disenchanting poetic anarchy. quills soaked in blood transcribe fragmented stanzas across pages soiled with tragedy and insanity. hatred sows its seeds, obsessed with the universality of inner struggle. the seeds grow beneath lush fields of thriving imperialistic medievalism. faithful sacrifices are made in the strive towards a greater power personified by the beliefs of humanity. a single man who can only speak in genocidal tantrums sparks the beginning of the end. there is never motivation to continue forward nor is there ever a satisfying feeling of triumph. caim is just going through the motions while others beg for mercy at his feet. violence is a mundane necessity rather than an expressive resolve. not a single ending closes with excitement, only the depressive upset of loss. frenzied classical chords and pounding industrial symphonies amalgamate to feed the player’s own misery. drakengard is chaotically demoralizing, if nothing else.