6 Dark Souls: Level ↑

Sludge grey earth formed a pathway between slopes of innumerable stone coffins and headstones, so many that they lay atop each other forming walls of dirty granite.

Out from these slopes grew the ashy roots of dead trees seeded in unattended corpses of ages long passed.

Poised atop an open coffin stood a tall, pale man with delicate features dressed in nothing but a tweed rag riddled with tares, he looked composed and alert as he scanned his surroundings.

"if I remember right," he thought to himself, recounting the days he played Dark Souls 3, "I should have been buried with gifts."

Drake dug through his earth-filled coffin rooting around for hidden treasures. He found three items buried beneath the dirt.

His first find, a white branch that ebbed out a gentle light. Not long after, almost cutting himself on its blade, he fished out a small dagger slightly rusted at the hilt, but perfectly serviceable and lastly. A tiny flask filled with some magic liquid that shifted between bright gold and deep blue with a twist of its cap.

"Estus!" exclaimed Drake in childlike glee. It was comforting to find so many similarities between his situation and the game, and it sparked a little hope in Drake. After all, he had already beaten the game once, and now he could do so again in real life.

He made some slight preparations. In Drake's only sturdy-looking pocket, he stored away his Estus, and in his left hand, he held the dagger in a reverse grip, his magical white tree branch pierced through his rough rag clothing, forming a belt.

He eased his way down the path remembering the hollow ahead from the game as he hunched down stealthily and peaked from behind one of the large unburied coffins.

There it was. It resembled a rotten dried out corpse animated by necromantic powers, its movements sluggish. It reached out touching a gravestone as if mourning a friend, or perhaps, itself. Not wanting to take the unnecessary risks of direct combat, he slowly crawled among the various graves and coffins, avoiding the watery terrain. He closed in on the undead until he was squatting only a meter away.

In a moment of furious action, he lunged forth.

Grasping at the hollows head, he pulled it back, exposing the throat, he plunged his blade into its neck before dragging it across in an attempt to sever its windpipe, the dagger cut across, but the wound was too shallow, the hollows tough dried skin defended him from the lethal attack.

The hollow struggled and being far stronger than Drake, it shoved him, sending him flying before turning around to face him.

Drake landed in a pool of dirty water. Dazed, he pushed out with his legs leveraging off the mushy earth to distance himself from the hollow. The hollow was beastial. It gave a low growl before charging at Drake, jumping at him in a bid to claw him apart.

Drake waited. The hollow was strong without question. Still, it lacked intelligence and, more importantly, the will for self-preservation.

As it lunged at him, Drake held the knife ready, waiting for the right timing, so that the hollows momentum would work against it.

sat still till the very last possible moment, he plunged the knife towards the rabid beasts already wounded throat, slicing through, and with his knife now embedded in its neck, it breathed its last.

Out of the hollows remains, came a white light, it was attracted to Drake's hand, it floated up before plunging towards his ring.

A white glow twirled around his fingers for a moment before being absorbed into him.

He felt born anew, the aches and pains brought on by the fight with the hollow faded, his joints no longer creaked, the world around him moved slower, if only slightly. Drake twirled the dagger in his hands, his fingers now more nimble, and he could sense a subtle thrum of energy surrounding him.

"I've leveled up," He said with a wicked smirk.