Tears of the Dead: The Final Game

She climbs the dank, dark staircase. It has sharp corners, the stairs are narrow. As she looks down, her bare feet, blood stained and dirty seem to move in slow motion. Her white gown, specially tailored for her slim figure is beautifully orchestrated and elaborate were it not for the vicious fresh blood stains that cover her from breast to the edge of the hem. Isabella would be disappointed at the treatment of such a lovely gift. The blood is not hers, it's thick with chunks of flesh and it is still warm, covering her dress and deep inside her, feeding the beast, empowering her clarity. Her victims were the guards protecting this grand old building, there would no doubt be more as she works her way up. She could already hear the commotion and rustling upstairs as the protectors of the London Tower rush to stop her.
Inside the stair case are various paintings, self portraits mostly of the many people who have over the last thousand years inhabited this place. The Tower of London is more than just a landmark, it has been the site that served a wide range of purpose over the centuries. Once a long time ago it was the center of strength for London, a place from which great invasions were held at bay, while later in its history it served as a prison for the worst kind of criminals of London. Today it is nothing more than a tourist attraction, a museum of sorts, yet it remains guarded by London's elite guards as a point of pride and tradition. The paintings on the wall reflect the many proprietors, builders and royalty that constructed, inhabited and protected this land mark over the centuries. People of importance to mortals, yet completely irrelevant to vampires.
She paused at one of the paintings, approaching it as one might approach a waiting lover, gracefully, patiently. She traced the frame with her finger gently, staining it with blood as she stared into the eyes of the painters creation. She whispered a word.... Magda. She was beautifully illustrated, standing boldly in full armor holding up a sword. The painting was from the early part of the 12th century according to a small index card below the painting. The index card claimed her to be Elizabeth of Messex, though there was no mistaking the image, this was the vampire Magda, likely taking on the persona of a mortal for a time. History is full of such clever little details missed by mortals yet so obvious to an ancient vampire.
"You there, stop right there", the voice came from behind her, interrupting her tranquility. At first she ignored the two guards approaching her, lost in her thoughts, reminiscing about the past. Then suddenly her fangs extracted, her eyes widened and she swung around injecting celerity into her motion, ripping the first guards throat out with a single swing of her open hand. As the second guard tried to stab her with his bayonet fitted rifle, she dodged it easily grabbing for his neck and sinking her teeth into his throat. She drained him slowly, no longer needing the blood but seeing to his death nonetheless. As she released the body, it dropped to the floor helplessly and limp.
She turned for a moment to take one last look at the painting of Magda and began making her way up the stairs, her pace still slow, patient and graceful.
By the time she reached the roof she had murdered two more guards, one of them managed to fire his rifle, the bullet was aimed at her chest, but hit her shoulder instead. It had been the first time she had ever been shot by these modern weapons mortals covet so much, but it did not hurt nor do much damage. She healed the wound as the man who fired the rifle watched helplessly from the floor bleeding to death from a mortal wound of his own. She had ripped a hole in his chest with her bare hand, punching the heart out nearly completely through his spine and back. Her dress now ripped and even bloodier made for a gruesome sight as she approached the ledge of the Tower of London, over looking the grand city which she has called home for so many centuries.
She stood watching the city, it's lights sparkling like stars in her eyes, the air a mixture of fresh spring air and the putrid odor only the mortal world is capable of creating. She could hear guards trying to break down the door to the roof which she had bared with a steel beam. They shouted and banged on the door, but she muted the sound in her mind, She would have her private moment, she would relish it. There was a slight breeze pushing her hair back, her dress floricked in the wind where the now drying blood did not cause the dress to stick to her skin.
After a moment of contemplation, she placed her hands palms down on the stone ledge and lifted herself up, now standing on the ledge. She moved slowly to the edge until her bare toes were hanging over it.
She stood for a moment, first looking down, but slowly moving her gaze straight ahead. Her eyes began to tear up, the tears made of thick vampire blood that flowed down her cheek and dropped down to the ground many stories below. There were people gathered in the Tower of London courtyard now, looking up at her, but she ignored them.
When the moment came, it was as if the air was suddenly sucked out of the entire world, in her mind, there was only silence. Ariela only said one word before she leaped off the tower of London head first to the ground below.
"Erik..."
... Somewhere in the city of London.
Eriks eyes opened wide, he could feel a pain in his chest, it was unlike anything he had experienced before as a vampire, yet oddly familiar. It was true pain, human pain. He rose to a sitting position and could suddenly feel the will inside him pushing, his mind clearing. There was a cracking sound, like that of dry wood burning in a fire. He could feel the soul possessing his body trying to hold on to its dominant position, but Erik's mind had enough. It pushed. The spirit of Jarnos was launched across the room, for a moment it was visible, he had dropped to his knees. It looked as if it was about to say something and then simply vanished.
Erik rose to his feet, his voice broken, almost crumbling.
"Ariela".....