When my hero came back to life, etched into the dirt before her was a message. I was filled not with rage or frustration, but adrenaline: I was so close. When it came, accompanied as it was by the distorted sound of a gong, I trembled. It was the 437th time I'd died over 74 hours of Dark Souls III. The words 'YOU DIED' scrawl across my screen. I hold my ground, blocking and dodging for several minutes, taking my own shots when I can.
Wreathed in flames of claret and crimson, he charges me, slashing again and again with the fury and the presence of a dying sun.
