The Blood-Starved Beast is lunging at me, all flayed skin and sinew glinting in the low-light of a damned cathedral. It’s poisoned me, and my health is draining fast. I’ve got three quicksilver bullets left in my pistol chamber, and I just ate dirt as I darted to the side to avoid a fatal slash. This could be it; another doomed encounter. Another bloodstain on Yharnam’s shattered cobblestones. The beast raises its claws for the kill – and, driven by pure instinct, my finger hits the DualSense trigger. That noise, the one that sounds like a knife ricocheting off stone, reverberates around the arena. A gunshot parry! A quicksilver bullet brings the beast to its knees, and I bring my sawblade down with a crunch into the writhing horror’s skull.
Prey slaughtered. And that’s how I fell in love with Bloodborne. And it’s not been for a lack of trying – this is my third attempt at penetrating From’s obscure take on a fucked-up, Lovecraftian London. I tried at launch, after never really getting into these uber-hard action-RPG exercises in self-flagellation. It didn’t click. I didn’t even make it through to Father Gascoigne. Back on PS4 and PS4 Pro, I was promised a patch had made loading times better and that the hardware would offset some of the rougher edges in the game. Nope, still too slow and dark for me.
Somewhere between then and now, I’d picked up both Nioh games and platinumed them (twice!) Something about Team Ninja’s more stance-based interpretation of the formula worked for me. I was hooked. I became one of you; a masochist, an addict, a scoundrel. The moon was right, the time was now: Yharnam was calling to me again. And on the PS5 – where loading times are but a faint dream, hazy in the distance – the hunt was truly on, for the first time.
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