggering a bit as he stands but eventually managing to compose himself. "How did you survive that" he asks in astonishment. Lincoln reaches into his coat's breast pocket and pulls out a small metal box, the beautiful engravings ruined by the round shot.    

"It's what I keep my bullets in," he replies "I don't normally keep it there but I did today, to stop it falling out while I worked." He looks at Connor and to his surprise, musters a smile. Connor shrugs his shoulders and slides his hidden blade out, pivoting it out into a knife. Lincoln's smile quickly disappears and he readies his own blade just in time to block a lightning fast strike from Connor. The two begin to duel with their blades but in this situation it is Lincoln who is coming out on top, his greater strength making it hard for Connor to parry his attacks. It's not long before the blade is snapped in half from a particularly powerful blow from the Lincoln. Connor has little time to recover before Lincoln grabs him and lifts him into the air, holding him level to look him in the eyes. He slowly pushes the blade into the Assassin's chest, making sure that this time he punctures the heart. He then drops him to the floor and Connor gasps, clutching at his chest in vain. Abe bends down and kneels next to his opponent.    

"Who are you" he says quietly. Connor looks up at him and his expression twists in anger.    

"I'll never tell you Templar" he snarls, mustering up the strength to spit at Abe.    

"What is a Templar," Lincoln says confused "I am here to catch a vampire."    

Connor laughs but it's bitter and hollow. "Don't joke with me old man. You insult my intelligence." His breathing becomes even more laboured and he wheezes. "Your time will come" he says "One day, one of my brothers will find you and end your tyranny" With these words his head lolls to one side and his breathing stops. Lincoln closes his eyes and raises himself up, puzzled by the strangers words. He lifts the body of the man and carries it over to some shrubbery, hiding it away from view of the villagers.    

Winner: Abraham Lincoln     

Expert's Opinion

This was a closely fought battle but in the end Lincoln managed to avoid assassination for now at least. Lincoln has the edge at long range due to his more modern firearm and up close his legendary strength allowed him to overpower Connor, who while a skilled assassin is not as suited to head on combat as Lincoln. Lincoln also had the advantage of having faced vampires who were much deadlier and more skilled than Connor in close ranged combat. 

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Battle vs. Abraham Lincoln (Vs. Zombies) (by Alockwood1)

(An excerpt from Abraham Lincoln’s Secret Journal, wherein he tells his secret life as a vampire hunter. This is but one of his many unusual adventures.)

Henry, this following adventure I can reasonably tell you to be true, and I’ve told many a strange tale. In this tale, I came face-to-face with my own death.

It was after the Battle of Gettysburg, where so many brave young men lost their lives, some to those fiends that you and I know so much about, that I got a report from Fort Pulaski about a unit of men who got lost in a strange fog while on patrol, and were attacked by a strange hostile force that seemed to be comprised of men who wore the uniforms of both Union and Confederate, as well as the clothing of civilians. According to the sole survivor, these men, without any warning, attacked the patrol, and tore them limb from limb, and ate their flesh. The sole survivor, who was bitten by these men, managed to escape on his horse, and fled the scene, eventually making it back to the fort, ‘as if Hell itself was after him’ as the man on guard duty described him as he approached. According to the fort’s commanding officer, the survivor could still hear the screams of his fellow soldiers, even as he fell into a fever.

After receiving the report, I decided to investigate the situation myself. I went to the fort and tried to talk to the soldier, but he soon became aggressive, and tried to attack me. Luckily, I had brought my axe with me, and, sad to say, I was forced to dispatch him, by removing his head. Of course, I had tried to reason with him before this, but, unlike with the fiends we normally deal with, there was no reasoning, or even attempted reasoning. He’d become like an animal, and I was forced to defend myself. The commanding officer was not pleased by this development, not that I could blame him.

I got on a horse, and went in the direction the massacred unit had gone, to try to find out what had happened. Eventually, I rode into a hellishly thick fog, and all but lost my sense of direction. That was when I heard the sound, the sound of fighting. I tried to direct my horse closer, but the beast refused to go further. Reluctantly, I got off, tied it to a tree, and carefully walked towards the sounds.

Soon, I located the source, and was surprised to find someone, who reminded me of my reflection in the mirror, killing people with little more than a scythe. Each stroke beheaded a man, or a woman. His victims acted like the doomed soldier I’d killed in self-defense, just coming at him, with no attempt to reason or anything. Soon, they were all dead.

That was when he noticed me. “Who are you?” he asked, still holding onto his scythe. “Are you some sort of actor, who likes to portray himself as me on stage?”

“Who are you?” I asked, as I reached into my overcoat. “Are you a follower of Adam?”

“I am Abraham Lincoln,” the man said. “President of these here United States of America.”

“No,” I said, pulling out my ax. “I am Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States of America!”

I attacked, swinging my axe. The impostor ran, getting several trees between me and him. Still, this proved to be of little use, as I was able to take them out in one swing each, continuing to close in on him. He the popped out from behind the last tree, a Colt revolver in his hand, and fired. I got lucky; the bullet grazed my cheek – half an inch and I wouldn’t have to worry about that speech at Gettysburg.

I decided to get behind cover, and pulled out my Starr revolver, and returned fire. I managed to hit the tree he hid behind, but he too was a good shot, actually he was better, forcing me to duck more often than not. Soon, our revolvers were spent.

“Do you give up?” he asked. “We have bigger issues to deal with here than some identity crisis.”

I pulled out my flintlock pistol, and readied it. I also got out my dagger. I stepped out from behind my tree, and found him similarly armed, with a Derringer and a dirk. I decided to get as close to him as I could, so that I wouldn’t be able to miss my shot, and walked towards him. He in turn began walking towards me, as that Derringer wasn’t very accurate past a few steps.

I then took aim, and fired, and missed! He then rushed at me, his dirk ready. I parried his blade with mine, punched him in the face, leapt back, pulled out my axe, pulled on my weapon’s head, revealing the trigger, and pointed the muzzle end of my hidden gun at my foe’s face.

“Someone once told me to always have a contingency plan,” I told the impostor.

“I should of thought of one myself,” said the impostor. He then looked over my shoulder. “But I guess this will have to do.”

It was then that I heard something. I turned my head, and saw a man coming at me, in the manner of an animal, too close for me to get in a good swing with my axe. I heard something else, a gunshot, the bullet speeding past my ear, entering the head of my would-be attacker, stopping him dead cold. I looked back at the impostor, who was holding onto his smoking derringer.

“I told you that we have bigger issues than some identity crisis,” he said.

I looked back, yet again, and saw a large group of people coming towards us, all in the same manner as the others I’d seen.

“The gunfire must have attracted them,” the impostor said, as he stood next to me, and got out his scythe, which he’d hidden under his overcoat, just as I had hid my axe. He looked at me. “I hope you’re better with that axe than you are with a revolver or pistol.”

I reattached the head, and made ready to use it. “What are they?” I asked, as I looked at my new foes.

“Me and my men have been calling them zombies, based on the description my one man used when compared them to something from some dark pagan ritual,” the impostor said. “I don’t know exactly what they are, but I know this; don’t get bit, don’t get scratched, and don’t get any of their blood in your face or mouth, or you’ll become just like them. You have to remove their heads to kill them.”

“That won’t be a problem,” I said.

“These things killed my mother and father when I was just a boy,” the man said. “I’ll die before it spreads any further.”

He then began swinging, as did I, our blades flashing like lighting, from what sun there was. Then, there was something that made me pause, a little girl, maybe eight years old, coming at me.

“Swing you fool, swing!”

I found myself unable to swing at the girl. That was when the man shoved me out of her reach. The girl grabbed him, and bit him in the wrist.

I heard a gunshot, and saw the girl’s head blow apart. By luck, nothing got on me. I looked up, and saw about ten people coming towards us, two Confederates, a boy, a young woman, another woman, who looked very ill, and four men in suits, two of them injured, one was a negro, and the other reminded me of an actor I’d seen at the theater at one point or another.

“Mr. President,” the negro said. “Have you been injured?”

I was about to speak, when the other man did.

“Yes, Mr. Brown,” he said. “I’ve been bitten.”

I watched a smirk come to the actor-look-alike’s face, which was a sharp contrast to the sorrow on the others.

“Abe, it can’t be,” said the ill woman. “Who will find the cure for me, and you without you around?”

“I suppose no one will,” the man said.

“Mr. President, who is this man here?” the negro asked. “He looks a lot like you. He could pass for you.”

“I doubt that the country would like it if they found out that an impostor was leading them,” the man said. “Better I die here, and the story you will say is that some mad man ambushed me, while you were drinking, and killed me. Can you do that?”

The two wounded men, and the negro nodded, as did the rest, save the one.

“So, who’s to kill you?” the actor-look-alike asked.

“You will, Mr. Booth. I know you’re a Confederate agent, and have been plotting to kill me for some time. Now is your chance.”

At this, the actor’s face changed, especially as the others looked at him in shock, even the Confederates. “Very well,” he said, as he pulled out a derringer. “Good-bye, Mr. President.”

The man looked at me. “May we meet again, hopefully under better circumstances.”

I nodded. “I hope so.”

I stepped away, and Mr. Booth fired his pistol, muttering something in Latin, killing the man I’d fought against, and alongside of.

At that moment, the others pulled out their pistols and revolvers, and pointed them at Booth.

“What are you going to do?” Booth asked. “Kill me? He told me to do it.”

“Mr. Booth, you are a spy, and a traitor,” said Mr. Brown.

“And Pat Garrett’s a Confederate soldier, yet you have no problems working with him,” said Booth.

“I wasn’t plotting to murder the man who was working to save all of us from this outbreak,” the Confederate said.

“Well, you can’t just kill me, especially in cold blood.”

Mr. Brown frowned, and lowered his revolver. “In that case, you’ve got twenty-four hours, before we tell people that you got drunk, and killed the president. Take us a little while to get to help anyways.”

Booth gave a cruel grin, and walked away.

Mr. Brown looked at me. “What about you, Mister?”

I pointed back the way I came, through the fog. “Well, my business is in that direction. I best be going.”

Mr. Brown offered me his hand. “Good luck.”

I accepted his hand. “I appreciate it.”

The group walked off.

I looked at the body, frowned, and went back the way I came, through the fog, until I found my horse.

I then rode back to Fort Pulaski, and warned them to be on the lookout for any strangers that looked like doubles of people they knew, before I went home.

Like I said Henry, it was one of my rather stranger tales.

Expert's Opinions

Well, it sees that, while the zombie slaying version of Abraham Lincoln had some good weapons, came up with some good tactics, and even planned the unthinkable - that is, his assassination - in order to cover up the existence of the undead, it's his Vampire Hunting counterpart who gets the victory in this battle of the 16th Presidents, for having fought foes that were tougher to kill than zombies, for having fought on multiple occasions over the course of his life - instead of a battle or two here and there - and also, for having received training from a professional, and not just learning things on his own.

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

Battle vs. Priest (by Wassboss)

When he’d first arrived in DFederal, Priest had found things not to be much different from his home world. A grey drab city ruled over by a powerful and oppressive organisation was nothing he wasn’t already used to. For years he had lived in a small trailer in the blue-collar district and while it had not been a happy existence it was at least a comfortable one.

But that all changed when the VC Nation attacked.

One night he was awoken by the sounds of his door being kicked in and a group of men dragged him from his home. A man in a mask waited for him outside, one of the overlords of the city. “Your battle against Jake Lonergan has been declared invalid on fairness grounds,” the man said and with a snap of his fingers, his trailer was erased from existence. He had tried to protest, begging for a chance to regain his home but the masked man said nothing else, disappearing back to where he came from as the men who dragged him from his bed went back to their own homes.

It was from then on Priest began to realise just how bad this city truly was. With no house he was forced to live on the streets and with no shower to bathe himself he was fired from his job; nobody wants a smelly starving homeless man working for them. During the day he scavenged for any food or money and by night he grasped fleeting moments of sleep he could. After months of living like this he knew what he had to do to escape this living hell; he needed to find a battle.

Finding an opponent was not easy, however. Many of the other homeless were either too weak or too strong to make a fair fight which left only the residents already with homes as options. As luck would have it some of the residents had taken it upon themselves to try and help the homeless with money, food, or medical supplies. Despite his desperation Priest found himself unable to challenge those who lived in blue-collar or white-collar housing, knowing they could ill afford losing housing space. But now after many months of searching he had finally found the perfect opponent.

His target was a giant of a man, standing at well over six feet tall and despite his lean figure was muscular and virile. Having tailed him one night, Priest knows he lives in the wealthy district. He follows him as he walks confidently through one of the many homeless hotspots. The man stops to speak to a woman sitting in the gutter, reaching into his pocket, and handing her a few dollars which she takes gratefully. Taking out one of his crosses Priest throws it at the man, aiming it so it takes the hat from his head and pins it to the wall. The woman scurries away as the man straightens up and turns to face him.

“There is no need for violence friend. If it’s money you need, I’m happy to help you out.”

“I’m not after your money, what I need is a home,” Priest replies. The man sighs.

“I’m asking you not to do this, the people who run this city might not even count this as a proper battle.”

“That’s a risk I’m going to have to take.” Priest takes out more of his crosses and throws them this time aiming to kill. Lincoln draws his crossbow from his trenchcoated, ducking down onto one knee to avoid the crosses and firing off a bolt. Priest flips over the bolt and throws a couple more crosses while in mid-air, one of which mangles the crossbow and the other cuts deeply into Lincoln’s arm. Attracted by the commotion a crowd of fellow hobos emerges from the shadows to see what all the fuss is about forming a circle around the pair as they continue their fight.

Discarding his ruined crossbow, Lincoln draws his axe, smacking away another cross as Priest throws it. Having now run out of the projectiles, Priest takes out his own blade just in time to block a swing from the axe. The force of the swing is enough to send the knife clattering away across the ground, leaving him temporarily disarmed. The axe whistles past his throat as he backs up with Lincoln pressing forward relentlessly. “Maybe we should go and get the police to stop this?” says a nervous mustachioed man dressed in green amongst the crowd.

“Nein,” says another man with a moustache, albeit it a much smaller and lamer one. “Finally, we have some decent entertainment around here.” He laughs loudly as Priest almost slips on a pile of rubbish, narrowly avoiding having his head being split open with the axe. One of his crosses is embedded in the wall behind him and he yanks it out, flinging it at Lincoln who has to lean backwards to avoid it taking his head off. The distraction allows Priest to grab his knife from where it has come to rest. He throws himself at the former president, knife aiming for his throat but Lincoln grabs his wrist with an iron strong grip, turning the blade away. With his free hand he slams punch after punch into his side, finishing off the flurry with a headbutt right on his nose.

Priest stumbles away dazed and Lincoln moves in for the kill. Raising the axe high above his head he prepares to take his opponents head when Priest lunges forwards suddenly, his seemingly dazed state actually being a ruse. He thrusts his knife into Lincoln’s abdomen with such force it almost pokes out of the other side of his torso. The axe clatters to the ground and Lincoln lurches forward, wrapping his massive arms around Priest to hold himself up. “I’m sorry,” Priest says quietly into his ear and yanks the blade out, stepping back and letting Lincoln collapse to the ground.

Some of the crowd cheer, happy to see one of their own defeat one of the wealthy citizens in a battle. Others move greedily towards the body of the fallen president to scavenge what they can from his corpse. Before they can however a gunshot rings out and they all go scrambling back. A man saunters into the area, dressed in a sharp suit and a fedora, his face waxy. “I’m Detective Inspector Me with the DFPD Magic Division. There have been reports of fighting in the area.”

“We don’t like cops round here,” says one of the hobos, spitting on the floor in contempt. Mumblings of agreement from the rest of the crowd follows. The detective ignores them instead his attention is drawn to Lincoln’s body and Priest holding a bloody knife stood above him.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that you’re under arrest, do I?”

“Of course, officer, I only did what I had to do to get a home.” He makes no effort to resist as the detective handcuffs him.

“I wish they were all this co-operative,” the detective says. Once Priest is safely secured, he takes out his phone and calls in to DFederal General Hospital to request an ambulance to pick up Lincoln’s body for revival. With that arranged he leads Priest away and the crowd of homeless slowly disperse back into the darkness, ready for another hard night on the streets.

Priest looks out over the city from his apartment in the white-collar district. His battle has been approved by the council and it was nice to have a warm comfy bed to sleep in after nine months sleeping in the gutter. He hears the clanging of his letter box and walks over to his front door to find an envelope lying on the floor. He picks it up and looks puzzled at an emblem of a wolf printed on the front of it before opening it and reading the note inside.

I heard through the grapevine about your situation about how you have been mistreated and cast aside by the rulers of this place. What is happening in this city is unfair, unjust, and unacceptable and it’s time someone did something about it. But I need people who share my views, people who are willing to make a stand and overthrow our oppressors. If you are interested meet me where your old trailer used to be at midnight tonight. Don’t disappoint me.


Priest looks up at the clock on the wall. 9PM. His old home was a two hour walk from his apartment so if he sets off now, he can make it in time. Grabbing his coat from the coat rack he heads out, slamming the door behind him.

Winner: Priest

Expert's Opinion

This battle came down to a simple case of professionalism. Priest was part of a specialised unit trained and supplied by the church in order to hunt vampires whereas Lincoln was a part time vampire hunter at best with a mostly self-taught skill set. Priest was the more skilled warrior as a result and that is why he was victorious here.

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

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