Chapter Seven: Bait and Switch

"Ah, more fresh blood for my Ascension." The Master leered in his over-the-top, effeminate way, lounging back on his throne and putting his pointy fingertips together as the stunning young beauty staggered into the underground vault.

"Fight me, you ugly bloodsucker. Fight me!" The Slayer tried to sound fierce, deadly. But she looked so woozy and sleepy she could barely stay on her feet.

"This one's been hitting the cough syrup a little too hard," the Master sneered, his lipless maggot-mouth with its eel-sharp teeth twisting into a cruel carnivorous smirk. "Did this chick just wander in from the set of Breaking Bad? Where are they getting Slayers from these days, anyway?"

"Careful, Master," said Luke, the head vampire's humorless, colorless, muscle-bound second in command. "This could be a trick, a plot to get you off guard. The Ascension is near and . . ."

"Nonsense," pooh-poohed the ancient abomination, as he hopped down and began dancing around the drowsy blonde. "Edwina's tea and Angel's treachery have sapped her will to fight. As the Prophecy foretold. Besides, Buffy Summers is much too stupid for the classic rope-a-dope strategy."

"Rope-a-dope," The girl mumbled, jabbing feebly at the master. She didn't even have a stake. It was just a spatula.

"Yes, rope-a-dope," the Master replied in suave and unctuous tones. He danced in close to his opponent, and then pranced away again. "The fighting strategy first employed by the legendary heavyweight Mohammed Ali, during his championship bout with George Foreman in Zaire. I was there, you know. Back in the days when brainless little blondes knew their place. When men and vampires ruled. Back . . . when we were kings. Kinshasa, October of 1974. It was the proverbial rumble in the jungle!"

"Not . . . into . . . black guys . . ." The Slayer mumbled. She lost consciousness and fell right into the Master's arms.

"What are you going to do?" the Master shrugged, as he bared the young girl's throat and felt it with claw like fingers. "All blondes are bigots at heart, I suppose. Ah, the pulse is virtually nonexistent. The Prophecy is fulfilled. Let's eat."

As the Master bent her over, the girl's blonde wig fell off. But the ancient vampire was so frenzied by bloodlust that he didn't even notice. He chomped onto his victim's neck, and drained down a good mouthful of the rich, sweet blood. But something was wrong. The taste was sickly sweet. And as the blood hit his system, the Master felt dazed. Drowsy.

And then someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Rope a dope, maggot face." Buffy Summers, the real Buffy Summers, slammed her fist into the Master's face.

"Stop her!" howled Luke, the generic humorless assistant vampire. But a big fat woman with fangs barreled into him.

"You like to Polka?" Asked Inga the enormous vampire. She seized Mark in her arms and crushed him against a stake.

There was a chaotic struggle in the dimly lit vault, with the Master's followers trying desperately to overcome Buffy, Inga, and the Slayer's other friends. But it didn't last long. The slim blonde soon stood victorious, stake in hand.

"But you died," the Master muttered, with Buffy's boot heel resting on his throat.

"Yeah," Buffy replied. "My heartbeat got so slow I was technically dead for a minute. Edwina's tea does that to a girl. But that wasn't me you were fighting just now."

"Bait and switch," The Master mumbled, as the stake came down. "You're a brainless blonde, yet you fought like Ali. The greatest champion of all the ages. The rope-a-dope . . ."

POOF!

"Is everyone okay?" Buffy asked, looking around for her friends.

"We are," Xander Harris said. "But when she was fighting Luke Inga impaled herself on her own stake. Sort of a bittersweet ending for a vampire with a great big heart. And a great big everything else."

"And Cordelia's throat looks sort of, is mangled the right word?" Willow Rosenberg pointed to the slender figure in the corner.

"Cordy, no!" Buffy rushed to the side of her favorite stuck up nemesis.

"Edwina," Cordelia muttered, squeezing the Slayer's hand as her own life's blood rapidly drained away. "Call Edwina!"