There is something to be said about the inevitability of the human spirit. Through many trials and much toil, humanity continues to persist against all odds, always finding a way to forge a new destiny and strive to maintain continuous progress. But what happens when humanity goes too far? How will we know that we’ve gone astray? And when will it finally be time to stop pretending that we’re certain of our path forward regardless of all that we’ve done?

Those were some of the questions I sought to answer upon my replay of Shadow of the Colossus. Six months after finishing it last Christmas day, I still couldn’t get my experience out of my head; it felt like a product of its time and yet simultaneously felt so ahead of its time. I suppose there’s a part of me that’s drawn towards the quirky, the interesting, and the compelling, and for some reason I remember Shadow of the Colossus checking off all three boxes. Thus, I decided to give the old classic another go, and hopefully do it justice this time expressing my sentiments with more than one word.

It goes something like this; a hawk soars into a dark canyon while a lone young man and his horse companion trod onto a long, lonely bridge, slowly making their way through a quiet yet dignified tower. There in the shrine, he puts the body of his loved one to rest, and hears the voice of a foreign entity, offering him a deal; in exchange for taking down sixteen colossi across the land, his lover shall be revived and brought back to him. So, the young man (aptly named Wander), makes his way through this still yet sprawling land in hopes of fulfilling his duty, wherever it shall take him.

Most action-adventure games present themselves as this glorious epic where the young, up and coming hero strives against his inexperience and fears to conquer the unknown, slay hordes of monsters and tear down obstacles in his way, and upon having slew the scheming and conniving big bad bringing despair to all, returns home triumphantly to confetti and fanfare as a hero’s welcome. Shadow of the Colossus stands starkly to this idea; as I made my way across this foreboding territory, I was greeted with… nothing. There are ruins of a once glorious civilization scattered throughout this forsaken land where the wild has reclaimed its bounty, with no other visible records to be found. Aside from fruit trees and blue tailed salamanders to collect at shrines serving as save points, there is virtually no other interaction to be found in this world. There’s no triumphant and exciting overworld music to be found, just the stillness of the wind and the echoes of the forest. Forget what you know about emptiness regarding other video game worlds; aside from the aforementioned salamanders and a few turtles and fish here and there, I and my horse companion (Agro) were genuinely alone. The bare walls and isolated plains of the forbidden wild perhaps have millennia of stories to be told, but they were not for me; I don’t belong in this place, and I never would. Yet, here I was, a boy on his horse aiming to change the course of history by eliminating the other sixteen dignified inhabitants of this lonely land. And who exactly decided I was to be the arbiter of this sealed off earth?

I slowly make my way up the cliffs across from the shrine to come across this magnificent and imposing creature, just sauntering its way across the empty landscape. There’s this subtle yet growing sensation that I’ve stumbled upon something that will change my life forever. I creep behind what I refer to as “the hulking beast” and find its weakness; close to the beast’s ankle, a crack glows blue. I latch onto the fur and stab the crack for all it’s worth. By now it’s noticed me, but it’s too late. The beast falters, and I take this time to scale its back; as it stands back up, I clutch onto the top of its head and repeatedly plunge my sword into its temple as it writhes in fear and agony. A sense of finality looms in the air as the beast takes its final blow, leans back slowly, and collapses upon the earth, never to rise again. I am almost immediately injected with these black-blue ribbons spewing out of the fallen colossus, with no time to admire my handiwork or ponder the consequences of my actions, and black out.

I’m not sure if I would say the going got harder from there, but it most certainly got rougher. I and Agro would make our way through endless placid landscapes to finally encounter once tranquil, dignified colossi that for all I know were just living day by day in this abandoned universe. I would need every advantage I could get; I was but an ant with a stick and a sling against these glorious beasts that were the size of a small building. Many of these colossi are capable of taking me out with a few fell blows, and my equipment much less my physique could not hope to win in one on one open combat; I needed every advantage I could get, and the designers did a magnificent job sneaking in subtle hints of how to manipulate both the colossi and their surrounding environments to target and exploit their weaknesses, whether it be from their visible characteristics, the glowing blue cracks and sigils revealed with the sword, or from the colossi’s behavior themselves and clues given via descriptions from the echoing voice. There’s this constant sense of fragility as I ascended the features of each colossi; I was limited by my stamina which gets sapped every time I clung, jumped, and climbed to find the vitals and avoid being toppled by sudden movements. I’ll also mention that while it took some time to get used to the camera and seemingly strange controls, I ultimately did not mind them in the scope of the overall experience; fighting the colossi is meant to be this untamed, frenzied experience meant to instill apprehension into the player, as this fight between the lives of strangers, much less life and death.

And that’s where Shadow of the Colossus really excels: bringing this complex emotional rush to the player as they discover, slay, and exit the lives of the colossi scattered across the land. Every colossus has their own approaches, their own quirks, and their own story to tell as you seek to justify the means with your ends. I had never felt so small and insignificant as Gaius loomed over me, sauntering their way and pulling back the sword to slam upon my intrusive presence. I had never felt so desperate and powerless as when I was clasping onto Avion’s wings, soaring through the skies with the currents rushing around me as I tensed up trying not to fall off for the fifth time as Avion barreled its way over the lake. And I had never felt such primal fear as Dirge tunneled at me with those unmoving eyes, seeking to devour my very soul as Agro & I galloped away, doing whatever we could to avoid a fate in the belly of the beast. Every fight felt completely different in both the actions taken and the emotions spilled across; I am not sure if there is glory to be found in battle, but there are certainly moments that I will never forget.

I’ve referenced the soundtrack numerous times at this point but I don’t think I see it talked about enough here, so I’ll talk about the soundtrack as a microcosm in the context of the overall scope for a bit. Kow Otani and the orchestra do an incredible job intensifying moods with its shifts in the background tracks, allowing you to associate each track with different moments. I’ve already spoken about the quietude that comes with traversing the forbidden land and its many artifacts; there’s no epic adventure theme to be found here, because you’re not supposed to be here in the first place conducting this taboo ritual. As a result, there’s this break between your moments of reflection whenever you do stumble upon the resting places of colossi that the beams of light from your sword have brought you towards. These foreboding ambient themes that begin playing, such as the curiously named “Silence”, seem to highlight this feeling of anticipation and tension that begins to build upon your discovery. Once this short lived peace is broken down, the soundtrack transitions into full blown battle tracks, often with shifts in the track selection themselves as you progress to another “phase” by exposing or gaining access to a colossi’s weakness. I could go on and on about how I got this exhilarating rush when Dirge’s chase theme transitioned right into “Counterattack” as Dirge, suddenly blinded by my arrow, crashed into a wall, giving me the chance to leap from Agro onto its exposed back, or how my initial intimidation upon stumbling into Quadratus suddenly tearing down the cliff cave walls transformed into the rising orchestral melody of “Revived Power”, pushing me forward with this feeling that I couldn’t fail now when I had come so far. The songs perfectly emphasize and capture the moods that I felt fighting these complex creatures of habit, and only served to further accentuate their struggles and personalities. Truly, it was one for the books, this song & dance between an unwilling participant and an uncertain instigator.

I think it’s also interesting how the songs on the soundtrack also reflect this paradigm shift as you continue to fell colossus after colossus in your quest. “In Awe of the Power” begins perhaps as this frame to signify how the looming Gaius, with its thundering steps as it slowly approaches you, towers and threatens to snuff out your very existence. You can’t even attack any weaknesses off the bat compared to the last two colossi; you have to wait until Gaius attempts to slam its sword upon you and crack its own armor upon the solid pedestal in the middle of the arena. Compare this to the last time that "In Awe of the Power" plays, during the late game fight versus Phalanx. Phalanx is notable in that it never attempts to directly harm the player; it’s just this majestic snake-like creature flying in the desert sky that happened to become the player’s next bounty. Even when the player ascends onto Phalanx’s body, all Phalanx can do is attempt to slowly barrel roll to try and throw off the player and bury itself back into the sand to regain the use of its air sacs. Thus, my interpretation here is that somewhere along the lines, the prey has become the predator and the predator has become the prey; you’ve transformed from this greenhorn to this grizzled and weary veteran monster hunter, and it is in fact the colossi themselves that shudder in fear as you ascend their bodies, seeking to terminate their once peaceful and storied lives. Similarly, “The Opened Way” is considered to be one of the most emblematic themes of the game in that it is the first “success” theme that plays as you topple the first colossus, Valus, and climb onto its head. There’s this feeling of anxiety yet triumph as you taste your first morsels of progress as the beginning of what will be a long and memorable journey to revive your loved one; maybe all of this will be possible and worth it after all. It’s also one of the last battle themes to play, as you disarm the fifteenth colossus, Argus, of its glove after stabbing the vital on the back of its right arm. By the time you’ve gotten this far, there’s little left for you to finish off in this much emptier world as Argus desperately tries to fend you off with what little energy it has remaining. You’ve long decided your fate and the fate of the colossi by now; in a sense, the opened way has closed.

This paradigm shift becomes even more evident as you approach the final colossus, Malus. Agro is gone, having sacrificed herself leaping over a canyon bridge to bring Wander to his final destination. The air around you tingles with gloom as storm clouds blacken the sky and torrents pour upon the lonely earth. There’s no uplifting, upbeat final boss music to be found here; "Demise of the Ritual" is a lament for all that has happened and all that could have been as I trudged my way through tunnels and barriers, dodging the desperate energy shots of Malus in a last ditch attempt to avenge its family. And as I scaled Malus, all Malus could do was give me this curious and troubled stare after I stabbed its hand to ascend to its vital on top of its head like it was just another day at the office. The colossi can’t speak of course, but I’ve wondered for a while what it would say if it had a voice. “What brought you this far, little man? How and why did you take down all fifteen of my siblings and make it here in one piece? What will become of you, and what will become of me?”

At the end of the day, I’m left uncertain as to if there really was a big bad to be found in all of this. The colossi certainly didn’t do anything wrong, simply choosing to exist as peaceful beings in a forbidden land, left undisturbed for perhaps eons. Dormin kept their end of the bargain and revived Mono as promised even after Dormin no longer needed Wander. Emon was right that Dormin presented a threat having done something so sacrilegious as to disturb the natural order of the land practically overnight, even as rueful as he was that Wander would remain embedded in the forsaken land for eternity. And Wander… perhaps he was misguided from the start, trying to alter the game of fate as is, but I suppose grief and desperation drive us to consider the unfathomable, going as far to defy human nature itself. Or perhaps it is simply inherent in human nature to begin with to defy our limitations, simply because we can and because we believe in doing what we think is right even if we may not truly be sure of what lies ahead of us as the light at the end of the tunnel.

So as Emon takes his departure and Dormin is exorcised once again, we are left with those who remain. Wander’s lover, Mono, finally awakens and finds only a limping Agro and an infant child with horns as a reminder of the events of the game. The bridge connecting the shrine with the outside world has collapsed as Emon takes his final glance at the ruins, and our heroes’ fate is uncertain. And yet, there is a glimpse of hope; as Mono makes her way to the courtyard, she encounters the rays of the sun for the first time in perhaps many years, and sights a curious deer admiring the newborn infant. And as the hawk ascends once more into the skies beyond the forsaken land, bookending this tragic and thoughtful tale while the credits wrap up, I’m reminded once again why I admired this game so much to begin with as I lean back in my chair, contemplative and stupefied that such an intricate work was ever conceived in the first place.

I don't think my questions were ever answered really, nor if they ever will be. But I’d like to quote Anton Chekhov here, as presumptuous as that may sound comparing a video game to one of the most storied authors in history: “The role of the artist is to ask questions, not answer them.” Perhaps that is why I continue to play video games, to immerse myself with more stories and pass those stories along, to feel something different, to genuinely believe in the power of this medium. I spoke with my mom about my thoughts and feelings regarding Shadow of the Colossus last night, and she advised that I search for more games that inspired me the same way that this did. I’m not sure if I’ve found any that even come close to achieving Fumito Ueda’s vision all those years ago, but I’ll keep searching, and I’ll certainly be back next year.

I don’t think Shadow of the Colossus is a game for everyone. But I do think that everyone should experience Shadow of the Colossus in their lifetime.