DS3 yanks you from your chair to embrace you like a cannibal mother. Thereon, it's tunnel vision. I breathed it, dreamed it, pestered my friends with stories of heroic feats I alone found amusing. As long as I feel such a strong connection with a game I inhabit, I enjoy being poisoned, gangbanged in a corner, and cursed to death. When you learn how to deal with the game's difficulty, you begin to see that it serves as an adhesive which bonds you two by amplifying your agency. And it's not so unfair when you realise how many ways to overcome hardships there are. Being a dunce who died a thousand deaths, fell for every false opening and off every cliff, I still won. Because Souls aren't pedantic about one's playstyle. Likewise, I have my preferences (ugly mug, polearms, no summons), but I don't tell others how to play. Go unga-bunga or barrage the lands with devastating spells. Cheese & exploit. Your choices are respected, and that's the beauty of it.

Visual beauty, too. Apart from the typical soapy texture-popping and random stuttering, I had no issues. The appeal of DS3 is bleak and chambered, isolated to smaller areas unlike that of Elden Ring. Here, in place of the epic scale, the trusty Medieval setting frames an austere Gothic corridor slasher with grindhouse vibes. Timeless. You never know where its implicit beauty might jump you. It can be a corpse mound or a crimson pool of blood in a pantry. It can be a ditch in the slums, a set of armour sparkling in the Sun, a swing of a halberd leaving a fiery trace. Sometimes the light frames a scrupulously crafted scene in such a way it resembles a painting. Or maybe an epic chant suddenly hits you in the chest when you admire a vista, wondering how life here looked before the collapse. Curiosity comes naturally when you traverse a world so atmospheric.

The artistic aspects of the game are interwoven, its lore is inseparable from the sights. In the spirit of the series, even the lore fights back. You'll have to claw pieces of it from obtuse questlines and item descriptions. I wasn't a fan of the opaque approach initially, but it grew on me. I prefer it to the homogenising over-explaining of everything until it's so smooth it's featureless. Games are living things in need of space to breathe. To scoop them out of all enigmas is vivisection. Having said that, the story isn't that murky, for our avatar's goal aligns with ours: you're both here to grant death. Once again, you are a murder hobo destined to clean up the mess or make a bigger one after everything has already happened in a world long gone. Once again, the series reflects the cyclicity of cataclysms, showing us there's nothing more fragile than colossi, more miserable than broken sods buried under their rubble, more pathetic than kingdomless royalty.

In the ex-kingdom of Lothric, every stake is heightened. The ruined world is stuck between planes of existence. Should you choose to give it a push or become another King Nothing, you'll have to face the world's past, buried in castles and catacombs where the forgotten Gods and the Chosen Ones of old dwell in grief. To take their lives is to save their souls. Then exchange those for cool boss weapons, you know what I'm saying? Justly worshipped for the emotions it elicits and the mindset it fosters, the trifecta of exploring, fighting, and looting is king. With the lore permeating all. If you want it! Not everyone needs a reason to smash the wheezing undead, Lovecraftian horrors, and Satanic demons lurking around every corner. Kill them all, find their lords, kings, and gods. Do them in, too. Take their place, spit on it, then move on. But get caught lacking and they'll tear you limb from limb.

ER has higher highs and lower lows, it's a race between the best bosses ever, while DS3 has an evened-out, consistent level of clusterf#ck inflicted by normal enemies, making exploration more tense. Apart from being the scariest Souls I played, what's different after hopping on it after ER is the sense of being gently directed instead of wiggling like a dong in a bucket. Linear at the start, more dead ends and locked doors than usual, the game expands later while staying restrained. Don't expect an open or interconnected world. At the centre of your world, there's a hub where you can cash in your souls to raise stats or upgrade your gear. Right away, you can instatravel between bonfires, often the only things that connect levels together. On a larger scale, the game branches quite a bit, so you can still complete areas and beat bosses on your own accord, but the areas stay separated instead of looping around globally. A step back, but not a deal-breaker.

The levels are varied and expansive; with shortcut porn, secrets to uncover, sights to see. The same sense of discovery, half the overthinking. Unravelling them metroidvania-style feels great. Not being a free bird is fine as long as the encounter design and bosses are so tight and rewarding. Another positive side-effect of restraint is that, without sacrificing the build variety, it's much harder to accidentally overlevel. The resulting solid difficulty curve made me feel powerful, yet not overpowered. I always felt on edge as I conquered each room, unable to stop. How can one resist the Siren call of unexplored dungeons, promising visceral battles and glimmering treasures? In a world where stakes are so high, nothing motivates exploration like violence and the promise of new attire, a spell, or a nice weapon. Give me the gear of kings, the power creep! It's Fashion Souls alright. But it's not all vanity. The lengths you have to go to get the best stuff helps you inhabit your character.

And nothing truly puts you in their shoes like a good boss. Most bossfights complement the deliberate stamina-based combat system perfectly. It's as rigid and simultaneously freeform as ever, playing off commitments and predictions based on pattern recognition. The bosses are fair, featuring merciful runbacks, neat hitboxes, and cool movesets. Enjoy your attempts, don't waste those on entitled frustrations. A few overzealous wombo-combos can be tolerated along with a share of lame guys like Deacons or Wolnir. There are more good ones like the Abyss Watchers. I admire how, just for one example of many, the boss perfectly fits its place on the timeline, presenting the first gentle bump in difficulty that signalises: the introduction is over. It shows how diligently From thinks the player's experiences through. Then the game gives you a breathing room before letting out bangers like Aldrich or Twin Princes. I love a boss that throws you off and doesn't just let you hug its cake, even if it's not as demanding as just interesting like, say, Crystal Sage.

It's also obvious From were obsessed with pairs & phases at the time. They went all-out, primarily in the DLCs. Sister Friede iced me like no one else before her, even Malenia. You barely beat her two phases, heart pumps battery acid... then they throw in a third one! Motherf#ck. And don't get me started on Midir, that worm stumped me for ages. I say it lovingly. Remember, you're never really stalled, for each attempt progresses your comprehension of a fight. Persist! Beating a good boss doesn't only evoke a sense of relief or pride, but also gratitude. Grateful is how I feel. By the uncanny ability to permanently imprint itself on you, Dark Souls turns your brutal struggles and moments of silent admiration into permanent memories to cherish. After all these times I snatched defeat from the jaws of victory and vice versa, the pain and the pleasure stay with me. It was so sad to say goodbye. Like many others, one day I shall return to try and recapture the feeling. For now, I shall savour the aftertaste.

My curator Big Bad Mutuh

World War I is a perfect fit for the survival horror setting. For the most part, a soldier trembled in a trench under artillery fire while his feet went rot. You are private Henri Clement, a resilient man and a loyal friend. You begin in the trenches, surrounded by sorrowful sights of the no man's land. You fight, you fall, you wake up alone with amnesia. In a place compared to which the war overhead will soon seem serene. Reading your own notes doesn't inspire confidence. The same goes for a pile of burnt corpses in the nearby closet. Burnt and mutilated, as if one of these things isn't enough. It's so cruel that your freedom is so close you can practically reach it with your hand! Just beyond that impassable landslide. All you need is to find some dynamite and a detonator. Sounds simple, but there's quite a conundrum that will force you to solve problems under pressure in a dark labyrinth where a Behemoth from Heroes of Might & Magic 3 runs the show.

Make yourself at home in these gloomy corridors. This game is every survivor horror fan's favourite discomfort food. With a pair of sweaty palms for dessert. The oppressiveness spreads to the elaborate control scheme Amnesia games use for environmental interactions. Pushing and pulling objects around isn't just another way to deepen one's immersion. Wait till it catches you in panic with your hand motions unreliably clumsy! Your WWI gear is jank as well. Take the noisy flashlight that you have to rev up or your tiny bag that quickly gets crammed with bulky tools. On the bright side, your stash is limitless. Just drop items on the ground, object permanence is a thing. Sad to say, you can only look at the maps on the walls in some rooms, not take one with you. But I found memorising the layout of the bunker an easy task. It's surprisingly varied and harbours morbid events. Fear is the best teacher.

The bunker could look plain and we would allow it, but the artists and sound designers had a different idea in mind. The weather-beaten colours reminded me of Wayne Barlowe's works. The lighting is creatively hand-placed so that you could back away from your own long shadow and blow yourself up on a booby trap. I loved all the fine detail: the dust in the air, the torn bodies and dark blood smeared on surfaces. It's a lively place filled with grim stories and its soundscape instils paranoia. The ruckus never stops, your every action seems too loud. You crawl around, anxiously listening to the creaking of old support beams, your echoing steps, bottles rolling on the ground, the rasping of the flashlight, and the rattling of your teeth. The dirt crumbles, following the tremors from distant explosions. Meanwhile, the creature constantly shambles behind the walls and above the ceiling, stomping and wheezing... Dad?

You return from a raid to your hideout, scarred for life, with two rags and a stick. Then carefully plan a route to your next heart attack. You scavenge for ammo, fuel, inventory upgrades, healing and quest items, explosives. It's all about bleeding for your little victories. Exploring smarter, not louder. Expanding your territory by finding tools that allow you to unlock shortcuts and new passages. Further and further away from safety. It's a clever way to raise the difficulty and make you feel like entering outer space every time you undock. It never becomes a "You're locked in here with me!" situation, the stalker isn't a joke. I only called it Harambe-ass Karen motherf#cker once or twice. It never lets you hustle in peace, your trips often get out of hand in a cavalcade of chaos. However, its malicious presence begets fear, not annoyance. The creature wears a grotesquely bloated face and its howling is deafening. Its sadistic rage is fuelled by more than just hunger. Its behavioural patterns aren't sophisticated, yet they don't feel stale.

And it made cutlets out of my ass until the very end. After a few violent encounters, it was easy to suspend my disbelief and accept that the necessity for stealth is well-founded. You can't compete with the behemoth. Hell, you can barely compete with the rats! Granted, an average bunker rat is as big as a dog. A lone one would flee, but they are a menace in groups. Try to abstain from the alluring prospect of limping around wounded. They smell your blood, chasing you around, staring with their glowing eyes as you stumble in the dark. You can lure them away with meat, but it's a temporary measure. You know what isn't? Grenades. Those are good for everything, including blasting through doors or scaring away the monster. After getting your hands on the lighter, you'll also find that Molotovs and torches work as advertised. And don't forget the tear gas! It helps to cut the stalker off briefly.

It enables your agency in many ways. One can spend only so much time sitting in a wardrobe, clutching a revolver and breathing heavily. The game knows that, so you can't always sit it out. If you make a sound in the same place and hide there twice in a row - it will maul you. Be more inventive. Sometimes the bastard won't go away easily and you'd have to poke your head out to make your way past it in the dark, whispering prayers to every god you know. Being hunted by it always feels tense with how it forces you to act. It's better to try and leg it or sneak around than be paralysed with fear. It's a good thing that the creature plays fair. To boot, it makes lots of noise, the lights blink and Henri's heart starts pounding when it lurks nearby. You can trust these signs. But you can never be sure since it uses a net of tunnels, sprawling throughout the whole bunker, popping in and out at will. Always be ready to put up a fight. It's how boys become men.

Even men need friends. An electric generator is a good one to have. The lights help big time by allowing you to make less flashlight noise, but it also makes you feel naked. The creature still comes eventually, but now it can also see you better. It's a clever trade-off. You'll have to use the generator to accomplish certain goals either way. Fuel isn't exactly in short supply, so I eventually stopped trying to save it. Anything to keep that rascal off my back for longer. Other means to temporarily interrupt the hunt are even more wasteful. And there was no reason to overthink these matters anyway. Playing on Normal, I could've sponsored my own little war with everything I got out of the bunker by the end. That said, I still preferred to skulk in the dark because I'm a Scrooge who'd rather die than squander. My carbon footprint was minimal.

Once, I got caught off guard in the local chapel, a dead end! I heard it coming and had to improvise a hiding place out of a confession booth. Barely managed to patch myself up next the mutilated body of a priest. The beast can smell blood. It didn't find me this time. I waited out, then headed home. The fiend was right around the corner! It swept me off my feet, cutting some part of me open. Concussed, I somehow got up and ran downstairs, shot the lock off a metal door, shut it right in front of its face, gaining a second of advantage. Then took off, followed by its echoing roars. My heart was in my throat! I crawled back to the office on my last legs... but laden like a beast of burden. The stakes are high. You risk losing the haul to one rash decision. The Bunker thrives when it forces you to make them for survival. It's slow-paced yet its explosive power is immense when sh#t hits the fan. Dying is upsetting while returning in one piece feels orgasmic. I crave these contradictory sensations only true horror can provide. This game's design is clear-cut, scrupulous, and intoxicating. On top of it, it's a heartfelt little story with one cathartic climax!

My curator Big Bad Mutuh