My first journey through the Lands Between clocked in at over 100 hours, a playtime that was absolutely bloated by my obsession with summoning and being summoned. Even now, in 2026, as I gear up for another run, that core, clunky multiplayer system remains largely unchanged from its Demon's Souls roots. It's the one glaring, beautiful flaw in what I still consider a masterpiece. The anticipation for new content has come and gone, but my love for this janky, transient connection with strangers has only deepened.

You see, my obsession with FromSoftware's brand of silent co-op started with Dark Souls. I went in blind, knowing only its infamous reputation for difficulty. I had no clue it even had multiplayer until I stumbled upon a glowing orange scribble on the ground. The whole system—Soapstones, phantoms, invasions—felt like a bizarre, secret language. It fundamentally changed how I saw fun in games. It wasn't just about overcoming challenges; it was about these fleeting, wordless connections in a crushing, lonely world.

elden-ring-s-co-op-is-still-clunky-in-2026-but-i-can-t-stop-loving-it-image-0 Wait, is that a bloodstain? Oh, someone died here... spectacularly.

Despite the crushing solitude of its worlds, FromSoftware games are given a peculiar, vibrant life by the players themselves. Messages crafted from preset phrases warn of ambushes or praise the view. Ghostly echoes of other players fade in and out, showing you a glimpse of someone else's parallel struggle. And then there are the summon signs—the most tangible sign of life. Plopping down my gold sign and waiting to be whisked into someone else's world never gets old. It lets me be the helpful stranger in the blizzard, the one who gives your stuck car a push up the hill. That's the core inspiration, after all, from Miyazaki himself: a story of anonymous, transient assistance on a snowy road where you never get to say thanks.

But let's be real, it's also endlessly silly and entertaining. Without voice chat, a strange universal language has emerged. I pop into your world, switch to two-handing my weapon, and just start mashing L1 to make my sword wiggle wildly. You, without fail, respond in kind. We crouch repeatedly, jump in unison, roll through breakable pots for no reason, and try to parkour onto impossible ledges. It's this serendipity that creates legends like Let Me Solo Her, the pot-headed hero who dedicated himself to slaying Malenia for others. It's a simple concept. But you don't know whom you will meet. That's the magic.

However, as much as I adore it, it's painfully clear this system was not designed for a game as vast as Elden Ring. It was tailor-made for the segmented, level-based design of Demon's Souls and Dark Souls. Summon help for a tough area or boss, then go your separate ways. That logic strains in a true open world.

The in-universe explanations—distorted time in Lordran, the ringing of bells across worlds in Yharnam—were elegant fits for those more linear worlds. Elden Ring's Fingers and Effigies feel more like magical hand-waving. The restrictions feel antiquated:

  • 🚫 Defeat a field boss? Session over.

  • 🚫 Want to ride Torrent together? Impossible.

  • 🚫 Progress for the summoned phantom? Only Runes carry over.

These barriers are antithetical to the game's core promise of freedom. The massive popularity of mods like Seamless Co-op on PC is a damning indictment. It proves that for many, FromSoftware's multiplayer has shifted from a charming, diegetic quirk to a cumbersome obstacle. It's a system clinging to its original, fleeting intent in a world that begs for sustained adventure.

Me trying to communicate "the boss is that way" through interpretive dance.

With major expansions like Shadow of the Erdtree long since released, it's clear a co-op overhaul was never in the cards. DLC adds new challenges and areas, but it doesn't rewire the game's foundational networking. And you know what? I'm weirdly okay with that. The launch of a new FromSoftware RPG is my most cherished gaming event precisely because the player base is naive and active. It's the perfect storm for this janky co-op to shine. Helping wide-eyed newcomers in Limgrave or summoning a random hero when I'm stuck on a boss—that's the cycle I love.

My heart goes out to duos who just want to journey together seamlessly. Without mods, you're essentially playing the whole game twice, which is a huge ask. It's the system's biggest failure. Yet, here I am, years later, still putting down my sign. I'll sink another hundred hours into helping strangers clear dungeons, wagging my sword like a fool, and sharing those silent, triumphant moments after a tough fight. The system is flawed, cumbersome, and outdated. But in its fleeting, serendipitous, and often hilarious connections, it captures something about anonymous kindness and shared struggle that no polished, modern matchmaking system ever has. If FromSoftware ever does replace it, I'll give the old way the most solemn, respectful bow I can muster before we go our separate ways for good.