Like other From Software games, Sekiro is all ups and downs. It draws you in, breaks you down, forces you to play by its rules and, finally, teaches you to adapt and overcome. The level of satisfaction one can feel from doing so cannot be overstated—it's one aspect (among others) that hooks so many people while keeping just as many at arm's length.
In one sense, Sekiro is more of the same then—a precise, challenging third person action game that certainly keeps the intangible feel of a From Software game close to its heart—but makes plenty of departures, large and small. Speed and mobility are top priority here, with fluid movement, fast combat and the ability to jump and swing around large, open spaces with a nifty grappling hook. Streamlined stealth gameplay is sprinkled in to shake up your approach to combat encounters, while RPG elements have been largely stripped away to keep the focus on a very tightly defined type of action game. Health has been supplemented with Posture, an ingenious mechanic that forces the player to attack with relentless well-timed strikes and deflections in order to break an enemy's posture and land a killing blow. It's so, so smart, and translates beautifully in motion; many games have attempted to capture the back and forth thrill of a duel between masters of the sword, but to my mind, none have done so with nearly as much grace as Sekiro.
As I was attempting to overcome the massive hurdle that is Sekiro's last boss, a realization finally occurred to me that the joint effect of all these changes represents so much more than From Software just shaking up the formula. There is genuine evolution in the design of dynamic combat that can be traced here, not only for their brand of games but within the sphere of action games as a whole.
At that point, I must have been at least fifty attempts deep on Sword Saint Isshin, finally putting him on the ropes and feeling like the stronger contestant after being endlessly slapped around. I first improved by learning the attacks and movements of each phase and adapting my strategy accordingly. Nothing new there, but it is precisely when I started gaining the advantage that I realized how much my behavior was actively influencing the way the fight played out. See, in Dark Souls, you waited for openings, took advantage of them in that brief window and then went back on defense; in Sekiro, it's up to you to carve out those openings and exploit them, and the game's fights are superbly tuned around this conceit. Reactive vs proactive. It's a tune-up more than an overhaul to be sure, but the difference is deeply felt.
Isshin's second phase dominated me for a long time as he unleashed flurries of attacks that, in my panic, had me retreating and frantically attempting to parry at every moment, without the guts needed to pull off effective counterattacks. He exploited my timid behavior and punished me for it, never giving me space to recover in the midst of his endless attacks and pushing me to make mistakes. In this mode, it didn't take long for him to put me face first in the dirt with each attempt. What's incredible though was being able to create a reversal as I slowly gained confidence—at some point, I was able to start hammering him with quick, precise strikes, and witnessed his approach to the fight completely shift. He became overly reliant on a sweeping attack to fling himself backwards, giving him space to escape and defend himself as I laid on attack after attack, and—despite his ability to quickly take me down should I make a mistake—he seemed more frantic, and defensive than ever. He simply didn't have the chance to wear me down like before. I created the upper-hand for myself, and I could exploit his reactions to my aggressive attack pattern, just as he did to me.
And so finally, something seemingly insurmountable became attainable, understood. Shortly after, Isshin fell. "…well done, Sekiro." Bliss.
It's a little thing, this fluidity in the back and forth exchange between Isshin and myself, but it didn't feel little. It felt like a revelation. The beauty of this truly dynamic gameplay defines the essence of Sekiro for me, and this sequence of struggle, realization and triumph in its final moments is perhaps the purest way such an experience could be capped off.
In one sense, Sekiro is more of the same then—a precise, challenging third person action game that certainly keeps the intangible feel of a From Software game close to its heart—but makes plenty of departures, large and small. Speed and mobility are top priority here, with fluid movement, fast combat and the ability to jump and swing around large, open spaces with a nifty grappling hook. Streamlined stealth gameplay is sprinkled in to shake up your approach to combat encounters, while RPG elements have been largely stripped away to keep the focus on a very tightly defined type of action game. Health has been supplemented with Posture, an ingenious mechanic that forces the player to attack with relentless well-timed strikes and deflections in order to break an enemy's posture and land a killing blow. It's so, so smart, and translates beautifully in motion; many games have attempted to capture the back and forth thrill of a duel between masters of the sword, but to my mind, none have done so with nearly as much grace as Sekiro.
As I was attempting to overcome the massive hurdle that is Sekiro's last boss, a realization finally occurred to me that the joint effect of all these changes represents so much more than From Software just shaking up the formula. There is genuine evolution in the design of dynamic combat that can be traced here, not only for their brand of games but within the sphere of action games as a whole.
At that point, I must have been at least fifty attempts deep on Sword Saint Isshin, finally putting him on the ropes and feeling like the stronger contestant after being endlessly slapped around. I first improved by learning the attacks and movements of each phase and adapting my strategy accordingly. Nothing new there, but it is precisely when I started gaining the advantage that I realized how much my behavior was actively influencing the way the fight played out. See, in Dark Souls, you waited for openings, took advantage of them in that brief window and then went back on defense; in Sekiro, it's up to you to carve out those openings and exploit them, and the game's fights are superbly tuned around this conceit. Reactive vs proactive. It's a tune-up more than an overhaul to be sure, but the difference is deeply felt.
Isshin's second phase dominated me for a long time as he unleashed flurries of attacks that, in my panic, had me retreating and frantically attempting to parry at every moment, without the guts needed to pull off effective counterattacks. He exploited my timid behavior and punished me for it, never giving me space to recover in the midst of his endless attacks and pushing me to make mistakes. In this mode, it didn't take long for him to put me face first in the dirt with each attempt. What's incredible though was being able to create a reversal as I slowly gained confidence—at some point, I was able to start hammering him with quick, precise strikes, and witnessed his approach to the fight completely shift. He became overly reliant on a sweeping attack to fling himself backwards, giving him space to escape and defend himself as I laid on attack after attack, and—despite his ability to quickly take me down should I make a mistake—he seemed more frantic, and defensive than ever. He simply didn't have the chance to wear me down like before. I created the upper-hand for myself, and I could exploit his reactions to my aggressive attack pattern, just as he did to me.
And so finally, something seemingly insurmountable became attainable, understood. Shortly after, Isshin fell. "…well done, Sekiro." Bliss.
It's a little thing, this fluidity in the back and forth exchange between Isshin and myself, but it didn't feel little. It felt like a revelation. The beauty of this truly dynamic gameplay defines the essence of Sekiro for me, and this sequence of struggle, realization and triumph in its final moments is perhaps the purest way such an experience could be capped off.