The world of Dark Souls 3 retains much of the series’ bizarre desperation.

About 50 hours into Dark Souls 3, I learned how to let go. Not to let go of my experience points, which in these games are dropped then obliterated after every other death. I learned how to get over that a third of the way through the first game, years ago.

No, what I learned to put behind me in Dark Souls 3 was my undying, almost slavish admiration for the original Dark Souls.

Superficially, Dark Souls 3 couldn’t seem more similar to its forebears. But Dark Souls 3 isn’t really that much like the previous games in the series, at least not when you dig down into the deep, esoteric mantle found in every Souls game.

The most distinct, most immediate, difference is in the way Dark Souls 3 looks. I was instantly struck by how fluidly my newly spawned character’s cape swayed in the mountain breeze. The opening hours are spent with the familiar humanoid Hollows—undead whose apathy turned to directionless bloodlust—but now, they just look so much better. I was just as impressed when the first boss exploded into snakes made of writhing black oil. Here was Dark Souls living up to its paradoxical promise of delivering unexpected dangers and looking damn good while doing it.