The next thing you knew—your hands weren't holding his anymore. They were clinging to the smooth, living scales of a creature larger than anything you’d ever seen.
You gasped.
You were no longer in the temple.
Your legs were folded instinctively atop the coiled back of a massive white snake, its body gliding effortlessly across the earth with an inhuman grace. Trees blurred past you—thick jungle flashing by at impossible speed, the wind slashing at your clothes and hair. The ground barely trembled beneath the weight of the creature.
It was like flying, but faster. Closer. Controlled.
Your hands gripped the ridges of its neck, and you leaned forward, breath caught in your throat.
“San—!”
The snake’s golden eyes blinked slowly. Calm. Intelligent. Watching.
You didn’t need confirmation.
You knew.
He was the snake.
The truth wasn’t frightening—it was right. His presence wrapped around you, steady and protective. You felt his power pulsing beneath the skin you sat upon, raw and ancient. His magic had never been separate from him. It was him. Elemental. Fluid. Eternal.
“Thank you,” you whispered, voice lost in the wind.
In response, the snake moved faster.
The jungle blurred into a tunnel of green and gold. Creatures scattered in the underbrush. Branches bowed out of the way like they dared not delay him. And before long, the trees began to thin. The familiar scent of smoke and rot filled your lungs.
Your village.
And then you saw it—
Chaos.
Black smoke poured from houses. Screams tore through the air. People collapsed in the streets. Children cried for parents who couldn’t rise. The veins of the infected glowed dark under their skin, pulsing with the cursed venom you’d seen before—but now it was worse. Spreading faster. Deeper.
You barely felt it when the serpent slowed beneath you. He came to a stop at the edge of the square, curling slightly to let you down. The moment your feet hit the earth, the serpent’s head turned toward you.
And just for a second—you saw it.
San.
His eyes.
Still golden. Still sharp.
He was watching you. Waiting.
But he didn’t shift back into his human form. Not yet.
You took one step forward, then two, running as people turned to see you—some in shock, others in disbelief. A few crumpled at your feet.
“Mayi!” you cried, rushing to one of the elders kneeling beside a child. “What happened?”
“Y/N?” the woman’s voice cracked. “You—you came back?”
You dropped to your knees beside her. “Where’s my sister?”
The woman shook her head slowly, tear tracks on her cheeks. “The sickness spread too quickly. We tried to purify the wells. It didn’t work. We’re losing them—faster than we can bury them.”
You gripped her hand tightly. “Not anymore.”
And then a sound rippled through the village like a thunderclap.
The serpent reared its head high—towering above the homes—and hissed. But it wasn't a threat.
The golden glow from its eyes spread outward like fireflies erupting in the air, casting light onto the villagers below. The infected paused. The writhing in their veins slowed. The air grew still.
He was working magic.
And the village could feel it.
Mira’s breath caught in her throat. “Is… is that the Serpent Mage?”
You stood slowly. “It is”
She looked at you with disbelief. “He came?”
You nodded once. “He came because I didn't gave up until he would.”
As you spoke, the serpent’s body shimmered with light—blinding for a moment—and then it shifted, scales shrinking, bones twisting, shape forming—
San stood at the center of the village now, bare-chested, eyes alight, black tattoos glowing with power. His breath was steady, but there was something in his expression now that hadn’t been there before.
Purpose.
You moved toward him, your people watching in reverent silence.
And when you reached him, he turned his gaze on you fully, voice low but firm.
“It’s not too late. But we better start now.”
And this time, when his hand reached out to you—
You didn’t hesitate.
You took it.
He stood in the center of the village, shoulders bare beneath the weight of the sky, black serpent tattoos pulsing faintly under his skin. His hair was tousled by the wind. His chest rose slowly, steadily, as if drawing in the pain itself.
And then—he reached out his hand.
You watched in awe as a pulse of golden energy radiated outward from him, soft at first, like a heartbeat stretching through the soil. It didn’t force. It invited. Called.
And the cursed came to him.
One by one, the sick stumbled forward. Some were guided by the healthy. Some collapsed just short of him. Their bodies trembled, fevered. Eyes clouded with poison and grief.
San dropped to his knees, hands open, palms turned to the sky.
“Give it to me,” he whispered.
The sick responded as if called by instinct, gathering slowly around him. Some limped, others were carried. Children clung to weakened parents. The brave helped the trembling. Every movement felt like part of a ritual written in blood and hope.
Then it began.
From cracked lips and darkened veins, a black mist rose—thick, oily, writhing like serpents born of shadow. The smoke didn’t fall. It swirled, reached upward, and curled directly into San’s chest. The tattoos over his heart glowed in response, drinking in the sickness.
Gasps echoed. One by one, people dropped to their knees—not in collapse, but in awe.
Tears stung Y/N’s eyes as she stood at the edge, feeling the pull through her chest. Something deep within her burned brighter, then surged outward like a tether. Her knees buckled slightly from the energy draw, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to remain upright.
San’s power fed from her determination.
Her will to end this.
Her grief.
Her love for her people.
And when the last wisp of venom sank into him, silence fell like a blanket.
No screams.
No rattling breath.
Only peace.
Some of the villagers were still weak. Still pale. But their veins no longer pulsed with death.
A breath left her lips—broken, relieved, full of disbelief.
Then—
“Y/N!”
A voice cracked across the square, and arms wrapped tightly around her from behind.
It was Aila, her childhood friend—once a firework in human form, now reduced to a thin, shaking girl with tear-filled eyes. She clutched Y/N’s cloak, buried her face in it.
“I thought you were dead,” she sobbed. “I thought we’d lost you too.”
“I made it back,” Y/N whispered, hugging her fiercely. “I promised I would.”
Others came rushing forward—Tovan, eyes still glassy from fever, falling to his knees in front of her. “You saved us. You really—gods, Y/N, you did it.”
Mira, one of the village elders, took her hand with trembling fingers. “We didn’t believe the stories. We thought… the Serpent Mage was just a myth.” Her eyes lifted to San, who still stood calmly, watching from behind his glowing marks. “But he came.”
“Because she made him come,” someone else said.
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Then her mother’s voice cut through it all—hoarse, but real.
“Y/N...”
Her heart stopped.
She turned sharply, eyes landing on the frail woman standing just beyond the others. Her mother looked older than before, bent slightly, eyes rimmed in red, but alive.
And alone.
No one stood beside her.
Her sister was gone.
The truth hit like a blade to the chest.
She tried to speak, but the sob ripped from her throat before any words could form. Legs gave way and she fell into her mother’s arms, clutching her tightly. The others stepped back, letting them have that moment.
“I’m so sorry,” she choked out.
“You came back,” her mother whispered into her hair. “You came back to us. You did what none of us could do. She knew you would. She said it.”
Hot tears slid down her cheeks. She didn’t even try to stop them anymore.
Mira placed a comforting hand on her back. Aila squeezed her shoulder from behind. One by one, the village closed around her—not in burden, but in support. In gratitude. In forgiveness.
“You gave us another chance,” someone said.
“You brought him here.”
“You’re the reason we’re alive.”
And she wanted to believe it. She did.
But there was a hole in her heart the temple couldn't touch, and not even San's magic could fill it.
She stood, slowly, wiping her face with the back of her hand, still wrapped in the quiet love of her people.
San approached without a word, his gaze steady, unreadable—but there was something softer in the set of his jaw. A quiet understanding. A shared weight.
The villagers parted for him, respectful now, uncertain but no longer afraid.
Others whispered, “He’s not a monster.”
"He's real."
"How did he do that?"
"So this is the power of the legendary Mage?"
Y/N looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “Are you alright?”
His reply was simple.
“I will be. As long as you are.”
He didn’t offer comfort for her loss.
He didn’t promise she’d feel better.
But he stood there, solid and present, and for now—that was enough.
She reached out, fingers brushing his arm. The smallest gesture. But one that said everything.
There were other villages. Other people still haunted by death and fear.
It was time to save the rest of what was left of the Kingdom.
It’s not a secret that Hidetaka Miyazaki is a fan of Berserk and that the Soulsborne games are influenced by it. Here are some Dark Souls 1 designs that are known to be, and some that I think could be inspired by Berserk. (Part 2: DS3, Part 3: Bloodborne)
Artorias the Abysswalker and Guts
Artorias wears a similar armor as Guts’ Berserker Armor. Also, Guts lost his left arm and uses a prosthesis instead. Artorias still has his left arm, but it is broken. Therefore, he cannot use it in the fight.
In this regard, I think Artorias’ Wolf, Sif, could also be a reference to the Beast of Darkness, since it is also a dog/wolf-like creature.
Darkwraith and Skull Knight
Gravelord Nito and Skull Knight
The influence of the Skull Knight on the Darkwraith’s design is quite obvious. However, I think he may also have inspired the design of Nito, even though “skeleton with sword” isn’t that specific.
Moonlight Butterfly and Rosine
Rosine could have inspired the design of the Moonlight Butterfly. They have similar color schemes, and both characters seem to be based on the Luna moth.
Taurus Demon and Zodd
Both are tall, horned monsters with brown fur and have a similar shape overall.
One detail I want to mention is that Zodd’s design is based on a big cat, but he has bovine-like hooves on his feet. The Taurus Demon is supposed to be a bull, according to the name, but he has paws instead of hooves. The paws aren’t cat-like, though.
Four Kings and Ganishka (released)
This one is more speculative. Unlike the Four Kings, Ganishka doesn’t have a solid body in his released form. I still think the color scheme and the overall irregular shape look somewhat similar.
Pinwheel and Rakshas
Mysterious cloaked figures with masks.
Serpent Mage and Snake Lord
Snake people aren’t that specific design-wise, but both are cobras, so there could be a connection.
Dragon Slayer Ornstein and Griffith
How is Ornstein based on Griffith? You may ask. The only similarity is that both characters wear animal-themed armor. Well, Ornstein’s data names in Dark Souls are “Griffith” and “Griffith_large” for his second form. So, he is meant to be the Griffith of DS.
Ornstein might be rather based on the name “Griffith” than his looks. The most common form of a griffin is a mixture between a bird of prey and a lion. These two characters represent these animals. Griffith stands for the bird of prey (falcon), and Ornstein is the lion.
Red Eye Orb and Behelit
The Red Eye Orb lost some facial features compared to the Behelit, but this one is still self-explanatory.
Warnings: Psychological manipulation and hallucinations, dark fantasy themes, sexual tension, power imbalance, snake imagery
Chapter 3
You stared at the place where San had just stood before he just left, your breath still shaky, chest rising and falling like you’d run miles—but you hadn’t moved at all. His presence lingered like scent in the air, clinging to your skin and somewhere deep in your lungs. You didn’t want to admit how grounding it had been.
Even if it terrified you.
The room pulsed once with the breath of the temple, and you felt it: the shift. The welcome had ended. A new test had begun.
The stone beneath your fingers warmed slightly, as if urging you to move.
So you did.
Your legs ached, but you stood—steadier than expected. And when you turned toward the doorway, you saw it had reappeared. Just as suddenly as it had vanished.
You hesitated, then stepped forward and crossed the threshold.
The moment you passed through, the stone door sealed shut behind you. No creak. No thud. Just gone.
You didn’t look back.
But your voice followed you.
“You’d fall for him if he asked you.”
The echo of it slid down your spine like a wet whisper, curling inside your skull. You grit your teeth and pushed forward.
The corridor ahead stretched long and narrow—endless. Carved of black stone veined with serpent patterns that shimmered faintly in the flickering light of wall-mounted torches. The flames burned without smoke. Without heat. Just light, cold and golden.
You kept walking.
Your boots tapped softly against the ground. Shadows shifted, dancing over the carvings—serpents coiled around each other in knots, mouths open, fangs bared, tongues forked.
“What happens when he touches you?”
You shook your head.
“Will you pull away?”
“Or will you lean in?”
“No,” you whispered aloud, voice rough. “Shut up. You’re not real.”
“Neither is this.”
The corridor twisted.
You blinked—how had it bent? There’d been no turn. No shift. But now it veered gently left, then straight again. The torches flickered more wildly as you passed them, though there was no wind.
Your steps slowed as the air changed.
Something warmer. Thicker. Familiar.
The corridor widened ahead, then opened entirely—into a grand chamber bathed in a soft, golden glow.
And at the center stood a long dining table. Massive. Ornate. Ancient.
Crafted from dark wood carved with gold inlays, its surface stretched further than your eyes could take in at first glance. Pillars ringed the space, and the walls curved upward into a vaulted ceiling painted in gold and green like ancient temples from storybooks.
The table was covered.
Every inch of it overflowing with food. Beautifully arranged, steam still rising from some dishes, others chilled on beds of crushed ice. The smell hit you like a dream—sweet, savory, spiced. Your stomach clenched violently in response.
You hadn’t realized how hungry you were.
There was everything.
Thick cuts of roasted meat glazed in golden honey and herbs. Bowls of ripe, dark berries. Fresh bread so soft it seemed to glow. Exotic fruits dripping with juice. Slices of cake stacked high, sparkling with sugar dust. Even bowls of humble porridge and dried roots sat between the finer things—meals of the poor nestled beside delicacies reserved for kings.
You approached slowly.
The scents pulled at you. Familiar and foreign. A part of you screamed not to trust it. But another… weaker part… remembered warmth. Hunger. Home.
Was this real?
Was it another test?
Or a trap?
You stepped closer, eyes scanning the food with growing suspicion.
“Is it poisoned?”
“Is all of it poisoned?”
“Or just one dish?”
“Will the wrong bite kill you?”
“Or will not eating be the mistake?”
You didn’t realize your hands had begun to shake.
You stared at a bowl of stew—simple, peasant fare. You’d eaten something like it with your sister once. Years ago, when there wasn’t enough food to go around. You remembered laughing anyway. Pretending it was a feast. Holding spoons like royalty.
Your throat tightened.
Behind the stew sat a goblet of deep red wine. The glass was carved with serpent coils around the stem.
You reached for it.
Then stopped.
Footsteps.
You turned sharply.
San stood in the entrance. Silent. His arms were at his sides this time, robe draped open again—but something about him was different. Softer. His eyes still glowed gold, but the light within them seemed dimmed. Watching you not as a predator… but as something else. Something unreadable.
“I don’t know what’s safe,” you said, voice strained.
He approached slowly.
“That’s not the point.”
You blinked. “What?”
He came to stand beside you, eyes scanning the table with an odd expression—like reverence and resentment blended together. “The temple doesn’t care if you starve,” he said. “It wants to see why you eat.”
Your lips parted slightly. “To live.”
He looked at you then, and something in his gaze struck deep.
“Are you sure?”
You didn’t speak.
He stepped closer. Not touching you. But you could feel the warmth of him behind your arm. His snake—smaller than the one from earlier—peeked out from his sleeve and slid toward the table, tongue flicking curiously at the steam rising from a loaf of bread.
“Everything here was chosen,” he murmured. “Not by me. Not by a person. By the temple. Based on your memories. Your cravings. Your fears.”
You stared at the food again. It hadn’t changed—but it felt heavier now.
“Some of it is real,” San continued. “Some of it… will kill you. But only if you take it for the wrong reason.”
You turned to him slowly. “And what’s the right reason?”
He tilted his head. “You tell me.”
The room was too quiet. You could hear his breathing now, soft and steady. His chest rose and fell slowly beneath his robe, his tattoos curling like ink across the planes of his torso.
You stepped forward.
He didn’t move.
You reached for the simplest thing on the table—a small wooden bowl of broth, almost colorless. The scent was gentle. Like rosemary and warm rain.
You brought it to your lips.
Drank.
It was warm. Familiar. Faintly sweet. Like the one your Grandma used to make in your childhood.
You set it down and waited.
Nothing happened.
San’s lips curled—just slightly.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You didn’t choose based on fear,” he said. “Or greed.”
“You chose based on memory.”
You blinked.
He turned toward you fully now, and your eyes dropped—just briefly—to the mark that rested over his heart. A black serpent coiled in a circle, its mouth biting its tail.
“The first hunger,” he said, voice like a pulse in your ears, “is never for food.”
You felt it then.
Not just heat.
But longing.
Not just from you.
From him.
His gaze lingered on your mouth before flicking away. Respectful. Controlled.
But that restraint?
It ached.
“Did I pass?” you asked but no answer came back.
He stepped aside to let you through. But as you moved by, his hand lifted—just barely brushing your fingers with his.
The touch was feather-light.
But you tried to ignore it and kept walking.
...
One week.
That was how long the temple had kept you.
Seven days measured not by sunrise or sunset—there were none—but by exhaustion, by tests that gnawed at you long after they ended. Emotional trials disguised as mercy. Moral choices dressed as salvation. The temple never rushed. It waited. It wanted you worn thin.
But patience was a luxury your people didn’t have.
You stood alone in the center of another chamber, breath shallow, fists clenched at your sides. The air was colder here, heavier, as if the stone itself was holding its breath.
Your thoughts were no longer quiet.
Your people were dying.
You could see them every time you closed your eyes—faces grey with sickness, lips cracked, hands trembling as the venom crept through their veins. Children who no longer cried because they were too weak. Elders who had stopped asking when you’d return.
They had sent you to bring back the Serpent Mage.
Not excuses.
Not lessons.
Not tests.
Him.
And still, the temple delayed you.
“You’re running out of time.”
Your own voice echoed again—low, cruel, relentless.
You ignored it. Or tried to.
The chamber around you shimmered, the walls rippling like water disturbed by a thrown stone. Then the illusion settled.
Two paths appeared before you.
On the left: a small, familiar home. Warm light spilled from its windows. You could hear laughter—soft, real. Your family. Your mother’s voice calling your name. The creak of floorboards you’d known since childhood.
On the right: the village square. Dozens of people gathered, faces strained with fear and hope. Your friends. Your neighbors. The ones who had trusted you to come back with a miracle.
The temple’s voice did not speak aloud.
It didn’t need to.
The meaning was clear.
Choose.
Your chest tightened painfully.
“No,” you whispered.
The images sharpened.
Your family stepped closer, their expressions soft but pleading. Your mother reached out a hand.
“Please,” she said. “You’ve always chosen others. Choose us. Just this once.”
Across the square, a child collapsed into their friend’s arms. Someone screamed your name.
Your breath hitched. Your vision blurred.
This was the final test. You knew it. The temple had been building toward this moment since the first night—since the first time it peeled back your fear and asked what you would give.
You laughed then.
A sharp, broken sound.
“You’re enjoying this,” you said aloud, voice shaking with fury. “You don’t care who lives. You just want to see me break.”
The walls pulsed.
The images remained.
Your hands curled into fists so tight your nails bit into your palms. You were tired. Tired of riddles. Tired of moral traps. Tired of being measured and weighed while real lives slipped through your fingers like sand.
“My people are dying,” you snapped. “Every hour I stand here choosing, another one of them suffers.”
The temple did not answer.
Because it didn’t argue.
It waited.
Something in you finally cracked—not in fear, but in anger. Hot, sharp, liberating.
“No,” you said again, louder this time. “I’m done.”
The images flickered.
“I didn’t come here to prove I’m worthy,” you continued, voice steady now, fueled by resolve. “I came here to end a curse. And I won’t sacrifice anyone else just to satisfy you.”
The ground trembled slightly beneath your feet.
You stepped forward—not toward either path, but straight through the space between them.
The illusions shattered like glass.
Silence slammed into the chamber.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
“You misunderstand.”
San’s voice cut through the stillness.
You turned sharply.
He stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed, expression dark—not cold, but tense. His jaw was set, eyes glowing brighter than you’d seen them all week. The temple’s light crawled over his tattoos, restless.
“This test wasn’t about who you’d save,” he said quietly. “It was about whether you’d obey.”
You let out a shaky breath. “Then you have your answer.”
He studied you for a long moment. Really looked at you. Not like a judge. Not like a predator.
Like someone seeing the consequences of defiance.
“You’re challenging the temple,” he said.
“I’m choosing my people,” you shot back. “I didn’t come here to be molded. I came for you.”
Your voice broke despite yourself. “And if you won’t come—if this place won’t let you—then I’m leaving. With or without its permission.”
The torches flared violently.
San’s gaze sharpened, something dangerous and alive flashing through it.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“I understand exactly what I’m asking,” you said. “I’m asking you to stop hiding behind it.”
Silence stretched.
Then, slowly, San stepped forward.
“If I walk out with you,” he said, voice low, deadly calm, “the temple will not forgive it.”
You met his eyes without flinching. “Neither will I.”
Alfred and Haplo Moments That Drove Me Insane 6-Part Finale Extravaganza Poll(TM)
Alfred heals Haplo in Fire Sea and knows Haplo will never forgive him.
Haplo is touched and entranced by the beauty of Alfred's dancing.
Haplo lets Alfred go at the end of Fire Sea.
The dog going to Alfred whenever it isn't safe to be with Haplo.
Haplo hugs Alfred and "Thank you for bringing me back to life/giving me life."
The fact that closing Death's Gate involved Haplo and Alfred singing together.
Voting ended onMar 23, 2023
Last round and then we can do other polls again, I PROMISE. The winners of the previous three polls will now be pit against each other. May the most insane bit win!
Before you vote, feel free to refresh yourself on the options under the read more.
The circle between the two was truly forged, truly complete. And Alfred knew, with a feeling of overwhelming sadness, that Haplo would never forgive him.
The feet that could not take ten steps without falling over themselves were suddenly executing intricate steps with extraordinary grace and delicacy. His face was grave and solemn, wholly absorbed in the music. He accompanied himself with a grave and solemn song. Hands wove the runes in the air, his feet replicated the pattern on the floor. Haplo watched until he discovered some wayward part of himself feeling touched and entranced by the beauty.
“You know what’ll happen to you in the Nexus.” Haplo didn’t look at him when he spoke, he kept his gaze on the dog. “You know what my Lord will do to you.”
“Yes,” Alfred answered.
Haplo hesitated a moment, either deciding on his next words or deciding whether or not to say them. When he made his decision, his voice was hard and sharp, cutting through some barrier within himself. “Then, if I were you, I wouldn’t be around when I woke up.” Haplo closed his eyes.
Alfred stared in amazement, then smiled gently. “I understand. Thank you, Haplo.”
“I ask you to put the animal outside, Brother.”
Alfred sighed, shook his head. “He’ll just come right back in. But I don’t think you need worry about him spying on us for his master. He’s lost his master. That’s why he’s here.”
“He wants you to look for his master, for a Patryn?”
“I believe so,” said Alfred meekly.
Samah’s frown darkened. “And this doesn’t seem strange to you? A dog belonging to a Patryn, coming to you, a Sartan, for help?”
“Well, no,” said Alfred, after a moment’s reflection. “Not considering what the dog is. That is, what I think it might be.” He was somewhat flustered.
“Farewell, my friend,” he said. “Thank you for bringing me back to life.
Haplo took Alfred’s hand, then embraced the startled and embarrassed Sartan. “Thank you,” Haplo said, his voice gruff, “for giving me life. Farewell, my friend.”
Alfred was extremely red. He patted Haplo’s back awkwardly, then turned away, wiping his eyes and nose with his coat sleeve.
"Haplo! I need your help!" Alfred quavered.
"Are you mad? Patryn magic and Sartan magic can't work together!"
"How do we know?" Alfred returned desperately. "Just because it's never been done, at least that we're aware of. Who knows but that somewhere, sometime in the past--"
"All right! All right! Shutting Death's Gate. That's it? That's what we've got to do?"
[...]
Alfred sucked in a deep breath, began to sing.
To his astonishment, Haplo joined him. The Patryn's baritone slid in under, lifted, and supported Alfred's high-pitched tenor.
