My name is Lance, Lance Thompson.
I am 19 years old, recent graduate of Hillcrest High. I was unemployed at the time of my death.
Just barely reaching 6'2, You would describe me as a twig if you saw me. I like my chocolate brown hair longer than most, it waves naturally by the time it reaches my ears. My eyes are a deep blue, the type you can't tell the color until you shine a light on it. Pale as bones, a slight slouch in posture, my resting face makes me look like I'm slightly mad. I'm a blackbelt in karate, a long-distance track runner, and a competitive fencer. I can be awkward to talk to, my friends were usually those I met online. I can be hard to deal with, I tend to be stubborn.
But I can be trustworthy; at least that's what my mom told me.
When I died, something happened to me. I lost my memories.
Melina tells me it's because of a spell, because of dark magic that I've never heard of existing.
And I would know, because I know this world.
It's not everything, the spell over my mind is a stronger breed than Melina has ever seen. The thing is complex, I could best envision it as a compound lock based off her descriptions. She was able to remove a few layers, though she barely scratched the surface. With what has been unlocked, is the nature of this world, and why so many things are found familiar to me.
This world is a game.
Obviously enough, its name is Elden Ring. The first game I ever played that has fantastical elements to it, my first time playing as a character that wielded a sword. I can't remember playing the game itself, but I can remember the beginning and the end of my experience with it. I remember booting up the game for the first time, I was both excited and nervous. With it, I recall the first five minutes of playing the game, before the spell hits my memories like a wall.
I remember the end credits, when I called my friend Daniel, and when I saw the screen that read: Begin a new adventure?, with the option for yes or no.
I also remembered the Grafted Scion, and my sudden end by its blade, in vivid detail.
It follows the same events of the game, where my character was attacked by a scion atop a decrepit chapel. Like there's a circular barrier around the game, I can only remember the outermost layers, the events further and later into the game are a mystery to me.
Reading my thoughts, Melina learned of what I know too, she knows I've experienced this world before. It has given her an incentive to remove more layers, as it struck her curiosity. She also does it for me; I can tell she finds it as a way to strengthen my wavering faith in my skills. "It is a good omen." She said, as she and I were reeling from what we've uncovered. "If you have obtained the Elden Ring before, then we know it is possible."
I had the opposite reaction.
Dark Souls has an infamous reputation, and if this game is anything like those…
I'm going to die, I know it.
I don't know if I can respawn, I don't think I could dodge attacks by simply rolling; immunity frames may not be a thing. The enemies have thoughts, they will not just have attack patterns without feints or retreats. I'm stuck in a game that's known for its difficulty, and I don't have the three things that made games like it playable in the first place.
No I-frames, no readable attacks that I've seen a thousand times before, and no chance to respawn; I get the sneaking suspicion that it will all be over once I die.
I guarantee that I've died hundreds of times in the game, and that's when the controls were simple.
It's different here.
If I step on a loose stone in battle, if I pull a muscle while swinging a sword… If my helmet is too loose and spins on my head, if my blade snaps because I swung it wrong… If my pinky nicks a poison blade, if I simply get stabbed in the wrong place… Falling wrong, eat something I shouldn't, breathe in something I shouldn't… Broken bones, bleeding out, concussions, hemorrhaging…
Oh I'm so going to die.
My ears perk up when a drop lands next to my cowering form.
Drip.
The noise makes me tense up, but I make no other motions. That dripping comes from the moss-covered ceiling high above; it's begun to carve into the ancient stone where it lands. It happens once every few seconds, and it makes me jump nearly every time.
I jump because I strain to listen. I strain to listen because I am afraid. I am afraid because I've caught a glimpse of what this world truly is. I know little of what lives in the world, my fear is more of a dormant sort, one could call it unease. Despite the strain, I hear nothing in this room, nothing but-
Drip.
!…
-but that.
It's the room in the place I awoke, where I lifted that door and saw the Erdtree for the first time. The hill where I met the Varre rests just outside. And beyond that? That's what I'm afraid of. To go outside means throwing myself into harm's way; means facing threats beyond my wildest imagination. I'd rather lather myself in blood and jump into a shark tank, at least I would recognize the sharks that tear me apart. But I've seen photos of Elden Ring's predecessors, I know the style of their enemies and their atmosphere.
If I get killed out there, it can be by a number of grotesque monsters.
Hideous beasts, rancid figures, eldritch horrors. I would never dream of leaving my safety to face genuine nightmares; I'd rather hide under the blankets in bed. What's worse, these aren't things you think you see in your closet; they're not the noises you think you hear coming from underneath your bed. They're real, they are ruthless and horrendous.
They will have wide and void-like eyes, unhinged jaws with rows upon rows of serrated teeth. Pale bodies, spindly limbs. They scream their vacant sounds, move in a manner of twitching and twisting of the head, knife-like fingertips reach for me as they lunge, at a speed that would make anyone jump. That ghastly face becoming all I can see, cast in creeping shadows. It's all I can think of, it plagues my mind.
Such monsters are no longer what I see on tv or think up late in the night. They are real, they can exist.
I live in a nightmare, that is my life now.
Can anyone truly relate?
I might be the unluckiest guy from Earth ever to exist. Out of all the games to get stuck in…
Drip.
I flinch, I think I'm in danger for a fleeting second. The fear pulses through my head like a beating headache, it makes a chill run down my spine. Cold sweat beads on my forehead, my skin clammy and tense. I dare not open my eyes, I couldn't handle it if I so much as thought I saw something watching me in the shadows.
Please, just wake up. Put me back in my bed, let this all be some weird dream.
It's not a dream, not by a longshot. I felt when the soldier split my back in two, I felt every strike to my stomach and sides. The cold of the prison, the heat of that roaring fire. The clinging sensation of blood on my hands, how it crusted under my cracked nails. I want this to be a dream, want it more than anything else I'd ever wanted in my life.
I've wanted things similar to this before. A movie I watched, a book I've read. Oh, how cool would it be to live in the Star Wars Universe, with lightsabers and space travel… I bet wielding magic, having my own wand; I'd bet I'd like that… An age of interstellar travel, and era of medieval warfare. Being a pirate, being an assassin. Be a knight, be a mage, a warrior… a samurai… a …
Drip.
I flinch again, the drop strikes the top of my foot. With it, vague realization dawns on me.
Vagabond, warrior, hero, bandit... Samurai, prophet, astrologer, prisoner, confessor…
I almost want to laugh.
I've gotten what I wanted.
All those years of wondering, daydreaming, and desiring. I live in my own fantasy, which I'd romanticized and hoped for. But it's twisted, it's cruel, it's unforgiving. I feel like I've been cursed. I let out a chuckle; it sounds more like a sob.
I'm cursed, that's what I am.
I'm no good, no good, no good, no good.
Lance.
I put on a sickening smile; I hug my knees tighter.
Lance, I have seen men fall to despair before.
It sounds like Melina is sitting next to me, though I know she's not truly there, in a sense. A small noise of shimmering light, so quiet that it can easily be tuned out, buzzes in my ear. It gives off the same sensation of a mosquito flying around next to me; I'd mindlessly swat it away if I didn't know what it was. I slowly raise my head from behind my knees, my eyes are a little more stubborn.
"What's you point?" I finally say.
There is an aura, a little ball of golden light near the size of a golf ball. It hovers at eye level in front of me, wavering a little back and forth like an insect. It gives off that small noise, it's glow not any brighter than the Erdtree. It's Melina, and it flashes in tandem with the words she speaks in my mind.
I have seen men fall into despair. She reiterates. But only when they have given up.
I tilt my head slightly; my dead expression tightens a little.
"Do I need to spell it out for you? I give up."
The aura flashes, like it were trying to speak in morse code.
How can you give up, when you have not yet begun?
My smile grows tighter.
"You saw my home; you may have even seen a little of my world. You've seen how peaceful it is."
I talk to Melina like how I told it to myself. I don't want to be a coward, I don't want to let Melina down, so I had to reason with my own mind; reason as to why I choose to cower away. I use it here, as a vain way of defense.
"Do you really expect me to be able to fight anything, do you really expect me to be able to kill someone?"
I chew on the inside of my cheek; this is pathetic. What am I even trying to do? Have I truly convinced myself that I'll be able to stay here?
"I'm not a murderer Melina, I'm not a fighter or a warrior or anything like that."
A word comes to my mind, my sickening smile quivers. It's fitting.
"I'm just a wretch; a nobody. I'm a coward; I'm useless."
I feel torn.
"I know you have no other option, I'm sorry you got stuck with someone like me. But I can't do it."
I point a pale finger toward the entrance, where the rays of the morning sun illuminate the cold stone.
"I can't go out there, I just can't."
I don't know when to stop talking, I might not even know how to stop. Excuse after excuse piling up in my head, all feel useless in Melina's presence. How pathetic I am.
"This... this is all too much. You... are asking for too much. I can't just cast my fears aside, I can't just turn a blind eye to the person I've killed, and the others you wish me to kill. I'm a wretch, don't you get that? I have no skill, no armor, no weapon to speak of. I'm in way over my head, I thought I could do this... before I saw my memories... but now? I can't."
I find my hands covering my face. I'm flustered and scared... and sad.
"Don't make me." I say, a little quieter. "Don't make me march to my death."
Silence ensues. My head falters, I can do nothing but stare into the darkness of my cupped hands.
Minutes go by, maybe more.
I sniff, fighting against a runny nose that started up only recently. Melina merely hovers in front of me, her silence can mean she's either thinking…
Or she's judging me.
The aura flashes.
Be not mistaken, Lance, this land is not forgiving.
Before I can retort, or even speak, she presses.
But those men I have seen give up; it was not because of the trial they faced.
The aura draws closer; to the point its faint glow illuminates my nose.
They gave up because their comrades were killed, because they found themselves alone. They fell into despair because of guilt, not fear.
This isn't the same.
It is not, and I cannot convince you otherwise. But I promise you. From now on, you will not be alone.
I will be with you, and I will help you in every way I can.
Is that supposed to make me feel better? The thought that at least someone gets to watch me as I die?
I am your guiding maiden, your keeper, and your companion. I will not let you die, and I forbid you to do so.
A ping in my heart, it makes the fear begin to recede.
Your trials are difficult, and your enemies are many. But know that you will not go into that night alone, you will not face your trials alone.
I grit my teeth, as my better side begins to reason against my doubts.
Nightmares aren't as bad if you share a room, the dark streets of Springfield's suburbs are a little lighter when someone's by your side.
But this is not a nightmare.
My pathetic side says.
It is real. Horror is one thing, being in danger from it is another. This is suicide, another's presence will not save me.
Reading my thoughts, Melina flashes, jumping into the argument.
I know this land; I know those who inhabit it. I know their strengths; I know their weaknesses.
I will be your eyes, if you will be my sword.
My better side agrees.
I can't just stay here; I will starve before long. If I am to die, why not die trying?
My pathetic side seethes.
It's suicide.
I look out at what little I can see through the entrance, where I can catch a glimpse of the ocean. It must be a far way down, and it's almost guaranteed to have rocks down by the waves.
I should just die now; it will be painless at the very least.
My better side… I, feel revolted by the idea. That's a horrible thought, never have I ever thought about taking my own life. Though, considering the alternative, it sounds like the-…
The coward's way out.
If you die, I will as well.
I snap my head toward Melina's direction, staring at that floating aura like it just grew horns. My arguing sides come together, shocked by the statement.
What? Why?
If you were to be killed, and you were not near a breach, then I would surely cease to exist. My meager flame would be snuffed out, with no kindling to feed it.
Then-
She cuts me off.
And I will not enter the breaches alone again.
I feel repelled, like she read my mind before I even thought about it.
I had given up searching, there was no other way to reach the capital. If you die, if you decide to meet your end with your own hands, my last light of hope will be gone, and my desire to remain in this world will disappear.
…Just how long have you been cut off?
A long time.
I can't tell if what she's saying is the truth, or if she's trying to throw responsibility at me. It's like she's trying to say: "Live. If not for you, then for me." I'm half sure she's saying it for my sake, half sure she truly has decided to give up if this doesn't work out. It makes me shiver all the same.
She's playing dirty.
I grit my teeth. My fears are left in tatters, my desire to avoid combat turned on its head. What else could I use? How can I convince her to give up on me?
I catch myself. I'm being pathetic.
Not the accepting sort, but the revolting sort. I'm searching for excuses, trying to think up some way out of this. My back is against the wall, and yet I still try to squeeze through the hair thin cracks, holding onto that vain hope that there is some way through. There is not. I am stuck here, and unless I want to waste away in this room, with the death of Melina weighing down on my mind, then I have only one option. The only option is forward. Reading the change in my expression, Melina's voice comes; charged with potential.
Tell me, Lance of Springfield, will you fall into despair? Will you lie down and die?
Or will you fight?
I force myself to stand, needing the cold wall to support my shaking legs.
Choose.
I have a sword in my hand, pooling blood stains my boots. Broken bones grind in my movements, ash covers my face. The stench of death hangs over the scene, bright embers spout from roaring flames like swarms of fireflies.
I lay crying in the dark, becoming overburdened with stress and shame. My tender joints fail to move, grief has contorted my face. The stench of my own filth surrounds me, Melina hovers above; she can do nothing as she watches her last hope wither away.
I wallow in this room; I stand atop fresh carnage.
Tears stain my cheeks; a helmet and cracked visor covers my ashen face.
The drip of water falling from the ramparts, the roar of an approaching opponent.
My cry of shame, my battle cry.
Hunger twists my gut; blades sever my flesh.
I starve; I bleed.
I wither; I roar.
Death comes for me; death finds me.
Maybe in the night; maybe on the battlefield.
I die in shame; I die in glory.
Two paths, two outcomes. One in the cold night, one in the blazing heat. I can see both as clear as day, each where I die in a horrible way.
Can I really choose?
I grind my teeth hard enough to feel shocks of pain run through my skull. I clench my fists, the urge to punch something to vent my frustration overcomes me. With a sudden tug, I lose the growing heat, and I let out an aggravated sigh.
"Screw it."
I push off the wall, Melina's aura flies up and away to evade me. I smile with a sweat drenched face; I feel sick by my own words.
"I choose to fight… and I choose to win."