Why We Keep Coming Back to Punishment: The Strange, Addictive Pull of Soulslikes

You die. A lot. You learn. You come back. Repeat. That loop is obnoxious, ecstatic, infuriating—and for a surprising number of players, it’s exactly what keeps them glued to the screen.

What makes a brutally difficult game feel less like a punch in the face and more like a high-five from the universe? It’s not masochism. It’s a carefully-tuned cocktail of design, psychology, community and, yes, a bit of swagger. Pull up a chair. Let’s untangle why games that punish you relentlessly also manage to love you—if you’re willing to put in the work.

The modern poster child: Elden Ring and how challenge became mainstream

Remember when “hardcore” meant niche? Not anymore. Elden Ring quietly (and then not-so-quietly) blasted through mainstream charts and now sits in the tens of millions of copies sold — a clear sign that difficulty, when designed as part of an experience rather than an obstacle, has mass appeal. The base game’s success and the strong uptake of its expansions prove something simple: people will pay, play, and stick around for well-crafted challenge.

FromSoftware didn’t stumble onto a formula by accident. Their worlds give problems context. The combat gives crisp feedback. The difficulty is rarely arbitrary; it’s usually a lesson wrapped in a punch. That’s how “git gud” becomes “I figured this out and it’s glorious.”

The psychology: why close losses feel better than easy wins

There’s neuroscience behind the bruised-ego joy. When a task hovers on the edge of your skill—just hard enough to be demanding but not impossible—you enter something psychologists call flow: intense focus, a loss of self-consciousness, and that sweet, sweet satisfaction when things click. Flow is not mystical; it’s measurable in brain chemistry and bodily responses. Games that angle themselves into this zone keep you in the state longer.

Why does a narrow defeat sting less than a slack victory? Because the stakes were real. A hard fight teaches you the map of the system—enemy tells, timing windows, resource management. Each near-miss is data. Each retry is a small experiment. Beating a boss after ten tries doesn’t just reward you with loot: it hands you a micro-epic you’ll retell to friends.

Design tricks that turn punishment into play

Not all painful games are compelling, though. The difference is design. Here are the levers designers pull to make punishing gameplay feel fair:

• Clear signaling: bosses that telegraph attacks let you learn patterns, not guess them.
• Small, meaningful progress: short checkpoints and incremental power-ups mean you rarely lose everything.
• Consistent rules: when failure feels caused by your choices (not randomness), frustration turns into determination.
• Optional escalation: New Game+ or difficulty modes let players opt into more pain once they’ve mastered the base game.
• Social scaffolding: invaders, co-op allies, and streaming communities turn personal failures into shared narratives.

A design that nails those points makes every defeat an informative event, and every victory a real story.

The culture: how communities turn adversity into entertainment

Challenge doesn’t live in isolation. Speedrunners, challenge-run streamers, and modders form micro-economies of difficulty. People intentionally subvert systems—no-hits, no-weapons, low-level runs—because overcoming contrived hardship is its own trophy. The spectacle of watching someone make perfect, beautiful runs—after dozens of failed attempts—turns pain into entertainment.

Developers notice. DLCs, harder modes, and “challenge ladders” often arrive because communities keep asking for them. What started as a solitary stomp through a castle becomes a public sport.

Accessibility: keeping challenge without cruelty

There’s a tension here: pride in difficulty versus making games inclusive. The best modern designs reconcile both by offering optional difficulty modifiers, assist systems, or alternate routes. This lets the “souls” identity remain intact while opening the door for more players to find their version of flow.

A tiny personal anecdote

One night, I fought the same mosquito-headed miniboss for three hours. After failing, I walked away, brewed a cup of coffee, and came back with a ridiculous new strategy involving a broken bow and a roll I hadn’t thought to use. I won. I whooped so loudly the cat hid under the couch. That moment—equal parts relief, thrill, and dumb elation—is why I keep playing games that are willing to make me work for them.

Final bit: why you should care

If you like stories of triumph that actually feel hard-earned, or if you’re a designer wondering how to make challenge meaningful, pay attention to how mechanics teach players. It’s not cruelty; it’s choreography. Difficulty that respects the player becomes some of the most memorable game design we have.

So pick the controller back up. Lose like a villager, learn like a scholar, and win like you earned the right.