This story beat out my other intro idea by a long shot on deviantart... so this is what I shall do. I typically update often so check back every other day or so. Hope you enjoy!

The Cataclysm

Marshall Lee the Vampire King stood behind the Candy Kingdom castle, back plastered to the wall as his heart pounded in his chest cavity. He took deep and rash breaths, pure and raw fear in his eyes, pupils thin as needles. He pressed his sweaty hands to the cool gingerbread, obsidian black locks of hair tossed in his eyes. Marshall allowed his jaw to hang open as he heaved in his nose and out his mouth, legs shaking. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, exciting his body as he played a lethal game of keep away. He had lost his ability to fly, to transform into creatures, and to fight. He could feel a sticky wet substance trickling down the back of his head. Slowly, the vampire reached back and rested his fingers on the spot. He brought it back around carefully to inspect what it could be.

He wretched towards the ground as he quickly discovered he was bleeding, and bad. The slick crimson liquid coated the pads of his index and middle finger. He wasn't invulnerable anymore. Marshall, terrified and exhausted, shrank to the ground. He knew he couldn't run forever, and the wall surrounding the kingdom was too high to jump over, and too steep to climb. There wasn't enough time to cry though. He'd tried the fight method, but the fog had gotten to him and made him vulnerable. He rubbed the skin on his legs and arms, as it had begun to boil and burn. Now it was painful, searing, the skin an angry and fiery red with white bubbles. He wretched again, but had nothing to throw up. He hadn't eaten in two days, and was incredibly weak. Marshall's mouth was entirely dry, as he had managed to drink some water yesterday, but it was only enough to keep him alive. He hadn't slept in weeks, and definitely couldn't now, or any time soon. He swallowed a few times, but had nothing to clear or moisten his dry, scratchy throat.

The vampire's head throbbed, his lungs burned, his legs were numb, and his entire presence was typical of being close to death. He was running out of energy and time. He had been trapped in the sugary prison for days now, and knew that it would surely be the location of his demise. Carefully, Marshall rested a hand on his stomach, and winced in pain. Not long ago he had been injured with a sword, sliced right across the soft flesh. None of his organs were damaged, but the muscle had been cut deep. It was so painful now, and he almost couldn't keep his eyes open. If starvation and dehydration and sleep deprivation didn't kill him, then surely the pain of his wounds would.

Marshall's heavy eyelids shot open as he heard the shrill scream of a young female candy person. Another found, destined to die and become fresh meat. His ear twitched as he listened in the dark ally, trying to go unnoticed. He'd shaken the group that had chased him for a good mile. His eyes rolled to his torn, dirty red sneakers as he felt pangs of misery jab his chest. This was worse than any hell he'd ever been to. The once feared and strong creature of the night was nothing more than a victim now, fighting for his life. His red eyes were dull and full of regrets. He was going to die like this, sitting in an alley behind the candy castle, wishing he could have done something. He watched many of his friends die, few escape, and many go mindless. The king allowed for his eyes to roll up to the sky, and fall upon the moon. It was large and full, and brought him a smidge of comfort. The moon was his sun. It brought him freedom and a chance to escape every time the sun went down.

Loud rustling began to sound from the end of the ally, forcing Marshall to scramble to his feet instantly. He watched as a dark blur came at him quickly, and began running for his life again. He knew very well that he couldn't fight his pursuer, because it'd only call for help. The vampire ran for as long as he could, entering the castle and sprinting up the stairs, then locking himself in an empty room. He found an old bottle of water and chugged it as the door was slammed into repeatedly. Blow after blow, it pounded itself against the solid, stale gingerbread wall. Marshall threw the bottle to the side and collapsed onto the bed, sweating and shaking. He pulled his knees to his chest slowly, face blank with pain and fear. He was tired. He just wanted to fall asleep.

Though the banging continued, the vampire gave up, allowing his body to succumb to exhaustion. He was gaunt and frail, covered in a sheen of sweat, smeared with blood and dirt. The water didn't work in the castle anymore, he'd already tried. His sneakers were ruined, his jeans soiled, red shirt shredded and torn. Being one thousand years old, he was shockingly young. Only twenty one, in appearance. The young man had a tall and thin frame, about six feet and five inches tall. He was skinny normally, but ever since the cataclysm, he'd lost weight at an alarming rate. It really was remarkable that he wasn't dead yet. His cheek bones were obvious on his face, his eyes dark, his collar bones sunken in, ribs apparent just under his skin, stomach concave, hip bones protruding, arms and legs about as thick as his bones. He lied on the bed, curled in the defensive fetal position to protect his tummy, blood poisoning setting in. He began to sweat more and become clammy, body temperature sky rocketing. He was dying.

Bang, bang, bang. It was unceasing. His attacker would not stop until it succeeded in its one mission in life. Kill. The vampire woke, shaking everywhere uncontrollably. He was so cold. Slowly, he stood, barely able to support himself. His eyes squeezed shut as he drew in a breath of cold air. After managing to push a heavy desk in front of the door, he collapsed, so weak. His body was on its last resort survival tactic, transitioning to calming the brain as organs began to give out inside him. He glanced at the door, angered by the constant beating and whacking. "Oh hell, give it up!" The vampire croaked, feeling even worse by the second. He was going to wretch again, but he didn't allow himself to. He needed to keep down the water. The vampire managed to crawl to the bathroom, where he found an old pink sweatshirt. Relieved, he put in on slowly, careful not to jostle his stomach. He heaved himself up and walked across the room at a snail's pace, until he reached the bloody sweat stained bed.

Marshall kicked off his sneakers and lowered himself down, one arm always draped across his tender and sickening wound, tending to it constantly. It was so far gone his brain had blocked out the searing and life-threatening pain, suppressing it to a dull ache. He didn't dare stretch it though, knowing that it would make him pass out due to experience. As he curled up under the warm comforters, his teeth chattered. Suddenly, he was alright with dying. Better like this than at the hands of the attackers. His brain numbed any painful or stress related thoughts, memories, and hopes. He felt himself twitch a smile as he closed his eyes once more. He thought about sweet nothings, relaxing himself into a peaceful death.

Loud and frightening bangs jolted Marshall not minutes later. They were coming from the window. Muffled screaming, and more sounds of beating on the glass window in addition to the door. That was when the vampire lost composure. He began to cry softly, whimpering helplessly. All he wanted was to die in peace. He didn't want to be eaten or violently ripped to pieces as he died a horrible gruesome death. He began to violently shudder, gasping as the window crashed in and glass littered the floor. He stiffened as a tall thin figure approached him, then knelt beside him. With the smallest ounce of energy and right he hand left, he chomped down on the hand extending to take his pulse.

"Oww!" He screeched silently into his shirt as he drew his hand back to see discoloration. Marshall had wisely sucked some of the red out of his body in a quick attempt to gain more energy, but it wouldn't be enough. The poor guy was too dizzy and lightheaded to even link the familiar voice with a face. The man huffed and spoke, rubbing his hand. "Marshall Lee, can you hear me? Glob, you look awful..." The soft voice resonated into the air once more. All at once, the vampire felt a small twinge of hope.

"Yes... Y-yes, I can. I- I'm in bad shape." He winced as a warm hand pressed to his hot forehead, then slowly moved to guide him onto his back. The vampire let out a long, cold moan and tears forced out his eyes. "My stomach. Be gentle..." He warned, and the smooth hand brushed over the makeshift gauze. He was lifted quickly and cautiously by his savior, but it hurt so bad that Marshall couldn't even cry out before he lost consciousness. The mysterious man struggled to get Marshall out, but he did. He mounted his bird, the Morrow, with his only survivor and they flew far away, to a place of temporary safety. As soon as they landed, the man lied Marshall down, knocked him out with a powerful drug, and began to perform surgery on the dying flesh. He needed to have someone's company, or he'd go insane.