Although this game was kind of enjoyable nevertheless, the story takes almost no risks and the characters barely change from start to end with the most sterile romance possible. I still can't take the setting of a super religious space-faring civilization with asteroids full of magical science goo in ruins only discoverable by "witches" singing seriously lol. Not to mention the Chinese clans overly concerned about their nebulous honor. There aren't even terrestial planets anymore only gas giants, does all of humanity really live on those asteroids and space stations now? Where do they grow all their food, or is the entire population in the low thousands? Did the gods genuinely exist and all die or what was with all those hallucinations? Are Jun and Eda reincarnations of Helius and Terra?

Also what's the point of changing Ribaku (Japanese dub) to Jun in the English text? Clashed hard every time Eda said it. And onee-chan --> Eddie, really? Don't think our trio is Ed, Edd, n Eddy

Lastly I'm not docking any points for this but FUCK the speedrun and never-fail-even-once achievements when all cutscenes are unskippable and you have to alt-F4 every single time you lose a dice roll or mess up a puzzle before it autosaves, what a clusterfuck of tedium

Baldur's Gate 2 makes Baldur's Gate 1 feel like a tutorial for itself. The tantalizing story that BG1 only truly bothered to touch in its final act at last comes to fruition in an adventure that keeps the audience compelled for their entire run, even if they pursue every sidequest.

BG1 isn't just a low-level campaign, it's a FIRST campaign, run by a junior DM who is so excited about the bare traditional essentials of Dungeons and Dragons that they reproduce every cliché without a shred of creativity, and bore experienced players to tears.

BG2 feels like it was produced a good ten years down that DM's personal timeline, after they've grown up, read some books, and gotten that newbie cringe all the way out of their system. In its writing and scenario design, it feels strikingly modern, or at least as modern as something like Pillars of Eternity can be. It's enough to make me wish that the actual game systems has received a similar overhaul.

It's not that the DM hasn't learned some lessons since BG1. There are far, far fewer enemies who instantly throw out interminable entangle and web spells, and thus at least the player's ears are spared their constant, deafening noise in most situations. That said, the late-game DOES suffer a cornucopia of wizards whipping out Time Stops and guzzling potions that essentially render them invincible. While I'd certainly give heavier consideration to playing Baldur's Gate 2 without Story Mode enabled, it still would not be what I would call a pleasant experience.

Even with the actual combat experience brushed aside, there are simply too many annoyances with the interfacial experience of BG1 and 2 for the topic to go unraised. Innumerable are the times that I have been unable to recognize that I can interact with an object, and after pixel hunting, when I do have this realization and make my clicks, I'm met only with "You're too far away." I sigh, select my individual character, and move him out of formation. Similarly numerous are the times I simply could not see a staircase or could not find a key for a lock that my thief should be able to pick anyway. Even when bypassing the combat and RPG systems, I encountered plenty of irritations.

Be that as it may, after opting out of about 90% of BG1's side content, I did virtually every sidequest in Baldur's Gate 2, and had fun doing it. It makes me long for a big-budget, honest-to-god remake of both of these games, but as things stand, Baldur's Gate 2 is a great experience hamstrung mostly by age and circumstance. I'm glad I cruised through BG1 to get to it, but I don't expect to be revisiting either any time soon.

there's often too much emphasis placed on the value of narrative that is intrinsically gamey - stories that 'can only be told within the parameters and constructs of a game'. the idea here is simple: one wants to demonstrate the value their medium can bring to the table, so naturally any stories that can 'only' exist as a game and would face extreme adaptational hurdles presents the most appealing case for games as art.

i think this line of thought is suffocating, though. leaving aside the fact that this thwarts and diminishes the potential and creativity of other mediums in adaptation, the kinds of narratives that are lauded for best-in-class video game storytelling are often entirely subservient to structure or gimmick, or engage in reflexive and banal meta exercises. what's more, i'd posit that most (maybe even all) video game narratives are only feasible within the context of video games. taking play seriously means looking for the syntax linking the abstraction of mechanics to traditional forms of storytelling and presentation and the bearing that the coalescence of the two has on emotion and thought.

all this is to say that 13 sentinels represents another homecoming for the 'stories that are beholden to complex ADV structure' genre, and that it distinguishes itself from the usual suspects with nothing but endearing and unrelenting passion for its subject matter while considering some surprisingly insightful meditations on japans relationship to the media environment its fostered since the post-war era. character interactions are really fun and they're easy to get attached to, its breezy and freeform format makes for some incredibly comfortable gaming, and yes - it takes a lot of skill to hold a narrative this ridiculously convoluted together. 13 sentinels is practically bursting at the seams, but it's pretty sharp in how it chooses to disseminate its key narrative points. i also found it refreshing in that its far more shoujo than it is shonen.

this is really more of a pulpy 3.5 than a 4 - it's pretty scuffed mechanically and even structurally. it loses a significant amount of steam in the last quarter of the game (having exhausted a lot of its appeal and doing itself no favours when the emotional resonance the final battle should have fails to land), its RTS component can be exhilirating but fails to integrate itself as essential within the ADV structure and is often unbalanced to its own detriment, and certain characters get relegated to expository mouthpieces with only the occasional bursts of charm buoying their place within the game (gouto being the primary offender here).

still, how can i argue with a game in which ultimately, the brash and youthful human spirit triumphs over the petty squabbles and needlessly labyrinthine overcomplications of adults?

Cool game which introduced me to the Zelda series but was lacking some depth.

Game is very open and doesn't really tell you what to do. Quests are quite hard to follow and it doesn't really feel like a story quest but more like side-missions.

Played 3/4 through the game but couldn't find the energy to pick it up again.

Fun game with nice little mechanics but could be executed better in terms of story, quests and other little things.

     'Three years had passed. Five years had passed, and still the trees remained with their roots spread out on the bottom of the water. It looked almost as if they were still alive now. Ohina thought to herself; in those days my legs were still strong. My eyes could still see far.'
     – Michiko Ishimure, Tenko, 1997 (tr. Bruce Allen).

The post-war years in Japan were accompanied by an ideological shift in the ideas of work and family, with the development of the sarariiman myth. The ideal household, promoted by the Japanese government, was one in which the wife took care of the housework and the children's education, while the husband provided for the family's economic needs. This dream was made possible by the employment conditions of the 1960s and 1970s, when the average worker could expect to spend their entire career with the same company. Representations of the Japanese sarariiman have largely evolved over time, making him both an archetype of ideal masculinity through his loyalty to his employer and his sacrifice for his family (kigyō senshi, corporate warrior). At the same time, other representations emphasise his submissiveness, in line with the westernisation of Japanese culture [1].

     And every morning the door closes

The collapse of the economic bubble in the 1990s shattered this ideal, weakening the labour market and the salaried middle class [2]. The destruction of this family harmony, based on a patriarchal concept of sacrifice, led to the dysfunction of Japanese households and the gradual disappearance of fathers from the family unit. The generation born after the 1970s had no memory of the economic miracle of previous decades and found themselves thrust into a world where inequalities were apparent from school and career prospects were mediocre at best. Authority figures were viewed with suspicion and contempt, including the government, teachers and parents. They are said to have failed in their role as guardians: teachers are portrayed as incompetent or murderers, politicians as indifferent to misery and colluding to steal public money, while fathers resign and mothers weep at their powerlessness [3].

The destruction of traditional masculinity, which is still struggling to build a new mythology, has been followed by a reassessment of the place of women, who are regarded as the driving force for Japan's economic recovery and the bulwark against demographic decline. Unsurprisingly, Shinzo Abe's economic programme has focused heavily on the role of women, both as workers and as mothers. Yet Abenomics have failed to transform the labour market environment: government coalitions have been largely conservative, and measures for women have been anemic at best [4]. What remains is a vain discourse to encourage reproduction – despite the economic conditions hardly being met for raising a child – which is reflected in cultural production.

     Undoing ikumen in post-Abe Japan

The overrepresentation of motherhood, however, should not obscure the transformations of fatherhood in the 2000s and 2010s. Xenoblade Chronicles 3: Future Redeemed is a striking example as it deals directly with this issue, whereas the original game looked at the question of reproduction and family in a broader way [5]. The heroes of the first two games return, each embodying a different vision of masculinity. Shulk retains his candour while appearing more calm and disciplined. He represents a self-controlled masculinity driven by both elegance and intellect, in the style of the erudite warriors of pre-modern Asia. Rex is much rougher, constantly struggling to find a way to express his feelings and frustrations, despite his good intentions. In some ways, his development is reminiscent of that of Ryōta Nonomiya in Hirokazu Kore-eda's Soshite chichi ni naru (2013), an architect who is unable to provide emotional comfort to his family. Confronted with the way Shulk interacts with Nikol, Rex finds a new harmony with Glimmer, full of empathy and love.

Perhaps the most important aspect of these relationships is that their nature remains implicit. Many of the reminiscent and contemplative passages in Future Redeemed rely on knowledge of the franchise, but the theme of fatherhood runs throughout the DLC. Ultimately, the heroes' distance from their children is a response to the debates surrounding ikumen, a term used to describe fathers who are involved in raising their children in order to make them appear 'cool'. The ideological programme of Abe's Japan relied heavily on this imaginary to encourage fathers to participate in the household, but the figure of the ikumen has been widely criticised for giving men a nice label, even though they contribute to the dysfunction of both the domestic economy and their working environment [6].

The figure of the ikumen can be understood as a way for fathers to make themselves useful somewhere and gain recognition from their peers, a way to find a place to belong (ibasho) after being ejected from both the family unit and the corporate space. Future Redeemed responds to this sociological question in the same way as several local associations have done, through the figure of the ikimen, men who decide to foster communities of solidarity in the same way that they would look after their children [7]. Shulk and Rex, thanks to their experience, become the tutelary figures of the Liberators and Colony 9, but they are more interested in being mentors than leaders. Like the base game, Future Redeemed focuses on building bonds between the various members of the community until their resilience is no longer in doubt. As the various characters point out to Matthew, the virtue of a leader is to bring people together when necessary, not to control their lives. Through the various side-quests, the inhabitants of Colony 9 also gain texture and individuality, autonomy and confidence – more so than in the base game, thanks to a sparser cast.

     Maybe tomorrow

There is an optimistic melancholy to Future Redeemed, between the series' various iconic locations reduced to lonely ruins and the forward-looking language of the characters. Like Tetsuya Takahashi's other games, the DLC shines by magnifying the ties that bind individuals, variations on the theme of friendship, love and togetherness – lessons that must be carried beyond the game. A single existence is but a drop in the ocean of human history. Civilisations, buildings, masterpieces, passions, dreams and memories can vanish in an instant, but there remains an explicit duty to cherish the past, not in blind adoration, but in preparation for the future. Future Redeemed constantly refuses to elevate Shulk and Rex onto a pedestal: they are already fading figures, as their injuries attest. Even A, for all her unwavering calm and penetrating gaze, chooses to remain outside the life that Colony 9 and the Liberators have decided to cherish; not because she is without compassion for the survivors, but because she knows – and this is her legacy – that the future belongs to them alone.

As Xeno veterans know, every story has an ending, and not all sequels need to be told. Looking back at Lost Jerusalem and thinking about building a better world is poignant, but this is the everyday story. Fighting for a fairer and more humane world. It may take generations, but the important thing is to keep dreaming and struggling for it, because there is nothing more tragic than an existence without hope, even when darkness seems to engulf everything. Of course, there is something idealistic and simplistic about this statement, but Future Redeemed, like the base game Xenogears (1998) or Xenosaga (2002-2006), leaves room for misery and sadness. Inequality is part of every society, and Takahashi has no illusions about the ghosts that will always roam the Rhadamanthus of the future. This is how Future Redeemed concludes the epic of the Xenoblade Chronicles, just as Episode III: Also sprach Zarathustra (2006) invited one to close their eyes for a while, until the light of hope reappears, maybe tomorrow. In a way, Future Redeemed is just an open door. Its more meticulous progression with Affinity Points, its more fluid exploration thanks to numerous ergonomic additions, and its gameplay designed around accessories rather than classes all point to rich ideas for Monolith Soft's next projects.

I may still be around to see what paths they take.

Maybe I won't.

I will sleep a while, until the dawn wakes me up again...

I still believe... come what may...

__________
[1] Annette Schad-Seifert, 'Samurai and Sarariiman: The Discourse on Masculinity in Modern Japan', in Arne Holzhausen (ed.), Can Japan Globalize? Studies on Japan's Changing Political Economy and the Process of Globalization, Springer, Berlin, 2001, pp. 206-208.
[2] Some contextual details are provided in my reviews of Kaze no NOTAM (1997) and Power Shovel (1999).
[3] This is a rather simplified picture of the cultural representations of the 1990s and 2000s, but they occupy an important part of successful audiovisual production in Japan. On the topic, see Shuk-ting Kinnia Yau, 'Bad Father and Good Mother: The Changing Image of Masculinity in Post-Bubble-Economy Japan', in David G. Hebert (ed.), International Perspectives on Translation, Education and Innovation in Japanese and Korean Societies, Springer, New York, 2018, pp. 243-253.
[4] Mark Crawford, 'Abe’s Womenomics Policy, 2013-2020: Tokenism, Gradualism, or Failed Strategy?', in The Asia-Pacific Journal, vol. 19, no. 4-4, 2021.
[5] On the topic, see my review of Xenoblade Chronicles 3 (2022).
[6] In particular, wives and employers are very suspicious of the ikumen modoki, the father who prides himself on being involved in running the household and bringing up the children, but in reality makes no effort at all. He builds a positive image of himself on his wife's efforts and uses the household as an excuse to shirk his professional responsibilities. The yarisugi ikumen, the man who is overly proactive in his domestic involvement, is equally feared by women, both because he often disrupts household routines and wastes time, unnecessarily burdening his spouse with additional work. On the topic, see Nicholas Michael Feinig, Rearing the Family, Moving Society: Rethinking Gender, Kinship, and Work through Japan’s Fathering Movement, PhD thesis, University of Toronto, 2020, pp. 99-134.
[7] This figure is also subject to specific criticisms, notably the contamination of spaces intended for women by a corporatist and hierarchical masculinity, and the fact that these groups are more places for fathers to socialise than spaces for improving local community life; nevertheless, they are a new ibasho for men, outside the workplace. On the topic, see Nicholas Michael Feinig, op. cit., pp. 230-276.

just a casual update on this. prior to the game's newly implemented master rate update - which introduced ELO as a separate, zero-sum figure which factored into matchmaking and more clearly delineated skill in players - a charitable interpretation of the game's ranking system would be as an extension of the game's thesis, the idea that the journey for strength is never-ending. and there was certainly an appeal to that: now that you've reached master rank, you'll have to duke it out with every other person who put in the time and managed to make it to the top.

on a mechanical level, though, this felt tangential at best, and over time would likely only result in an increasingly lopsided system where most players had managed to get into master rank just by playing the game over a long enough stretch of time. having master rate now lends each and every battle this genuine tension & palpable weight. after all, nobody wants to be at the bottom of that leaderboard. nakayama's team designed sf6 with the notion that the versus mode is philosophically endgame content, a mode that, for absolute newcomers, should best be reserved until after the completion of world tour and some additional reps in practice. with this in mind, master rate goes beyond just 'endgame' content - it feels like a high level expansion where you're invited to prove your salt.

for my part, i've enjoyed two brief stints in the top 25 north american dhalsims, although as it turns out the mantle is hard to keep (as of writing: #45). is it impressive? i dunno, i feel like i have a lot more to learn and my character is underplayed by a margin of almost 200,000 players (as of august 14, there were around 221824 ken users. this is to be contrasted against a paltry 29183 dhalsim users). im not actually really a competitor in the FGC, but id like to keep growing stronger and keep fighting strong opponents. so i dunno, we'll see where this goes.

it's a significant motivator, then, that this is probably my favourite street fighter at this point, as well as probably my favourite fighting game. not to say that this is without fault - i appreciate world tour's inclusion immensely but it's half-cooked, the in-game economy leaves something to be desired, battle passes suck and the devs need to do more to encourage casual retention (further costumes is one thing but what about alternative winscreens, a functional music player, further customization of titles and versus screens, etc), matchmaking needs to be further expanded to utilize the game's strong netcode (why am i somewhat region locked), and no, you're not imagining things, the game's input register really is kind of wacky.

but i think a lot of other complaints at the moment stem from the amplification of certain voices on social media - as well as the fact that these people are also vying for a million dollars in the capcom pro tour and need things to resolve in their favour. so if we can learn to accept third strike as one of the apexes of this genre, a game constructed around problems with no clear, safe answers, a game where half of the normals kind of feel like shit, a game where chun li and yun and ken and all manners of bullshit are allowed to run rampant and free, then we can accept sf6 as a similar work in progress too. an evolving slate, one in which we have to learn - with time - to deal with strong characters and strong universal systems and strong offensive options.

this game really hits this absolute sweet spot of accessibility and depth of systems without presenting straightforward or clear solutions in a way that gets my brow furrowed in concentration and my brain eager to keep playing. i come from a samurai shodown background so everything to do with this central notion of not going on autopilot and guarding against the tendencies of players, in a sense moreso than worrying about the characters they inhabit, strikes a resonant chord with me. im really excited to see where it goes, and of course it goes without saying EVO top 8 this year belongs in the pantheon of fighting game tournaments. just a total gem. thank you capcom for giving me aki on my birthday

addendum: KB0 third strike review, november 2020:
"rather than establishing new legends, this game is about characters unsure about what the future entails, about what their next move should be, about what it even means to continue fighting - they waver, they fail, they practice, they move on. "

what a joy, then, that this is the overarching idea that propels world tour! street fighter has never really had traditionally good narratives, but when it chooses to it has pretty good vignettes and pretty good character writing, both of which world tour thankfully has in spades. very smart to organize a narrative around each character kind of just doing their own thing instead of trying to wrap them all into a sweeping narrative ala SFV.

Digital Devil Story Megami Tensei Remaster
A game that while it took me a while and was very grindy, had an atmosphere, OST and history that made it all worth it
This has been something I've fucked about with for close to 4 years now and after the last week or 2 of just blasting it out it's finally done, I've beaten the remaster of Digital Devil Story
Fuck what to say about this game apart from it's a solid first person dungeon crawler that has given me such a massive appreciation for the entire MegaTen series as a whole
Was it hell, yes
Did I like it, also yes
Genuinely cannot recommend this game to anyone since a lot of it is just grinding till you can take down the next boss but fuck it I liked it for some reason
An amazing OST, atmosphere to die for is what makes this game, if you don't fuck with it completely understandable
But I ate that shit up even if it did take me a while
Another checked off the list
A good one, not one I regret

The spirit of perversity must have overtaken me when I decided to beat this game because no rational human being would ever do that. To make this irrational self-vexing even more extreme, I decided I was going to fuse every single demon in the game. All of this created an experience almost beyond description. Playing this game was a boring, frustrating, and bewildering ordeal and yet for some reason I could not bring myself to put it down. I have no idea where this monomania came from.

This is not a short game, mind you, the whole ordeal probably took around 60 hours; 60 hours that I could have spent doing literally anything else.

If some idiot ever tries to tell you that human beings are rational actors, make them play 20 minutes of Megami Tensei and then inform them that there are countless people who have played the game to completion. I promise you they won’t believe human beings are so rational anymore.

This game exists mainly as a historical artifact for those interested in the beginnings of the MegaTen franchise, the monster collection genre, and Famicom graphical design. It’s a visually impressive game with a decent soundtrack to boot and was incredibly innovative for its time. That said, there’s really no reason to play this to completion today. You’d be much better off playing it for 20 minutes to get a feel for it or watching a video about it on YouTube.

     「イザナミの優しい瞳に暖かみさが次第に戻って行く。」

By 1987, the Japanese RPG had several sub-categories, each represented by iconic titles: Dragon Quest (1986) and Final Fantasy (1987) were establishing a new standard for the genre, while Ys I: Ancient Ys Vanished (1986) followed the formula of Hydlide (1984), with its action-RPG overtones. Alongside these new game design explorations, a series inspired by the novels of Aya Nishitani was born. ATLUS's Digital Devil Monogatari: Megami Tensei is not, unlike Telenet's eponymous computer game, an adaptation of the light novels, but their sequel. Similarly, the gameplay between the two games is quite different, as the Telenet title opts for a hack-n-slash concept similar to Gauntlet (1985), while the Famicom version is in the pure Wizardry tradition. In this seminal opus, the player takes on the role of Akemi Nakajima and Yumiko Shirasagi, two high school students who team up to eliminate the demons that have invaded the Earth, after Akemi had summoned them with the help of an elaborate computer program. In the novels, the two heroes had already triumphed over Loki and Seth, but they have been resurrected by Lucifer, the game's main antagonist. The quest begins in a large pyramidal building, apparently a kind of kofun for the Shirasagi family. Underneath this structure, a labyrinthine network of catacombs, brimming with demons, unfolds. Nakajima and Shirasagi's mission is to free the goddess Izanami, a captive of Lucifer, and to put an end to the evil yoke.

At first glance, the title plays like a Wizardry game. The player must explore the catacombs further and further, acquiring equipment and experience along the way. But Megami Tensei quickly stands out because of the specificity of its characters. While Yumiko is the only one who can use magic – and therefore heal outside of combat – Nakajima has the COMP action, which allows him to recruit and then summon demons to facilitate the progression. A novelty for the time, this mechanic forces the player to find a new balance in their exploration, as they will necessarily have to visit certain places to find specific demons: to acquire the most powerful creatures, demons must be merged, a task that can prove difficult without a guide. While this mechanic provides significant flexibility in dungeon exploration, it comes with its own constraints. Merging demons only works if Nakajima's level is high enough, thus making the exploration of certain areas strictly dependent on an experience grind, as demons are an essential part of the team's firepower. Furthermore, when demons are summoned into the team, they consume a certain amount of Magnetite for each step. To keep this resource afloat, it is essential to fight regularly, at the risk of seeing the demons lose their HP little by little, if the reserve is empty. These features make Megami Tensei a title that, even more than other entries of this era, makes grinding a central component of its gameplay loop.

As in Wizardry, exploration is divided into several phases. In the first one, the player will map their environment – this is highly recommended, as the title has no automatic mapping –, in the second one, they have to accumulate enough experience to go through the corridors smoothly, and in the last one, they need to reach the dungeon boss and kill them. In the case of Megami Tensei, most of the time will be spent in this second part and it can become very lengthy. Farming sequences have to be interspersed with regular breaks to Micon or Bien, disrupting the progression pace. It is perhaps during the Rotten Sea of Flames segment that the frustration builds up most dramatically, as the return trips tend to be quite protracted. Also, in contrast to Dragon Quest, farming is not such an automatic activity, as some enemies may prove too powerful for the group, due to some of their attacks. Early on in the game, the player learns to avoid as much as possible the demons that can paralyse or turn team members into stone, as this means a mandatory retreat to a town. In the second half of the game, enemies that can permanently remove levels pose the greatest hazard to the group and there is little choice but to flee. It should also be noted that misallocation of attributes during the level-ups can cause some temporary difficulties. Not investing enough in vitality comes at an immediate cost and underestimating Yumiko's Attack or Nakajima's Wisdom proves to be a mistake towards the end of the game.

This cruelly tedious nature is nevertheless compensated for by a unique atmosphere for a console RPG of that era. Admittedly, for obvious reasons, the demons are often rather underwhelming colour swaps and they don't yet reach the eerie esoterism of later installments: but the title manages to have some surprising moments. During the first excursion into Mazurka, the music becomes more ponderous and accompanies the much higher difficulty. This tension culminates in the exploration of the Rotten Sea of Flames, where the walls have an unintentionally very organic texture. The fire damage taken with each step accentuates the viciousness of this place and reinforces the urgency to save Izanami. The final dungeon, meanwhile, has an arcane quality to it, with an all-blue palette that gives way to a dirty red in the final stretch. The various demons and NPCs complement this ambience: the different shops run by humans always impress with their pixel art, which thematically enforces a mood. The equipment shops emerge as restful havens with the fluctuating benevolence of the warm, brown torches. Meanwhile, the healer and especially the House of Heresy play with their purple and green colours to create a sickly impression around the wizards, whose cryptic arcanas cannot be deciphered by the protagonists. It is perhaps the vision of the imprisoned Izanami that contributes most significantly to this eeriness, as the mask that wraps her head draws on the organic imagery of Japanese horror fiction.

This atmosphere helps to make Megami Tensei distinctive and very gritty. With some effort, the player understands what is expected of them and the importance of choosing demons, but the title remains merciless. Unlike Wizardry, whose dungeon is built in a linear fashion, Megami Tensei revels in its convoluted nature. While Daedalus remains classic, it serves primarily to filter players. For those who triumph over the Minotaur, the real challenge now begins and the next sequence opens with a dilemma. Two areas can be explored: Valhalla and Bien. The latter is technically the prime objective, in order to liberate the city and secure a new base of operations. But it is likely that foes within the area are still too powerful, so a preliminary exploration in Valhalla, a region that meanders between two floors, is necessary to acquire better demons. However, venturing too far into Valhalla may prove to be a mistake, because of the walls that can only be crossed from one side. This difficult choice gives an insight into the difficulty of the title and is repeated over the course of the game. Yet Megami Tensei balances the difficulty with its Game Over system, which is very similar to Dragon Quest's, as the player resumes the adventure directly in the first city, only stripped of half of their money. Later on, the different regions also have two entrances, one accessible by piloting Bien's Sky City to land atop the dungeons: this second point of entry eases the exploration and shortens the back and forth to heal one's team.

Despite its very harsh difficulty, Megami Tensei can be tamed by patient players who are not put off by the fusion system. The title has some gentle accents amidst the harshness of its atmosphere and making progress through the various puzzles always brings great satisfaction. Undoubtedly, the title is not for everyone, but rather for the most ardent fans of the franchise or for those in need of archaic dungeon crawlers. For them, Megami Tensei would be a more subtle title than it seems, featuring a very unusual bestiary, its creatures coming from all the mythologies of the world. It is true that the scenario is still very simplistic, but the series proved more ambitious with its sequel, released three years later.

How can something this well made and with so much potential and looks fucking amazing be so fucking boring at times?
FUCKING ROBOT DINOSSAURS.
The game is great when you're fighting them but thats it.
Project Zero Dawn is cool to I guess.
How could they fuck this up this game has everything it needs to be solid as fuck but It falls flat on so many surfaces.
forgetable charactes
Weird fucking world design, you have the amazing fucking map filled with cool shit to explore but you also fill it with the most pointless side shit possible.
this is a brain boiler, I'm never playing it again.