The weekend started with a bit of fear – a little concern
into my capabilities as a player of games.
Big Friday, big boss, big scares.
Radahn kicked my buttocks inside out and with it
all my confidence shattered like the Elden Ring.
Am I destined for death over and over?
Stewing on Saturday, maybe Radahn is better than me?
Or maybe, just maybe, he only thinks he is.
Into the arena, broken rock and bones of those before
cascade around into pillars of holy oppression.
Radahn whirly dervishes into my face as a circle is pressed
and my lithe body dodges through destruction.
I gots the moves Radahn, but you got the power.
Gotta be perfect, gotta go fast, gotta miss, gotta hit,
Got hit. GOT HIT. GOT HIT HIT HIT.
I died.
The hour is barely up, five more looming over me
like the red tassel headdress sat on that noggin.
Explosive garbage grabs of purple,
chump rocks thrown into my face,
A relentless barrage of decay and religion stuffed
into my eyes and face as I frantically mash the clammy controller.
I cannot do this. I cannot succeed. This is beyond me.
I cannot quit. I cannot leave. That is not me.
A war of attrition with my own psyche and stubbornness.
Radahn is tough, but my drive is tougher.
This wall is high, but my bounds are higher,
and I will spring for as long as it takes, and harden my heart
against my own inadequacies.
I will persevere and push the intrusions into yesterday,
I will best the primed consort.
Tolly, me and me brace ourselves and enter once more,
and take on those rocks and swings and slashes.
Dodging and tanking and poking and prodding and moving
And breaking and stabbing and panting and worrying and jumping
And battering and breaking and panicking and rotting
And watching and hoping and cursing and shaking and despairing
And wondering and seeing.
Seeing the health tick down as my own shatters in golden light.
He falls in front right as I fall silent and is gone.
The victory grabbed, the jaws empty and I feel as hollow as the tarnished I am.