I play a vast variety of games and tend to try any genre or subgenre at least once, but one kind of game has always been what I come back to: those of persistence and mechanical mastery, of unjust odds and exaltation of the player who chooses to finds a way to thrive. Nowadays, Fromsoftware is held as the highest standard of this style of game design, and deservingly so. The amount of time I’ve dumped into Elden Ring borders on irresponsible, as I always come back to the grand, mysterious, and hostile world of the Landss Between, reveling in the new ways I find to become it’s one true lord. But that’s not where my love of mechanical mastery and triumph started.
A family member had bought a collection for cheap for our PS2, not knowing much about it, but the man with white hair and a freshly fired gun, shrouded and darkness and smoke caught the intrigue or an 8 year old Iyo. Later that night, I popped the disk in to try it myself. I had never played anything like it. Lighting fast combat with depth rivaling the fighting game genre, merciless bosses, almost evil sounding heavy metal and booming orchestral tracks, modern and gothic architecture simultaneous and odds and in perfect harmony, and an over-the-top protagonist oozing confidence and a sort of punkish, effortless grace.
Wanna know the name?...
Devil May Cry
The 3rd game to be exact, the crown jewel of the compilation and a personal favorite game to this day. At the time, I thought I was at least decent at video games, but this game made me look like a bitch. I struggled to input the moves, there was so much to keep up with, and at times I was scared to approach bosses and relied to much on my firearms, which usually do piss poor damage compared to melee weapons and are mainly meant as combo extenders. I banged my head against this game off and on for years, loving how cool it seemed but getting stonewalled each time.
Then one day it made sense, and a fire was lit.
Juggle after dash after downward crash, the style meter became my friend and teacher instead of a mockery of my inexperience, demons melting into sand and shattering like glass in my wake, and bosses that once mocked me trembling in disbelief as I made their power my own. Every defeat went from a discouragement to a burning passion to shatter my limits once more, and every new weapon and skill became another color with which to express myself in the heart of battle. And at the tower’s peak, a man clad in blue, with grace and power surpassing my own: Virgil.
Each fight with Virgil, at the climax of each act, demanded nothing but my best. Every reckless swing was punished, every hesitance met with disgrace, yet I was just too bullheaded to step down. But given time, technique never fails. Dodging his attacks and crashing into him with the full might of Sparda became second nature, and when he narrowly escaped my wrath after his health dropped to zero, I fought even harder as I anticipated our rematch.
Along the way, a sort of family drama unfolded, between Dante and Virgil, and between Lady and her Father. My situation certainly wasn’t comparable to such a grand conflict as this, but Dante, Virgil, and Lady’s feelings of inadequacy that bubbled just under the surface struck a cord. But as the finale drew near, Dante’s desires aligned with my own: to not let my past decide who I am, and to do the right thing. He could have acted out of despair and watched the world burn for power like Virgil, but he chose justice.
My rivalry with Virgil finally took me from the precipice of the Temen-ni-gru, to the strangely blob-like and technicolor bowels of hell. Yet again, I was stonewalled. Vergil was more aggressive, more varied, punished hesitance by healing himself, and had counters for whatever tool I had. This time, it was go big or go home. I went back to earlier missions to grind some orbs, experiment with moves and styles I had neglected up to that point, wringing every drop of power I could out of the games mechanics without access to internet or a nearby player better than I. Then I stepped up to challenge once more.
We were more evenly matched than ever. Virgil would get the upper hand, catching me in a merciless flurry of blades, only for me to dash to the side after recovery and break his stride with my own, only to then be deflected and forced on the back foot. When he activated Devil Trigger, I met it with my own. I had never felt this kind of excitement from a game before. In that moment, nothing else mattered but a duel utmost magnificent. Then, with a pixel of health left, it was do or die. It all came down to once final charge, the attack connected, and my victory was final.
As Dante tried to save Virgil from his descent into hell, only to be pushed away, I saw how hard it could be to do the right thing. Sometimes you just can’t help everyone and that’s okay. Dante helped someone: he saved the world and became a friend to Lady. Through trial and tribulation, and tears at the end of it all, he made a difference.
If he can do it, maybe I can to.
A family member had bought a collection for cheap for our PS2, not knowing much about it, but the man with white hair and a freshly fired gun, shrouded and darkness and smoke caught the intrigue or an 8 year old Iyo. Later that night, I popped the disk in to try it myself. I had never played anything like it. Lighting fast combat with depth rivaling the fighting game genre, merciless bosses, almost evil sounding heavy metal and booming orchestral tracks, modern and gothic architecture simultaneous and odds and in perfect harmony, and an over-the-top protagonist oozing confidence and a sort of punkish, effortless grace.
Wanna know the name?...
Devil May Cry
The 3rd game to be exact, the crown jewel of the compilation and a personal favorite game to this day. At the time, I thought I was at least decent at video games, but this game made me look like a bitch. I struggled to input the moves, there was so much to keep up with, and at times I was scared to approach bosses and relied to much on my firearms, which usually do piss poor damage compared to melee weapons and are mainly meant as combo extenders. I banged my head against this game off and on for years, loving how cool it seemed but getting stonewalled each time.
Then one day it made sense, and a fire was lit.
Juggle after dash after downward crash, the style meter became my friend and teacher instead of a mockery of my inexperience, demons melting into sand and shattering like glass in my wake, and bosses that once mocked me trembling in disbelief as I made their power my own. Every defeat went from a discouragement to a burning passion to shatter my limits once more, and every new weapon and skill became another color with which to express myself in the heart of battle. And at the tower’s peak, a man clad in blue, with grace and power surpassing my own: Virgil.
Each fight with Virgil, at the climax of each act, demanded nothing but my best. Every reckless swing was punished, every hesitance met with disgrace, yet I was just too bullheaded to step down. But given time, technique never fails. Dodging his attacks and crashing into him with the full might of Sparda became second nature, and when he narrowly escaped my wrath after his health dropped to zero, I fought even harder as I anticipated our rematch.
Along the way, a sort of family drama unfolded, between Dante and Virgil, and between Lady and her Father. My situation certainly wasn’t comparable to such a grand conflict as this, but Dante, Virgil, and Lady’s feelings of inadequacy that bubbled just under the surface struck a cord. But as the finale drew near, Dante’s desires aligned with my own: to not let my past decide who I am, and to do the right thing. He could have acted out of despair and watched the world burn for power like Virgil, but he chose justice.
My rivalry with Virgil finally took me from the precipice of the Temen-ni-gru, to the strangely blob-like and technicolor bowels of hell. Yet again, I was stonewalled. Vergil was more aggressive, more varied, punished hesitance by healing himself, and had counters for whatever tool I had. This time, it was go big or go home. I went back to earlier missions to grind some orbs, experiment with moves and styles I had neglected up to that point, wringing every drop of power I could out of the games mechanics without access to internet or a nearby player better than I. Then I stepped up to challenge once more.
We were more evenly matched than ever. Virgil would get the upper hand, catching me in a merciless flurry of blades, only for me to dash to the side after recovery and break his stride with my own, only to then be deflected and forced on the back foot. When he activated Devil Trigger, I met it with my own. I had never felt this kind of excitement from a game before. In that moment, nothing else mattered but a duel utmost magnificent. Then, with a pixel of health left, it was do or die. It all came down to once final charge, the attack connected, and my victory was final.
As Dante tried to save Virgil from his descent into hell, only to be pushed away, I saw how hard it could be to do the right thing. Sometimes you just can’t help everyone and that’s okay. Dante helped someone: he saved the world and became a friend to Lady. Through trial and tribulation, and tears at the end of it all, he made a difference.
If he can do it, maybe I can to.
