Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest (NES, Konami, 1987)

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With video game sequels, there are a few different types. Some take what worked in the original, and then make updates to the established formula to make the next game better. Others attempt to shake things up a notch to avoid falling into the trap of being stale and predictable. In some cases though, shaking up the established formula for its own sake proves problematic, as is the case here. After the successes of the initial title, Konami felt it necessary to do something different with their franchise. Change isn’t an inherently bad thing, and can be a useful tool to breathe some new life into an aging franchise. However, it should be noted that this is the second title in the main series (ignoring Vampire Killer for the MSX). There isn’t any real risk of running stale unless the game was a complete copy and paste of the original and had no original thoughts of its own. This means that for me, the rush to make drastic changes to the established formula comes off as premature.

Castlevania established that the franchise is about creative art, interesting and almost puzzle-like level design, a difficulty level that is almost intentionally designed to punish recklessness and a fondness for classic horror culture. So what changes does the sequel make to those elements? All of them. The sequel exchanges the linear structure for a more open ended type of game. New to the franchise is a day -> night cycle that makes enemies much more powerful (read: tedious) at night. There are no more levels to go through in a fixed, sequential format. Instead, the player is expected to navigate through the world to solve the mystery surrounding the game with just their wits to aid them. Hearts are no longer ammunition for your subweapons; instead they are used as both currency and experience. Simon’s Quest has a level system  that’s introduced here for the first time in the franchise’s history. Speaking of subweapons, they too have a different function than they did in the original game. In Castlevania, subweapons added a lot of variety to the gameplay and also made a lot of very difficult section a lot easier when you could plan ahead beforehand.  There was a definitive reward for competent use of your subweapons in Castlevania. In Simon’s Quest, this is no longer true. Subweapons are used akin to the upgrades you would collect in Zelda or Metroid games. In doing so, this change alters one of the core tenets of Castlevania gameplay and I would argue for the worst. Subweapons made things more interesting in classic Castlevania, but since they don’t fulfill that function here, what does? Nothing. This means combat just boils down to how many times you can whip something before it kills you, which gets fairly boring and tedious after some time. There are Subweapons can be used in combat, but they don’t really fulfill any function that your whip can’t already fill due to the way Castlevania II is structured.

The gist of the game is that after the events in Castlevania, Dracula placed a curse on Simon Belmont. The only known way to deal with that curse is to find Dracula’s missing body parts and put them together, and then kill Dracula again. Exactly how that is supposed to stop Simon from getting cursed a second time is beyond me, but there’s some more issues than that to the overall premise. I’m sure that there has to be a lot of risk inherent to a plan like this. What if Simon had lost on the second encounter due to being too weak from the curse, then let loose Dracula all over again? There’s not even a guarantee that Dracula won’t curse Simon another time after he’s tried to kill him again! That sounds kind of irresponsible to me. I’m not going to condemn Simon for trying to save his own skin, but it’s a plan that can very easily go wrong and the consequences for doing so are pretty catastrophic when taken at face value.  Because of the basic plot of the game, Simon needs to go into different parts of the world and collect the five body parts of Dracula and drag them back to Castlevania itself. Of course, this game is very bare on plot, so I’m not going to take it very seriously.

One of the more striking features of Castlevania II is how the game distorts the usual assumption that any advice given from NPCs must necessarily be true. Otherwise, why would they give you that information if it was false? A good chunk of the information you receive from townspeople is either nonsensical or outright false. There are a few lines here and there that happen to be true, but deciphering what is and isn’t bunk has no rhyme or reason. There’s no indication if a statement is true or false. A few towns in the game have some minor themes in regards to the people who live there, but that’s not nearly enough information to decide where the player is supposed to go. I’ve seen this design element defended by numerous people on the basis that this encourages the player to try out all the different things you’re told to see if they’re true or not, to encourage exploration.  However, I strongly disagree with this assessment. It’s a very non-intuitive way of getting the player to explore the world around them, and I think intuitive design is almost always superior to non-intuitive design, regardless of difficulty.  More to that point, when the player discovers that an NPC has lied to them, they no longer have any reason to believe the small handful of NPCs who are telling them the truth.  Because of this bit of unintuitive design, the player will wonder around aimlessly hoping to find some special sequence trigger to progress to the next part of the game, but will struggle to do so because finding out which villager to trust is an exercise in futility.

I’ve also heard people defend this under the guise that this creates an intriguing mystery to the game, at which point the mystery must be solved by only the player’s wits since many of the townspeople are influenced by Dracula’s curse. I suppose that’s an interesting baseline for a story, unfortunately I don’t think it quite works out that way. If that’s true, then we ask ourselves, why are some of the NPCs influenced by the curse and some are not? That seems awfully inconsistent to me. Not to mention, the curse is barely mentioned at all within the game. Simon’s apparently cursed, but in what way is never really explained at all. And the “mystery” seems to boil down to a lot of cryptic hints for the player to solve so that they can find the pieces of Dracula to complete the game. Overall, I’m not a fan intentionally misleading the player for the sake of arbitrarily making the game harder to beat. That goes down a long dark road of bad game design that thankfully has been avoided more often than not, but it does crop up every now and then. Of all the problems there are with deceiving the player, I think the biggest is how its use is defended in getting you to explore the game. I feel exploration should be a reward, not a consequence. If the player walks off the beaten path, but finds something interesting as their reward, that will encourage them to continue to explore to find more cool things down the road. Castlevania II doesn’t do this. Most areas in the game are kind of bland, don’t have a lot in the way of interesting art or aesthetics and any upgrades you can find in the world are unnecessary for the most part and are located in places that are really unintuitive to discover on the player’s own accord. Because of this, exploration feels like a punishment, and not a reward. That the game is actually punishing you for exploring is something I don’t take very lightly or think is something that should be repeated by modern developers. These defenses that are used to justify a lot of Castlevania II’s bad design choices, I don‘t buy them one bit.

Mechanically, Simon controls very similarly as he does in the first game, which is something of a problem. I didn’t have an issue with his controls in the first title, nor do I have an issue with them in the third game, but that’s because those games controls are build around their level design. This is not the case with Castlevania II. The first few enemies that you encounter are perfectly fine in regards to dealing with them. The issues really start popping up when you find enemies who are more mobile than Simon is (hint to devs: only make the enemies as agile as the player character!) and have really awkward positions that exist only to make Simon take unnecessary chip damage. The first game was challenging, but it did so in the right areas. All the enemies that were fought against had roughly slow and predictable patterns. This lets the player formulate a strategy for dealing with them, and none of them were really in hard to beat positions. This game however, also subverts that aspect of the Castlevania formula. There are plenty of cases where an enemy is waiting at the end of a staircase, with very little in the way of defense for Simon. The staircases were definitely stiff in the first game, but that kind of nonsense didn’t exist there either.  What has also changed is that taking damage while on the stairs will cause him to fall to the bottom of the floor, which didn’t happen in the first game (nor does it happen in the third). In those titles, taking damage on the staircase would do nothing to your position. This is what I refer to as cheap difficulty (or to put it more bluntly, bullshit). I refer to it as cheap, because if you remove that element of the difficulty entirely, Castlevania II is quite easy. If you put it back in, the game becomes much more difficult. This is a low-effort way of adding additional playtime to an already somewhat tedious game. There’s nothing inherently wrong with a hard game, some of the greatest gaming experiences ever have been hard games. But good hard games are a very different beast than bad ones. Bad hard games look for the path of least resistance when it comes to making their game difficult.  Good hard games take a good, long and hard look at how to properly manage a linear experience that remains challenging without going over the top. The challenges and obstacles that are placed in front of the player are very carefully designed to avoid the kind of pitfalls that a game like Castlevania II likes to throw at the player. Of course, this comes with the inherent quality of linearity but I don’t think that’s such a bad thing. A linear experience aims to construct a fixed type of game to the player, one that isn’t open to a lot of deviation. While it might be argued that might get stale, it also means the game lacks the kind of design pitfalls that an open world type of game that is Castlevania II. This is also why I think if your game is hard and challenging, you should aim to make it more linear so that it doesn’t run amok of the pitfalls I talked about. Castlevania I and Castlevania III are good hard games, and so far it looks like Castlevania II is not one of them.

Speaking of the open world qualities of Castlevania II, most of the outdoor level design doesn’t really take much advantage of that. Despite being pigeonholed entirely within Dracula’s Castle, the first game had a lot of variety in its art and aesthetics. It was quite pretty for its time, and I’d argue its one of the more appealing NES games to look at. There was clearly a lot of love put into it. The sequel on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have the same kind of labor of love. Many of the outdoor sections have repeating level design, obviously copied and pasted. One of the more appealing aspects of a non-linear, open world type of game is the variety in locations you can present to the player. Unfortunately, Castlevania II again does not take advantage of this. Many of the locations look just like one another, and things don’t get any more appealing once you advance to the mansions of the game. The mansions have essentially the same art, just with minor palette swaps. There isn’t a lot of deviation either within the mansions. It definitely feels like a lot of the same level design is just being reused in slightly altered fashion. I think what could have really helped each of the mansions was to have a gimmick of some kind, to differentiate them from one another. I know gimmicks have a bit of a bad reputation nowadays, but I think gimmicks that are done properly can add a lot of spice and variety. Sure, it’s possible they can be done badly, but that’s the case for anything, and if the developers can’t do simple gimmicks correctly then I don’t think its farfetched to assume that anything else they touched would also be just as poor, which makes the statement redundant.

In each mansion, there exists a man who sells the player an oak stake at the cost of fifty hearts which allows the player to break open the orb and collect the proper part of Dracula. Oh yeah that’s another mechanic Castlevania II introduces, currency. In the first game, hearts were just ammunition. Given the abundance of candles you could whip, running out of hearts was not really an issue. In this game though, the player needs a constant supply of them for two reasons. First, there are a lot of whip upgrades and other necessary items that require payment. Two, experience levels are introduced into this game which also requires hearts to increase. Like other action-rpgs of the time, killing enemies and gaining experience will increase the base stats of the player character. A problem with this function, is not the introduction of leveling up, is that you need to collect hearts to gain experience. Not every enemy you kill will drop hearts, meaning some enemies that you kill will have been a waste of time.  The only stats Simon increases is the amount of health he gets after every couple of level gains, he doesn’t increase any other statistics at all, which makes the mechanic feel rather shallow. When it comes to video games, I often find myself approving of a more minimalist approach to design. Does this element absolutely need to be in the game? If not, then discarding it would probably be a good idea.  Obviously there are some games wherein the entire purpose is to collect a lot of random stuff, so this can’t apply universally (though I think even for some Metroid-esque games could learn from trimming the fat!). This kind of minimalistic approach is done masterfully in most of the classic Castlevania series, but it’s something Castlevania II really does struggle with. This can also be applied to the currency system. Why do we need spend time grinding up hearts to go purchase an upgrade? Wouldn’t it be better off having these upgrades somewhere in the world and exploring and finding them out in the wild? This way we are giving the player an actual reason to investigate any rambling from the NPCs since we can clearly find some stuff that exists in the world. Now, I am quite well aware there are a small handful of items that can be found in the outdoors, but that’s part of the issue at hand here. There’s no consistency. While I would much rather prefer having all the upgrades in the wild, at least having all items being purchased would enable a degree of consistency that this game is sorely lacking. At least the game would have a vision of some kind, and aim to achieve it, but that’s not really the case here. What I can see are a bunch of mechanics that are loosely tethered together in a rather haphazard fashion, with no focus or consistency.

The level system mentioned earlier also doesn’t really seem to offer a whole lot other than a substitute for the first game occasionally giving the player meat in the walls to restore their health. When the player levels up by acquiring enough experience, they will refill their health gauge. That’s intuitive enough and I don’t have an issue with that specifically, what I do have an issue with is that experience scales and since level ups are tied to health refills, this is a bit problematic. Once you gain a level, weak enemies will no longer give you experience meaning it is no longer possible to get a level up and thus, no longer possible to refill your health in areas that have them even though the damage they can do to the player is not insignificant. This leads to other issues, since the only other way to restore health are the churches located in some towns (but not all) and these places are locked out at nighttime, so that means that there will either be a lot of pointless waiting around for daytime – or that the player will get frustrated and wonder around for things to do at night and eventually get ground down by the enemies in the area and die. Death isn’t a huge deal in Castlevania II under most circumstances, the player starts out with three lives with no way to gain any extra lives. If they lose all their lives, all money is gone. Which means that same amount of money must be re-collected by grinding the various enemies around the world. getting that back isn’t really hard, its just boring and tedious. This doesn’t add a dimension to the challenge of the game, it just artificially increases the time spent playing it.

I’d like to say that if there’s anything this game does right, it’s the music. That’s not really an incorrect statement, but I can’t really say it’s correct either. The tunes that are available are nice and pleasant for the most part. The problem is the amount of them.  Most of the tunes are short and repetitive and the player will hear the same melodies repeated over and over again. When you combine this with the tedious nature of grinding for more hearts just so they can progress, this makes the issues with the music more obvious than they might have been otherwise. Obviously there’s the popular track Bloody Tears, and it’s serviceable in this game, though future games would remix the track and make it a lot stronger. My biggest criticism of the game’s music is that it’s merely satisfactory and doesn’t have a whole lot of meat on its bones.

The most controversial aspect of Castlevania II is arguably not even anything related to its mechanics or structure. No, that would be the translation. I don’t think it’s possible to review this game without at least giving some kind of lip service to the translation this game has. If you are one of the many kids who played this game long before the age of the internet and thus were subjected to this game’s madness, you have my deepest sympathies but I’m not convinced that this game’s translation is any worse than what was the industry standard at the time. We know that a lot of the in-game NPCs lie to the player, but for a long time there was an assumption that translation was at fault. I won’t make any excuses and act like the translation is good but I don’t think it’s as bad as its reputation would leave one to believe. The issue at hand is that the game has an incredibly literal translation, where carefully transliterating the original script would have been sufficient. According to Bisqwit, some of the more infamous lines in the game are just as nonsensical in the original Japanese as they are in English. For example, the line “Hit your head on Deborah cliff to make a hole” still comes out to complete hogwash in its original Japanese. Now, the translation team could have taken a lot more liberties and changed that line so it said something that’s actually relevant in the game like “The way through Deborah cliff is the red crystal.” It doesn’t give the player perfect information, but at the same time weaves a path for them to intuitively come to the conclusion that the red crystal is needed to progress to the next part of the game. Another issue with the localization is the text speed. In the original Japanese version of Castlevania II, the text approached at a speed which was meant to imitate a normal talking pace that you would expect from a Japanese speaker. English uses far more characters to say something than Japanese does, therefore in order to have the same effect the text speed would have to be increased to replicate this. Unfortunately, the localization completely skimped out on this, which means that something as simple as talking to a villager takes a horrific amount of time. This is amplified when you take into account how cryptic and obtuse this game is because of the extremely literal translation. To go a bit more into detail on this, when a video game is cryptic to the point of absurdity, this causes an effect of the player re-referencing any useful materials they have in their position many times over.  In this case, the materials they have are the NPCs who offer complete nonsense to the player and some hidden clue books that exist in the world.  This means a lot of wasted time not only going back and forth with towns to try and find that crucial hint the player might have misinterpreted (in some fantasy world where Castlevania II’s NPCs have coherent advice), but in re-reading the same nonsense that’s espoused. So in the end, Castlevania II definitely doesn’t have a good translation, I’m not arguing that at all. The issues are that the game’s translation is too literal and as such, it suffers when the original source material is just as nonsense. Its even worse when you consider that when the game was brought over here the text speed was not remapped to what would be appropriate for western audiences versus what would be fine for Japanese ones. But with what we know about the average video game translation on the NES, I don’t think this any worse than say, The Legend of Zelda. Its certainly more memetic, but I don’t find it any more horrifying to deal with than what was anticipated of the average game on the console in that period. The worst aspect of the game fortunately didn’t make it overseas though. In the original Japanese game, the loading times are absolutely horrid. Below this paragraph is a video comparison showing how bad it can be. This is because the Japanese version past the screen which requires them running on the FDS, or Famicom Disk System. The media of choice is a floppy disk, which needs to be ejected and turned over at certain points of the game. This gets really obnoxious when the player is hit and the knockback sends them back at the screen, forcing the player to eject the disk and turn it over again and then wait through another long loading screen, only to have to do it again to get back to the part they wanted to go to! It was rather fortunate that this aspect of the game stayed in japan, even if what we got wasn’t really that great.

I think the annoying text crawl speed is probably worth not having to deal with load times as obnoxious as Sonic 06’s.

Art is an often overlooked part of video games. I take art style and design pretty seriously (despite not having any post-secondary education on art itself) in games. Castlevania especially is a series that consistently has great art. Not only is the art appealing to the eyes, they add a dimension to the games that it would otherwise lack. Background art doesn’t get repeated over and over again, or god forbid just having blank backgrounds the entire game. This was fairly common in the NES era, and I’m glad that Castlevania I and III don’t succumb to this flaw. Castlevania II however, is quite boring aesthetically. Its not ugly to look at first, but it doesn’t take long to notice the towns share the exact same design and art as well as many of the areas Simon explores copy the same background art in a very aggressive fashion. The most blatant of these are the five mansions, which merely change the color palette just a bit under the illusion that the designers didn’t simply copy/paste the environment to save of time spent creating the game. This is unacceptable for me, especially coming on the heels of the first game which didn’t do things like this. If this was the first entry into the series I could buy the excuse that this kind of style is what was done a lot of the time, and that’s true! But since we’ve already established that Castlevania can do better than that, there’s no reason to accept this level of mediocrity in the sequel. The most positive thing I can say about the art is that some of the outdoor areas can be aesthetically pleasing the first time you encounter them but once you realize that you’ve seen the same background for the 15th time you get bored of it really fast.

Once all five parts of Dracula are acquired, the way to Castlevania is finally open. Now, one might expect that there would be a grand and dramatic entrance to this place. Well if that’s what you were expecting, you’d be wrong. Dracula’s Castle is a meager two rooms; one containing the final procession against Dracula himself and the other simply leading up to it. There isn’t much in the way of unique art or any kind of cool atmosphere that makes Dracula’s Castle any different from the rest of the game. Its just treated as just another area. I shouldn’t be surprised at this, but deep down inside I was kind of hoping that Konami would try and put some kind of effort into their game, even if it was only at the very end of it.  I’d like to think that even if there was no effort put forth anywhere else in the game, it’d be at the very end so that they could rationalize their own efforts. Color me disappointed. Once Simon enters the final room, the five pieces of Dracula are thrown into a fire and finally he is revived once more… only to be quickly defeated by Simon. Dracula is quite pathetic as a boss fight, undermining any sense of dramatic tension that this moment might have otherwise had. The most bizarre part that happens next is the ending the player gets. There are actually three different endings available, all based on the amount of time the player has taken to finish the game. There’s nothing really noteworthy about that mechanic, except the fact that the nature of the endings themselves is quite odd. The “best” ending (the one the player receives as a result of having completed the game as quickly as possible) ends up with Simon dying after the final battle with Dracula, whereas the “worst” ending shows a rather odd sense of hopefulness. I find this quite perplexing and don’t understand this, though given the other odd design choices in this game I suppose its to be expected.

I think that’s the best way to really summarize Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest. It’s boring. The game doesn’t fill me with rage or vitriol like it seems to in other internet personalities, but there’s nothing really interesting about how the game is set up other than the sheer novelty of their own existence.  There are a lot of obtuse functions of the game’s overarching design and none of them really make any sense at all. There’s the argument that changing up what worked in the original game was done to keep things from getting stale, but this game is already stale and boring. Being different doesn’t suddenly make a game more interesting, sometimes it can have the exact opposite effect! The original Castlevania was defined by its efficiency and cohesion. It was fresh. Castlevania II is however, anything but. Fortunately, Castlevania III will go back to the roots of the original and showcase just how interesting the ideas of the first game were and show that the pre-emptive decision to change up the formula was extremely misguided. To clarify, I don’t hate the non-linear nature of this game, I just find a lot of the technical parts of the game and the design choices to be thought out very poorly and to be frank, they make for a really boring game. Symphony of the Night would eventually go on to prove that the skeleton for Castlevania II was perfectly sound and legitimate. But Symphony of the Night succeeded in presenting a killer atmosphere and a setting that encouraged the player to explore it, instead of punishing them for doing so. Exploration is its own reward in SoTN, as it should be. That’s a lesson that Castlevania II could have seriously benefited from having.

Castlevania (NES, Konami, 1986)

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There are a number of video games which have inspired countless iterations, imitations and successions. Sometimes they have something to offer, in favor of what the original had proposed, and sometimes they don’t. Other times, the lasting impact of their contribution to the medium creates a lasting legacy that is not to be forgotten. Castlevania is one of them. While the series is currently in a very precarious position right now, there is a rich history of classic video game design to learn from. Castlevania has a noted reputation for being incredibly difficult, and even “cheap”. What I am to accomplish here is to justify the first statement and contradict the latter. Saying that Castlevania isn’t cheap can be a bit of a controversial statement in this day and age, but I truly believe that to be the case.

Castlevania is not a video game series that involves itself much with any kind of storytelling. It’s rather barebones in that regard. The premise is rather simple. There’s a powerful vampire named Dracula that is bringing problems for Transylvania by raising the dead, among other monstrous entities clearly inspired by classic horror films. Enter Simon Belmont, the only person brave enough to think of taking down Dracula. The whip he uses apparently has some kind of magic power that allows it to fight through and grind down whatever powers Dracula has given his minions. There isn’t a whole lot that’s illustrated about the Simon or the Belmont family, nor his legendary Vampire Killer. Instead, the player is dropped into the game with very little introduction. It’s a simplistic way of handing things, but for the purposes of this game it works.

The mechanics of the game aren’t particularly complex in scope, but the sum of the mechanics . The jumping physics are notoriously stiff and are without a doubt the most remembered aspects of Castlevania, as well as being the most frustrating aspect of its design. Once Simon jumps, he is locked into his current arc until he touches the ground. If the player has misjudged their angle, then they will be severely punished for that (most likely in the form of death via a bottomless pit). Normally that would be questionable game design, but Castlevania accounts for that. Castlevania expects the player to take a precarious, methodical approach to progression. It is not meant to blast through a single level in a reckless fashion. The level design just punishes that approach too much for that kind of aggression to be a viable strategy. Instead, levels are almost intended as if it were a puzzle. The player is afforded different subweapons to go along with their whip, as long as they find enough hearts to continue to fuel ammunition for their subweapons. Most of the subweapons is designed to be  Now the whip attacks enemies on a very linear angle – it only attacks directly in front of the player. But items like the cross or holy water offer lines of attack in ways that otherwise aren’t available to the player. This is where the puzzle aspect of Castlevania’s level design comes into play. The entire game can be completed with just the Vampire Killer and no other subweapons, but that’s too frustrating to be viable without having a high level of patience.eee

Castlevania (USA) 1

Instead, you can take a hallway that’s full of flying birds. They have erratic, hard to predict attack patterns, which makes simply whipping them very difficult. However, the forward arc of the throwing axe makes killing them a simple task. Now if it were that simple, the puzzle wouldn’t be that complicated, but that’s just one example. But this is amplified by the fact that death in any form deprives the player of their current subweapon (and they can only hold one at a time) and they lose all their hearts they had. This is no minor punishment given how useful subweapons are, but I feel it’s not cheap design as it is intentional. Unlike other action games of the time, Castlevania allows players infinite continues. This is relevant, because a part of the experience of Castlevania is trying to figure out the most efficient ways to conquer each level, only to receive that feeling of elation that comes from success after multiple failures. If game overs kicked you back to the start of the game, trying to master a specific level that is giving a player trouble would be extremely tedious and would be cheap. Castlevania never actually does that, so I don’t consider the game cheap. This design mentality may not be a person’s cup of tea, but if there’s an underlying theme to Castlevania’s mechanical design it is to give the player just enough resources to progress, but never enough resources that they feel success is assured to them. This is why death is punished so harshly, if there was no punishment for it, the player could recklessly charge through levels trying to brute force his or her way to the end on sheer luck. Since this is in opposition to the philosophy behind Castlevania’s design, it’s easy to see why that punishment is necessary. Despite that, even after death there is in most cases, another subweapon to be had. Now, this subweapon is usually not the optimal subweapon for the situation (getting the axe in a situation where it is acceptable but you’d rather have the holy water instead), but that is your punishment for failure. Or, if you are really skilled at Castlevania, that is your reward – to have the best possible subweapon for the current situation so that you can absolutely mow through everything the game has for you. In this regard, I think Castlevania is not cheap but extremely well designed. Unfortunately, there are a couple cases of laziness in regards to subweapon placement, but given that it’s the first game in the series I’m willing to give the game some flack.

Now while the player has to deal with stiff controls and a slow-moving character, all the other enemies you encounter have a very similar limitation to deal with. For the most part, enemies are not faster than you are, and even more rarely do they have the ability to alter their jumps in midair. Since this is the case, you can use your knowledge of the jumping physics to get a superior position on those enemies and find ways to cut them down. Positioning is extremely important for this reason, and a good reason to pay special attention how enemies move and figure out the most efficient way to deal with them. Castlevania’s controls are only cheap and unfair insofar as the player refuses to take advantage of what the game gives them. Now, if the enemies in Castlevania were consistently faster and more agile than the player character and you have no reliable way of dealing with them that would be a real problem and something worth complaining about. Now, the mechanics behind climbing staircases have legitimate issues behind them. They can only be used by holding up or down when Simon is in front of them. What becomes a problem though, is when the top of a staircase is placed over a bottomless pit. It can be a bit counter-intuitive to realize that pressing left or right will not be sufficient in climbing the staircase; instead the player will just fall to their death. There are more subtle mechanical issues regarding staircases, but those don’t get fully realized until Castlevania 3 (that is to say, obtuse enemy patterns while climbing a staircase) so they aren’t that relevant here. Ultimately, I don’t think staircases are that bad, but at the same time they don’t really feel necessary to the game’s design and I wouldn’t be sad if they were removed.

If there are complaints to be made about the mechanics of Castlevania is that the subweapon system is too linear in its approach. What I mean by that is that the holy water is by far superior to absolutely everything else available in the game by such a margin it isn’t even worth debating. This is due to the fact that the game’s allotment of enemies are almost exclusively slow, ground based zombies and the like. The holy water absolutely shreds these types of enemies since it paralyzes them and damages them each second. This is magnified if the player has a double-shot or triple-shot upgrade. Even the majority of the game’s boss fights are not immune to this criticism. Granted, the cross isn’t a bad selection, but for how easy the holy water makes the game I feel I can safely say that the cross is strictly worse than the holy water. There are only a couple of exceptions to this, namely the first boss of the game where the axe is preferred, but outside of that, there appears to be any reason to use another subweapon (at least, in regards to efficiency – if another player has fun playing the whole game with the axe, so be it!). I think this is a problem that could be remedied with a more diverse selection of enemies, especially ones that can’t be easily handled by the holy water. Castlevania 3 definitely improved on this front. There are enough different types of enemies that a player can’t hold onto the holy water the entire game and hope for the best but that’s something that can be delved into more deeply in another review. But for now, the strategic variety of the game could stand to be improved.

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An understated element of Castlevania’s overall experience is its aesthetic design. In the time of the NES, it was all too common for background art and other atmospheric elements to be discarded or at least not taken in a high regard. And from a very common point of view, it does seem extraneous compared to the mechanical elements of game design. And while I agree with the assessment that it’s not as important, I do think aesthetics matter a lot in the overall “big picture” of a video game. Most NES games of this time don’t have a lot to offer, or if they do offer anything it’s pretty simplistic. Castlevania’s art direction for an NES game however, is nothing less than stellar. There are no black or blank backgrounds used for filling up the screen. Instead, things are pretty well detailed for its era. There’s a distinct, old-time gothic feeling to the art style and that helps with establishing the setting for the game. Its one thing to state your game takes place in a specific era, but it’s another to use proper imagery and art to really get the point home. But despite the gothic atmosphere, the art never takes the lazy way out of making everything gray and boring. There’s a lot of color and depth here, enough to really draw oneself into the environments. Castlevania proves that a game with a dark setting doesn’t have the excuse of making everything devoid of color for the sake of grit. While it isn’t necessarily “pretty”, there is a lot going on so the art of the game is never boring. Combined with the fantastic art style, Castlevania also offers a great soundtrack. There aren’t a whole lot of tracks to pick from, being as short as it is, but what is offered is more than great. Despite the setting of the game, the music positions itself closer to catchy than it does moody. This is a decision I’m fine with, though I wouldn’t be opposed to a more atmospheric choice. On the other hand, going with a catchy selection of songs makes the game seem more exciting, warn and enticing than it might actually be. This has the negative side effect of bringing players in who might be willing to try out the game because of that, but then quit out of frustration, being unwilling to deal with Castlevania’s methodical design philosophy. Essentially, you’re bringing people into the game who Castlevania just isn’t made for. On the positive side, you can attract a more patient and willing player by giving them the false allure of that kind of experience I mentioned. Of course, that kind of thing is a bit of a nasty deception at the time. That’s not much of an issue nowadays; Castlevania’s reputation speaks for itself so no one in this day and age is going to get hoodwinked by this. Make no mistake though, Castlevania is anything but warm and inviting and taking the music selection at face value is a mistake! Discounting any psychological effects this may have, I think the music in the game is good, and a few tracks in the game become staples of the franchise for a long time to come, but I can’t say I’m really blown away by very much of it. The staple tracks become reworked and refined into even better compositions down the road, so they aren’t as impressive here. Musically, Castlevania is solid but unspectacular. Later entries into the franchise would vastly improve upon this aspect of the series.

One final complain I can muster with the game is how linear some of the boss fights can be. I don’t mean linear in regards to attack patterns or that sort of thing. I mean that boss fights are extremely weak to a certain subweapon, to the point that the fight is a complete joke with it, but can be pretty rough without. Most of the time that subweapon is the holy water, but there are times where the same principal applies to the axe or the cross. So boss fights become a question of “do you have it or not?”. I find this approach kind of disheartening. The biggest example of this is Death in the fifth level. He’s extremely difficult, with his small scythes being too hard to dodge and dealing a lot of damage. However with the holy water, Death is a complete joke, being dead before he can hit the player even once. This is what makes Castlevania too easy for a seasoned veteran, its way too easy to play the game efficiently. Despite the game’s reputation for being really hard, I think its the opposite. The game is just too easy, or at least, it is too easy to break. Castlevania 3 fixes this issue, with boss fights offering a bit more variety and not being so linear. This isn’t a gamebreaking issue, but it is something I always look back upon when I think about why I think the later entries are just better.

In summary, this means that Castlevania is the type of game that rewards not fast reflexes, but careful and precise decision making. Recklessness is strongly discouraged, and the game will punish you heavily for making an action too hastily. This is where I presume the game’s reputation for being extremely difficult and “cheap” comes from. When the game is taken from a purely analytical position, Castlevania is not that difficult at all. The thing that are considered cheap, I feel are merely a disagreement on what constitutes “proper” level design in video games. Castlevania’s approach is more akin to a puzzle, asking the player to prod and tinker until they figure out the most efficient way to handle a situation. Within this type of level design, I don’t think the game is cheap at all. Very rarely does the game force a player into a situation that’s impossible. Sometimes the player is put into a position where their position is sub optimal, but never impossible. In fact, there’s one specific part of the game I’d call cheap and it’s not even the same place as other people would! (For reference, it’s the final hallway in the 4th stage, where the only subweapon available to a player upon death is the dagger, which is painfully useless against the remaining enemies and boss at the end. For the reasons I’ve described above, I consider that to be cheap and not some of the other elements Castlevania is sometimes criticized for). Overall, I think Castlevania is a fantastic game. Castelvania is not for everyone of course. The minimalist attitude towards game design is not everyone’s cup of tea, nor do I expect everyone to enjoy it. Its not as accessible as something like, Mario. But that’s not the point. The point of Castlevania is to test and push the player, only giving them the bare minimum tools necessary for the job. And for a game with that design mentality, I think it is more than sufficient as a first entry into a very long franchise.

Phantasy Star III (Sega Genesis, Sega, 1990)

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There are some video games that are known as black sheep. They have reputations for being unfairly hated on and that they were simply not given the proper time of day back in their release. This is not one of those games. As someone who has played this entire franchise to death, I have played Phantasy Star III more times than I should honestly admit to, and not for good reasons. I’m going to immediately preface this review by admitting that I detest this game, but I intend to review this game from a position of neutrality anyway (as much as it can be done). However, I don’t really think of this game as a black sheep. To me, a black sheep is a game unfairly passed judgment over for a variety of factors. One of those being different from other titles in its series. Being different isn’t a reason to hate something in of itself. However, to be vastly different and then to muck up any kind of execution leaves a nasty mark upon the player. It makes it hard to accept the game for what it is. At its core, Phantasy Star III is a very unique game. Not a good game, but a unique game. The very foundation of the game is predicated on the “generation system” and is without a doubt the most infamous thing about the game (which no doubt implies that nothing else about the game is worth remembering). The short and dirty version is that the game starts with a character who performs a personal quest of some kind and upon completing that quest the player is permitted the choice of allowing the protagonist of marrying one of two women. This affects the child of the protagonist, and in effect changes the nature of the game by altering the path the player takes. This forces a split into the “Second generation”, making two potential paths for the player. This same scenario is generated once more in the final generation, allowing for a maximum of four paths for the player to take part in. In theory, this sounds like a perfectly good idea. It would allow a non-linear experience and give alternate perceptions of how the world turns out based on the player’s choices making them feel like they are relevant and matter.

The problem with this though, is that the execution of this is entirely botched, rendering this effort worthless and I’d argue even hinders any potential enjoyment the game might otherwise have. You see, in Phantasy Star III, the choices that affect the generational paths have very little impact on the world at large. No matter the path that is chosen, the world feels largely unchanged, with nothing the player has done being anywhere close to being relevant. So where does that leave us? It leaves us with a system that encourages multiple playthroughs but completely lacks any incentive to actually replay the game anymore than once! To add even more insult to injury, this system hurts the overall structure of the game because it allows the designers the pretense of assuming that having more options suddenly justifies a less interesting game overall (which isn’t true, but its certainly obvious the designers had this in mind) which takes a huge hit upon the game. That’s the very first grievance Phantasy Star III inflicts upon the player, but its not even the most offensive thing about it by any stretch, nor is it the last mark upon its name. One thing that obviously contrasts Phantasy Star III from the rest of its brothers is the fact that PSIII is unable to work within the limitations of its hardware. Each of the previous games efficiently made use of what they had available to them. One of the recurring headlines with this entry though, is that Phantasy Star III consistently attempts to overreach the boundaries of what the Sega Genesis was clearly capable of. An obvious example is the game’s musical score. The Sega Genesis never had the highest quality sound hardware but it was more than capable of a fine job provided the people behind the soundtrack were competent enough to utilize it properly. Games produced late in the system’s lifespan prove this point. However, this game uses instruments that are poor at best and listenable at worst. Why is this the case? Well its quite clear that the game wanted to use a more orchestral type of soundtrack but the technology just wasn’t up to par at this point in time. It can be argued that PSIII was just trying to push the standards of video games, but it can also be debated that it was merely too early. Trying for such a thing probably forced the sound designer’s hands into using instruments that simply put, suck.  So where does this leave us? Is PSIII just ahead of the times or were the people behind it too pretentious to accept the standards of the era and to work within them? I’d argue its somewhere closer to the middle than either extreme. But it can’t be denied that the Genesis just wasn’t ready for such a project from a technical standpoint and the game suffered immensely for it. To illustrate my point, one only needs to listen to the theme that plays at the beginning of the game features a very annoying bell instrument that is insanely grating to the player. This kind of instrument plays very much through the entirety of the game’s soundtrack. Now, there are a few standout songs that are enjoyable in spite of the bad instruments used, but that’s based on the strength of the composition and not the sound quality used which is just flatout bad. But don’t just take my word for it, listen to the game’s ost for yourself!

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Since we’ve already gone over the music of the game, let’s get back into the basic mechanics of the game itself. I’ve already gone over the generation system, but this time I’m referring more so towards the combat mechanics of the game. The game primarily uses the same engine as the previous game Phantasy Star II, but with a few alterations. This time around, we have a quadrant based system. Enemies can and will line up in formations based on quadrants. There really isn’t anything noteworthy or special done with this kind of quadrant system, but its definitely the only thing special about the game’s combat. Instead, attacking and the use of magic are the primary functions of combat. Attacking is simple in of itself, but how Phantasy Star III handles magic is a bit different compared to other rpgs. Magic spells are divided into four different classes (Healing, Time, Order, Melee) each serving a unique function in combat. Based on the level of the character, they will gain magical levels to make use of. The player can switch around and increase magical levels at the expense of lowering others. This is done in the various towns of the games in a specific shop in a grid-like design. Now, what’s wrong with this? Very few of the spells no matter what will do anything useful. Healing spells are the only ones consistently useful (and only half of them at that!). Melee spells specialize in direct damage but more often than not physical attacks are more efficient in actually doing damage to your enemies. Time and Order spells are used for more specialized effects but they too lack any kind of usefulness. If we take the pragmatic attitude, this leaves only healing spells being worth using with physical attacks being the only other useful option in battle. This in turn gets boring, very quickly. Combat devolves into a glorified game of “press confirm to win”. This isn’t interesting and in fact, is quite tedious. Now, what separates this from some of the other games in the series is difficulty. I’m not going to advocate for cheap difficulty in rpgs, but I do think some degree of difficulty is necessary to keep the game from turning into a procession. Phantasy Star III has very little of that except for a small portion in the beginning of the game, so whether or not the player will be victorious will never be in doubt. This is even worse in regards to how healing magic is applied. Two healing spells have the potential to fail because of the insistence on using the magic level as a basis for its accuracy. Since one of those healing spells is what cures poison (by far the most common and aggravating status ailment in the game because it prevents you from healing), this is a huge, huge flaw to take into consideration. I would wager nearly one-third of the game’s enemies are able to poison the player, and with the spell designed to heal this status is inaccurate and can fail more often than not, this adds to the level of aggravation in Phantasy Star 3’s dungeon crawling.

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Now, if there’s anything at all that can save a game with audio quality issues and bland combat mechanics its a really good presentation. I don’t think great presentation negates the other flaws, but it can certainly help mask them. Unfortunately, Phantasy Star III also fails at this. There are a lot of things that go into presentation, but I’ll get to basic things like animation quality, art style, etc. Since I just got finished talking about combat mechanics, let’s talk about attack animations! To be blunt, they suck. In the previous game the animation quality was fantastic for the time, giving the impression that the artists actually gave a damn and showcased the power of the Genesis at the time. Doing that was important because it related to Phantasy Star II’s sci-fi themes. This time around, everything feels so dated. There are enemies with attack animations that not only feel lazy, but don’t make any sense at all. There’s a stone enemy whose animation for attacking is wiggling its ear at the player. If that doesn’t count as insanely bizarre, I don’t know what does. Its even worse that combat is presented from the first-person, whereas the previous game showcased combat from third-person perspective. This eliminates the need for doing any kind of animation for the player characters in combat even though the last game did this just fine! I view this as laziness on the developer’s part, even when a game released on a previous generation console was able to do even better animations than this game did!  This kind of laziness is obviously indicative of the quality of Phantasy Star III as a whole for other reasons too. But still, while the switch from third to first may seem like an irrelevant factor for most people, its very telling of the design philosophy of this game and just how half assed it is. But that’s not all that sucks when it comes to presentation. Let’s talk about the art style and the use of colors. I only briefly touched on this in the other PS reviews, but because I didn’t think it was really all that necessary. In the other PS games, the art style was colorful, playful and a delight to take in and absorb. Not so in this game. Phantasy Star III features a dull array of colors in which to use. Everything is boring and earthy, not lending to any of the strengths of the Sega Genesis or the Phantasy Star franchise. When combined with other various flaws, the art design is just dull beyond compare. Now, having good art design doesn’t save an otherwise bad video game, but it can help alleviate a lot of tedium associated with it because of the fact that the game is aesthetically pleasing to look at (Example: Final Fantasy VIII; the game is extremely flawed and tedious in places but I still enjoy the game based on its aesthetic direction alone). Despite the acknowledgement that Phantasy Star III has a flawed premise, boring battle mechanics, and terrible sound design it once AGAIN drops the ball in having a setting and art style that isn’t interesting to look at. It’s 0-4 as far as doing anything remotely close to “competent”.

Now, with all my bitching about the art style I think its important to note that Phantasy Star III does intend to attract a different type of setting than its predecessors and with that its to be expected that a different art style will be tried. The other three games are pure sci-fi/fantasy hybrids and Phantasy Star III takes its influences moreso from hardcore medieval fantasy. Taking influences from a different subject matter doesn’t automatically render a video game as trash, but what it does do is cause the audience to do a double take. Compare the sprite designs and art style of one game to another and its clear that one of these doesn’t match the others. And it shouldn’t, Phantasy Star III was mostly handled by a team that was for the most part working on their first ever video game. Only two people who had prior experience with the franchise were working on this game. So its honestly not that surprising that this game turned out so differently, and my disdain for this title doesn’t really come from it being different. Its a matter of execution. The fact that Phantasy Star III opts for a less sci-fi feel and a more tradition medieval setup is fine, but what isn’t fine is that the art style used is boring and doesn’t reflect the fantastical elements people usually associate with high-end fantasy. That’s the problem here. If there’s anything related to the art I can praise, its related directly to the character portraits themselves drawn by Toyo Ozaki. They’re rarely ever seen in-game (only during the menu) but the artist herself drew a number of portraits and other scenes outside of the context of the game and those are actually quite nice. The problem I have with this though is that none of these are even used in-game. Now, what I’m talking about has to do with what I consider very shoddy writing on Phantasy Star III’s behalf, which I’ll get into more of later. But for now just consider that this game’s writing is barebones, dull, lacks any sort of personality or wit or charm of its own. Now, look at the of Toyo Ozaki I was talking about earlier. Its the exact opposite! Its lovely, full of charm and wit and the kind of personality I would have loved to see within the game! The fact that this kind of content is deliberately omitted from the game pisses me off. There could have been interesting things like having a tone that isn’t boring or anything like that, but they had to be cut out for other things like a super unique generation system. Because being unique supersedes everything else like having actual production values or execution. Its a shame that Ozaki’s only contribution to the video game industry was this game, as I’m quite sure she could have done much more if she had chosen to do so.

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With that settled, we can be safely assured that Phantasy Star III fails at presentation and production values. Let get on with another subject of the game, pacing. Pacing is an important thing for me, its why I think Phantasy Star IV is one of the greatest games ever – the brisk pace and flow of the game make it so much fun for me. Could Phantasy Star III possibly redeem itself with a game that at least flows well? Short answer: no. You see, in this game there are a number of design choices that deliberately impede any sense of gameplay flow that it might have normally. And we’re going to talk about them! First off is town design. Town design wasn’t something I touched on in the previous games I reviewed and because I felt it was unnecessary. They were competently designed beforehand, so there wasn’t anything to talk about other than “yeah, these are okay”. That’s not interesting. However, what is interesting is how Phantasy Star III manages to cock up a pretty simple concept. You see, towns are big in this game. Really big. Now, that might not sound like a bad thing to players used to games that are huge sandbox games, but jrpgs usually aren’t built with the same kind of attention to detail that sandbox games are and for a pretty good reason – they’re meant to be linear (in most cases) so that kind of design is unnecessary. But in this game, towns are unnecessarily huge and for why I don’t really know. There’s nothing to do in them. NPCs are spaced apart so much so there’s a lot of unused space in the towns, and I think that’s a bad thing. Having room to breathe and move around in is fine, but there is a line between breathing room and excess dead space. And the towns often resemble dead space more than any kind of efficient town design I’ve ever seen in an rpg. So instead of allowing the player to move from point A to point B efficiently, they are constantly impeded by the large spaces that a player has to travel from. Now, maybe the designers of the game were initially planning to have a lot more to do in the towns but those plans got scrapped at the last minute because deadlines are a thing. And you know what, that just might be the reason why, but I’m not buying that as an excuse.

What also makes the dead space issue in the towns and various castles infuriating is another issue – walking speed. Yes, the walking speed has been addressed many times by many other people before and I’m certainly not the first person to ever bitch about it. You walk really slow in this game. Well, technically its not that bad compared to previous games. In fact its right about the same. What makes the walking speed particularly noteworthy is the increased amount of space the player has to travel through to progress with the game. And its not just in the towns and castles, it also applies to the world map and the dungeons too! So whereas the prior games could get away with a slower speed because the size of their worlds was less, Phantasy Star III cannot because of the nature of how its world is designed. This is important because town design is a pretty simplistic thing. You place shops in the appropriate places, you add a few helpful NPCs and maybe a couple others that say something humorous. Then you arrange all of it in a neat, efficient pattern that doesn’t obfuscate the audience. This is a pretty difficult thing to fuck up, and yet Phantasy Star III manages to do so delightfully. Just when you thought this game had reached the bottom of the barrel, it went just a bit deeper. World map design is just as tedious as town design is (and for the same reasons!) and doesn’t really merit any paragraphs on talking about it. What does merit discussion though, is dungeon design. Now that’s an aspect of designing an rpg that’s much more difficult and a lot easier to fuck up than town design is. Good dungeon design relies on a lot of factors such as aesthetics, interesting and meaningful combat, possibly puzzles to work around, and layouts that are fresh and unique and don’t feel reused at all. This is critical, because an rpg with good dungeon design again flows so much better than one without it. With bad dungeon design, the game continues to drag on and on and on and getting through these feels like a chore. Now consider everything we know about Phantasy Star III up to this point and ask yourself “Do you think the designers put any kind of effort into ensuring that the dungeons weren’t stale snoozefests and maintained any kind of flow”? If you answered no, then you would be correct! There are a very small amount of varying dungeon designs, as the game opts to reuse many of the same ones time and time again. This results in dungeons that are tedious and dreary from an aesthetic viewpoint. Even sometimes the player has to backtrack through the same dungeon multiple times because of how the game is structured! This is really annoying, as very little changes upon the revisit but trudging through it is necessary for plot advancement.

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(No Sega, seeing this same dungeon layout over and over again doesn’t ever get old)

I’ll cite one particular moment in the game as a particularly bad example of dungeon design and pacing and leave it at that. In the second generation, there’s a town called Divisia. Named so because the town is divided into two halves by the Castle. In order to progress from one side of the town to the other, the player is required to go through the Castle. Slightly tedious, but nothing to really bitch about, right? Well, in order to go through the Castle the player is required to progress within the dungeon. First off, I have to question why in the world the player has to do this? This dumb gimmick only gets in the way of the player, makes the gaming experience more infuriating and adds absolutely nothing positive to the game. What makes this gimmick even worse is that there is no way to circumvent this, as the passages surrounding the town on the world map are blocked out, forcing the player to go through Divisia the old fashioned way. And let’s not forget if a player is lost and isn’t quite sure of where to go to progress next and backtracks through Divisia multiple times to try and backtrace their steps to find their way. That means every time the player wants to go through Divisia, they have to go through the arduous, tedious dungeon that is Castle Divisia all over again. This is critical, because Phantasy Star III tends to be somewhat obtuse in terms of letting the player know how to progress further. It comes from a time where the player is expected to move about at their own pace and explore, and there’s nothing wrong with that particular ideology. The problem is when the design of the game is clearly made so as to limit and prohibit exploration and it punishes the player for exploring by making it as tedious as possible. That is a huge problem and underscores all the pacing issues that Phantasy Star III has. But there is a way that this problem very well could have been averted, but unfortunately it wasn’t because of incompetence. And that is a warping spell. Now technically, there is an item that allows the player to warp to a previous town. Unfortunately, once the second generation starts those items are no longer sold for no discernible reason (No really, I don’t get why you would punish the player by making backtracking that much harder on the player?). But if warping spells were available in Phantasy Star III, that wouldn’t be a problem. You see, in every other game in the series warping spells have been a mainstay in some form or another. They’ve never been exactly consistent in naming and how they work, but they’ve always existed in this series. So what we have is a precedent for having this kind of convenience, and a game that certainly could use and benefit from this convenience, but completely fails to implement them only to serve to the player’s frustration. This wouldn’t eliminate the vast majority of problems this game has, but it illustrates the kind of incompetence that this game is plagued by. So yeah, this game can’t handle pacing by any definition of the term.

Another thing I don’t like about this game is its programming. Sure, the game works in the most crude way imaginable. But there are numerous bugs and glitches that only serve to question how much effort was put into the game. The most infamous example is the escapipe glitch. Using an escapipe normally allows a player to escape from a dungeon but in this game using it in specific moments allows them to skip chunks of the game due to how event triggers are handled. Using an escapipe while being trapped in the opening dungeon lets the player warp out of it. Now, with the way the game is handled this locks the player out of progressing any further because the necessary event trigger to move on hasn’t been activated yet (and can’t be activated ever). Now, if this was because the designers forgot about this or didn’t know this existed that would be one thing. It wouldn’t be excusable, but it would be understandable. However, there are various NPCs whose dialogue changes specifically to mock you for activating the glitch which only indicates that the designers were well aware that it happened, but they opted to not fix it. If this doesn’t showcase how rushed this game was, I don’t know what will. This glitch isn’t limited to this one part of the game either! At the start of the 2nd generation, using an escapipe will cause Nial to be warped to the previous dungeon (in which case would be the final dungeon of the first generation) which you aren’t even supposed to have access to. Going through it gives you the chance to reactivate the old event triggers from the 1st generation that are still intact (Seriously, how did no one think to remove these after the generation was over?) and then push right into the third generation. But doing so can potentially screw you and lock you into an unwinnable game because of how plot items work (plot items present in inventory but never actually collected physically don’t work like they’re supposed to) so you can’t progress! Great programming Sega!

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The worst bit of programming fluff that gets to me though is how item spells work. Having items that can cast spells is nothing new, neither to the Phantasy Star series or to jrpgs. But what is new is the ability to cast them in the goddamned menu. That’s right, you can use them in the menu at no cost to you! Does using them cause them to potentially break, preventing them from being spammable? Absolutely not! This means once you obtain an item that heals in battle you can use it endlessly in the menu with no penalty at all, making things that most rpgs depend on like resource management absolutely worthless. I’m convinced that this is a bug as no designer in their right mind would allow the player to circumvent all difficulty by doing this. It gets even worse in regards to dead characters. In combat, characters with 0 hp cannot cast spells as you would expect. That’s rational as it makes death something to worry about. If they could do something like that, it would cheapen death and leave the game with no challenge. However, dead characters can cast spells while in the menu! They can even revive themselves with the proper spell. I can’t think of any kind of defense for the kind of programming that allows something like this to fall through the eyes of the programmers. That’s just flatout lazy programming as far as I’m concerned.

With this we’ve covered most of the bases in regards to the design of Phantasy Star III. But one thing we haven’t touched is plot of the game. Now, I will state right now that I’m not going to dissect every single part of this game’s plot because its just that stupid. There’s no point in doing it. I will go over the parts that I think are the most relevant to the game’s core issues and I think are the most interesting despite their inane nature. Phantasy Star III opens with a rather vague intro dialogue noting the nature of the constant battle between Orakians and Layans with each of the leaders having been assumed dead, causing both sides to viciously hate one another. Now, because the game starts up mentioning this, you’d think that this would be incredibly relevant to the plot as a whole, right? And well, it kind of is but only on a very artificial level. Throughout the game, no actual big battles between the two sides are ever carried out, instead you get some half-assed drama using the issues between the two as a precursor to it. Which is really disappointing to say the least. Instead of using something like this that manages to be interesting, its kind of left to the wayside, only to be brought up again to drive the narrative back into mediocrity. Much like the entirety of Phantasy Star III, it is an interesting idea but due to shoddy execution nothing is ever made of it.

The game proper really begins in the first generation with the central protagonist, Rhys. Unlike most rpgs, this game starts off with a wedding. Points for originality I suppose. During the wedding, his bride is immediately kidnapped. Rhys loses it, ordering the military to go and find her. His father, being the only voice of reason commands him to cool down in the dungeons. While in the dungeons, something happens that I think is of critical importance to discuss. See, Rhys encounters someone named Lena who just pops up out of nowhere to release him. Later on, Lena joins the party but why she does anything related to him is never explained which is confusing. As it turns out, Lena is a childhood friend and was first arranged to be married to him until he dumped her for Maia! Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing in the english translation even comes close to even making a subtle hint about this. There’s some interesting motivation that could work behind this too, and would showcase the kind of selflessness it would take to help someone out that had already dumped you. But no, in the translation we received, this doesn’t happen and so we’re left confused and wondering why she helped us out at all. The next events in the game are revolved around building up a suitable five man party. Very shortly after leaving the starting town Rhys collects the androids Mieu and Wren (completely separate from the android of the same name from Phantasy Star IV of course). The Layan Lyle briefly joins (then leaves, and then rejoins) for the sake of saving his home people with Rhys’ assistance. Lena joins for real later on to ensure that the party can finally reach where Maia has been kidnapped. And that paragraph in of itself sums up the majority of what happens in the first generation: not a whole lot. There are some minor things but I don’t think they’re at all relevant. And that’s fine. This also means there’s nothing particularly offensive in regards to its own narrative that I find here. I suppose that’s better than the myriad of disappointments that the game has offered us thus far, so I suppose that’s something positive I can say about Phantasy Star III – that the plot of the first third of the game is relatively unoffensive. Now, if that’s the highest praise I can offer a game, then we have some serious issues.

In the final parts of the first generation, Rhys takes on the King of Cille (as it turns out at the last second Maia was a Layan the entire time, gasp!) and succeeds. This offers him the first marriage choice of the game. He can choose to marry his childhood friend Lena, or to actually be practical and choose the woman he slaved through this entire game up to this point to reclaim. Ultimately, the choice resides with the player but I don’t really feel like its a choice that matters all that much. Much of the praise surrounding this game lies within this ability to choose your bride and thus, father different children and choose your path. Once this choice has been made it can’t be taken back and the player is locked into their choice for the second generation. And true, the second generation paths are different enough to both be considered in the plot evaluation, but once those are gone through, the player is left with generation three where the paths don’t matter much at all so the choices are hollow at best. One more thing that bugs me about this game’s narrative is that there’s a potentially good underlying theme to Rhys’ choice of brides. Does he go with the childhood friend and princess to a neighboring kingdom, thus solidifying a relationship between the two? Or does Rhys follow his heart all the way to Maia, even if it means betraying his homeland and everything he knows about Orakian and Layan relationships. Essentially the dichotomy is the basis of duty vs. emotion. And it could have been a powerful one if the game ever bothered to take advantage of that, which it never does. The game just kind of meanders around, pushing you to make a choice but without ever making that choice seem important. This also could have pushed the Orakian vs. Layan theme of the game but it doesn’t, instead offering a stale slice of mediocrity in its stead. Like the rest of Phantasy Star III, it clearly has potential but fails to live up to it and instead expects the player to derive their enjoyment not from the quality of the game but the uniqueness of its ideas presented therein. That being said, if I had to choose a favorite generation, it would be the first one. Not because its particularly good (its not) but it screws up less often than two or three do, which I’ll get into very shortly.

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Assuming Rhys chooses to take Lena as his wife, they will wed and will have Nial as their child. After a short scene control of the game will switch to Nial, leaving Rhys and Lena behind as NPCs. One interesting quirk is that while the other human characters will have left the party, the androids will stay with you no matter what generation it is. Unlike the first generation where a somewhat interesting setting was used to start the plot in motion (a wedding), the plot of generation two is started with the player being told that the homeland of Nial’s mother is being invaded by monsters. Since obviously a huge army can’t do the job, we have to do it ourselves! Shortly after leaving his kingdom, information surfaces that a man named Lune is behind this and he used to be a right hand man of Laya back when she was alive and kicking, for what its worth. Investigating through Castle Divisia finds out that Lune’s sister Alair has been kidnapped. After all, what could possibly be starting Lune’s rampage couldn’t possibly be his own sister being kidnapped by the people he was swore to destroy as Laya’s right hand man, right? That could never happen. Next up, the party investigates a cavern that houses a rebel resistance against Lune’s forces, leading them to the leader of the group, Ryan. A misunderstanding happens and Lune assumes that Nial is working with Ryan and his resistance. As it turns out, Lune and Alair were banished to the purple moon nearly one thousand years ago, locked themselves in stasis and haven’t revived until now to have a chance to get even with those filthy Orakians. No wonder he’s so pissed off! Some exploration later finds the party inside of a whirlpool that leads into a secluded area. Inside the area is a small temple. Inside that temple lies Laya’s sister, who just happens to have the same name as the original Laya. Whoever decided that was a good idea to have an important backstory character and a player character to have the same name just for the hell of it must have been fired shortly after everyone else realized how idiotic and unnecessarily confusing this must have been. This pretty much fills out the party for this path of the second generation, which is nice.

Next the party searches out Mystoke Castle and finds Laya’s pendant which somehow allows Laya’s incorporeal voice tells the party that Laya and Orakio eventually realized they were being deceived by some other force! This information would have been a lot more useful had it been presented before two different types of people shut themselves off from each other. Like you know, maybe Laya or Orakio telling their own people about how their stupid little war is pointless but you know the writers couldn’t be damned to write around that little detail so they probably just figured it would be the easiest way to forget about it. And it is, but its also the laziest way, considering the entire basis of the game’s plot would have been undone if the writers opted for the most logical method. With possession of Laya’s pendant means that the party can use the temples that have been placed all around the world but inaccessible to this point. That sounds nice and all but there’s a serious problem with that. We’re about halfway through the game and have been seeing these things littered all over the place and we just now get to use them. But the bigger problem is how they work. Palaces allow you to warp from one to another, but which palaces connect to which other palaces isn’t clear and is the polar opposite of consistent. There’s no logical flow that efficiently explains and gives a clear vision of where one will lead into another, requiring the player to work around the world map, finding out where each individual palace leads into another. Needless to say, this is quite tedious and not at all fun. Instead of fixing the problem by allowing the player to choose which palace (among those that have been visited already) this would cut down on the back-tracking necessary. Considering all the numerous issues this game has with dead space, slow walking speed and all, this would have been a huge boon to its credit but unfortunately it fails to do even this.

Using the pendant, the player can eventually make their way to Aerone and by proxy, the same moon that Lune hails from via a small spaceship. Its at this point that the player can see the “world” of Phantasy Star III is instead built of several mini-worlds out in the middle of space. More is revealed on that later on, but what matters is that we know for a fact that this isn’t the setting for the first two games. This establishes an extreme difference between this game’s setting and the previous ones in the series. Once on the moon proper, the group finally faces off against Lune, easily defeating him. Because the plot demands it, this causes Lune to come to his senses and recalls all of his previous forces he threw against you. Thus, Nial’s adventure has come to an end and so has this branch of generation two. Just like with the end of the first generation, a marriage branch opens up for the player to decide on between Alair and Laya, neither of which has any kind of emotional connection to Nial so this begs the question of why this option even exists in the first place? At least in the previous generation there was the pretense of saving Maia and the unstated purpose of Lena (who was the childhood friend even though that never gets mentioned in the English localization). Here, there’s nothing. It feels very hallow and empty and that’s what I primarily associate the tone of Phantasy Star III’s narrative with – emptiness.

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Instead of moving on with the third generation, I’m going to dial things back a bit and return to the opposite branch of the second generation, assuming you marry Maia in the first branch. This time around, the Kingdom of Cille is being invaded by various robots that are killing the land. Its up to Ayn to figure out what’s going on with the robots and put a stop to it! One interesting trait both Nial and Ayn share is that they both have their mother’s hair color, a trait which continues even into the third generation protagonists. Just like the other generation two quest Ayn has access to both Mieu and Wren to help him out. The plot directs the player to the next immediate town. Once there, its discovered that the Kingdom as a whole is being burned down by the same robots they were having troubles with earlier. Now, there’s a problem I have with this, and its mostly due to laziness. We’re told that this horrible destruction has happened to Cille but all we see is an empty town and nothing else. No buildings destroyed, nothing altered. Just a ghost town. That’s horribly disappointing. I blame lazy design on Sega’s part, but it still very disappointing. We could have possibly forged an emotional connection with the game if we had seen the town Ayn grew up being burnt down, but the designers just couldn’t be bothered with those kind of details.

The plot takes the group to a cave in a desert where Ayn’s family have moved out to for safety. It turns out that Lyle was wounded in a recent battle and isn’t looking good as far as his recovery chances are concerned and his daughter is kidnapped. Since Ayn seems to be the only remotely competent fellow around its up to him to save the day I guess. This also brings up another point on my part (even though it really is a nitpick), is that only the father’s in this game have their portraits change into old age. The protagonist’s mother will always have the same portrait as before, even though their husbands have clearly aged. Its not a huge, pressing issue or anything but it is an inconsistency that does bother me to some degree. Now instead of a nitpick, here comes a legitimately pressing issue in Phantasy Star III. I’ve bitched about how much backtracking this game forces on you and this part of the game and this just might be the worst of it. In order to continue with the game you need to rescue Lyle’s daughter, Thea. Thea is located in a castle dungeon. That particular castle dungeon is inaccessible at first. In order to gain access to it, you need to go to a town on the other side of the world map in order to find one particular NPC to talk to who mentions the Castle gate being open. Then and only then will it be open to you. Then you get to walk all the way back across the world map to that same Castle and then you can finally enter the dungeon properly. Nevermind just being able to enter the Castle normally like a decent rpg, no this game has to make things complicated and difficult for its own sake. When you couple this design mistake along with the random encounters, boring combat mechanics, slow walking speed and dead space, this issue is incredibly frustrating to deal with. Any kind of flow that Phantasy Star III might have had under other circumstances is completely wiped away and I hate it because of that.

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Once Thea is properly rescued, the party must once again backtrack to the desert cave to receive their thanks for their efforts. Next the plot directs the player to go into the same castle at the very beginning of the first generation to face off against Lena’s daughter in this generation. Now to let myself rant on a tangent, this is another issue I have with this game – places from previous generations don’t change at all even later on in the game. Every town you encountered in one generation is exactly the same in another, no matter what. You’d think with so many years separating the generations that things could be spruced up a bit, towns could have changed with different people, different layouts and maybe some new events to make things feel new. After all, we know in life nothing stays the same. But instead of taking advantage of one of the more unique parts of the gimmicky generation system, the designers opted to say “fuck that shit that makes too much sense” and copy pasted the exact same towns all over again. Laziness. I hate when so many parts of this game were begging to be done better than they were but once again lazy and rushed design killed any chance this game had to be good.

Getting back to the plot, the player takes on Sari (Lena’s daughter) in the middle of the castle dungeon. Upon defeating her we have the final party member for this part of generation two. What does this mean? We can finally prepare for even more backtracking! The plot demands that the player return to the same area where Thea was rescued before, which is a hell of a trip from where the player stands right now and there’s no way at all to make this trip any easier on the player. Remember when I said this game needed warping spells? This is clear proof of that right here. And yet the bright minds at Sega thought warping spells would be so useless for this part of the game that they cut off access to escapipes from the end of generation one onwards. Ugh. Once the player is at the designated point, the same dragon creature that stole Maia at the beginning of the game takes the player to the next part of the game that was previously inaccessible. The dragon is revealed to be a form of Lyle’s, and shortly after, he dies. I suppose its supposed to be a sad and poignant scene, Lyle sacrificing what little strength he had in order to ensure your success, but given the tone and nature of Phantasy Star III I just don’t feel anything towards it. The next castle dungeon takes the player to a secluded spaceship that takes the player to the Satellite moon, where what we already knew about Phantasy Star III is revealed. Namely, that the world of Phantasy Star III is a spaceship of its own. Now I don’t know about you, but I figured this out pretty early on in my initial playthrough of the game but maybe some other people didn’t figure it out. Still, I thought it was pretty obvious on my own and I didn’t think it needed to be explained. Once on the Satellite proper, the player once again engages in a dungeon. At the conclusion of the dungeon is the entity behind all the robots destroying Cille, Siren. Who happens to be robot as well. He has absolutely no backstory at all (then again, neither did Lune). Once defeated he disappears and that ends the second generation (apparently he recalled all his previous cronies after losing even though that was never stated!) Now the player once again has a marriage option open, between Sari and and Thea. This one I don’t mind so much as the other marriage option from the other generation because there is a little bit of thought behind it so far as the plot is concerned. Sari, like Lena before represents the duty his father failed to live up to. Thea represents the emotional connection between the two after losing Lyle. Duty vs. Heart, once again. Though it should be noted that Ayn and Thea are cousins making that decision a tad bit creepy. Most of the time the dialogue text for the marriage itself is pretty pedestrian, but I think this one exception should be brought up if Ayn chooses to marry Thea. Somehow, its mentioned that Lyle offers his blessings. From beyond the grave. I’m going to chalk this up to a massive fuck up on Sega’s localization department.

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(I don’t think I need to explain why Siren’s sprite is horrifying)

At this point the player progresses to the third generation regardless of what marriage options they’ve selected so far. Between the four potential paths, the differences between them all are minimal at best. Where the player starts changes, but the goal is exactly the same no matter what. That’s something that’s really disappointing. There was a real opportunity to have four potentially different paths, to really mix things up so the player has a legitimate reason to play through the game four different times. Instead, its the same path, four times over again. The only reason to play through the game multiple times is to see the slightly different endings. That’s not reason enough to justify basing the entire game around a generational concept, thus bringing everything else around the game down as a result. What this creates is a sloppy game, because there’s no synergy around its core concept. The plot of the third generation relies mostly upon collecting various objects to allow the player to defeat the “real” evil of the game, Dark Force. Yes, Dark Force is somehow involved in this game, through a convoluted sequence of events that ultimately doesn’t make any coherent sense once you understand PS3’s plot. This much is learned after traveling to Skyhaven. By assembling the five weapons of ancient legend, the word of “power” can be learned and that is the key to releasing Orakio’s ancient Sword. One thing about this that I don’t like though is that the dialogue text is deliberately misleading. One of the areas mentioned for the player to search for the weapons is wrong. I don’t know if that’s a screwup, a typo or what but taken at face value that forces the player to make unnecessary amounts of backtracking. This is completely hand waved by the game’s manual by stating that this particular person has “gone senile” in the past few years. I think this is as solid as proof as anything else that showcases the laziness that went into this game since they knew this kind of mistake happened. But instead of trying to fix it, they throw a quick solution into the manual. This is LAZY. This game has done some pretty lazy things in terms of design, but this takes the cake as far as laziness is concerned. This is absolutely inexcusable by any measure and another strike against the game’s abysmal record.

Now, once the player pulls out Orakio’s Sword from where its located it becomes revealed to the player that Dark Force is released. The same Dark Force from Phantasy Star I and II. Now, I have to question very seriously why we just intentionally released this thing from its prison and for what gain, but this tidbit isn’t really explained that well within the game’s narrative. Once the Sword is acquired and the other legendary weapons are in hand the player then heads to get the word of power. With this word of power, the player needs to return to Skyhaven one final time to have their legendary weapons upgraded to “Nei” weapons (Obviously a reference towards the Nei weapons of Phantasy Star II, though the reference is hardly appropriate). This allows the player to finally access the final dungeon of the game and to end it once and for all. However, there’s one important thing to discuss before doing that. What that something is, is completely option to the game but integral to understanding anything that goes on in this game’s plot. It involves what little connection this game has to the previous Phantasy Star games, as little as that may be. You see, in a single optional town there exists a group of people who claim to be ancestors of the planet Palma which was blown to pieces in Phantasy Star II. How that is relevant to Phantasy Star III is soon revealed. Basically the people of Palma just happened to have telepathic powers and knew they were going to get blown up and built four hundred space ships to prepare for that. Now, as far as I recall in Phantasy Star II, there was absolutely little warning to Palma being blown up. It happened very quickly. I would expect the entire planet would have no more than a few hours to prepare for that impact assuming they knew they were going to get blown up the moment Mother Brain started the whole thing. This would be nearly impossible unless something really crazy was going on in Palma. Since this is never elaborated on or explained well in any capacity, I’m going to have to call bullshit on this. But regardless, PSIII claims that four hundred spaceships suddenly left Palma despite the impracticality of that. Now here comes the really stupid part. Despite being defeated by Rolf and his friends at the exact same time this is going on, Dark Force still manages to slowly take out each of these space ships one by one by means of infiltrating them. How Dark Force manages to do both at the same time is beyond me, but hey maybe he’s just a wizard.

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By destroying these ships, this forced Laya and Orakio to hunt down Dark Force and seal him into Orakio’s Sword. This eventually formed the basis of the Layan and Orakian split, and then somehow both Orakio and Laya died but then completely neglected to tell anyone about this. Because this happened this transpired all the events that led up to Phantasy Star III. So, we could have avoided everything bad that’s happened so far, but didn’t because two other characters own stupidity. Before I stated that I considered this game’s plot largely inoffensive, which for the most part is true. But this is an exception. This one part here is an absolute affront to my intelligence. I can’t help but feel any condition in which the crisis could have been averted but isn’t due to stupidity is nothing more than a contrived set of circumstances. Where this gets worse is how the translation works. The English localization claims that the time difference between III and II was one thousand years. Thanks to the works of Rebecca Capowski we know that this is false and is actually two thousand years. Now, when you take into consideration how III and IV relate to each other (This means they take place roughly around the same time period) this really throws III’s order of events into question. Because of events in Phantasy Star IV (namely, the defeat of the Profound Darkness) makes anything that happens in this game very unlikely. Now this game was produced by nearly a different team than I, II or IV so I can attribute these differences due to that fact. But it doesn’t excuse the sloppy localization effort (No matter how you slice it, mixing up two thousand and one thousand years sounds like a major mistake on someone’s behalf) or inconsistencies caused by the plot. But that’s not even the worst part! The worst part is this is all optional. Because this is the only part of the plot that ties this game to the rest of the Phantasy Star series, its bad that this is optional. If this is missed then the player goes through the entire game unable to figure out how this game connects to the other Phantasy Star games (and the only connection it has is hardly a strong one). This is flatout bad design, as far as I’m concerned. Whoever decided to make this optional should have been fired, even if the material didn’t make much sense. Now, I’m not against optional material when it comes to backstory and world building, but critical plot details should never be optional under any circumstances.

With everything else settled, there’s nothing stopping the player from getting to the final dungeon. Now, if there’s one thing, ONE thing I can praise Phantasy Star III for is that it does build a nice bit of ambiance for its final dungeon. Its very unsettling, and sets the mood really well. There are people in the dungeon and they make it very clear that they hate you and that they are controlled by hatred. This is further illustrated by the penulatimate boss of the area, Rulakir. He is the brother of Orakio who happened to defect to Dark Force because of his own inner hatred. Its a legitimately good effect. Now, this would have been just fine if the game decided it cared about making legitimately good design decisions about twenty hours ago. Then we wouldn’t have a trainwreck of a game to drag our feet through. But I’ll give credit where credit is due, even if the dungeon recycles the same visual theme as Skyhaven. Rulakir provides a very pitiful defense as the party progresses onward to eventually face Dark Force in the very same setup as Phantasy Star II (he pops out of a chest in much the same fashion as that game, most likely trying to elicit a nostalgic response only ONE YEAR after it was released). This time though, I can’t praise Dark Force’s inclusion or how he looks. Unlike the previous game where he looked very threatening and almost something out of a Giger work, it looks very lame. I think he looks something more like a Saturday morning cartoon than a credible, out of this world force like it seemed like in the other games. Even though Dark Force’s inclusion in this game is clearly forced and unnecessary, the designers still can’t get it right in this game. I can’t say I’m surprised. All in all, a very disappointing final boss fight for an even more disappointing game.

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(Compared to previous designs, Dark Force just looks goofy instead of intimidating)

Once Dark Force is defeated the player is prompted into one of the game’s four endings depending on which path the player took. Most of the endings aren’t all that special to be honest. Out of the four, only one of which I consider any importance to commentate about. And that would be Aron’s ending (is that a truncation of Aaron? I’m going to assume so). You see, Aron’s ending is the only one that ties in with any way to the rest of the series, but does so in a way that’s incredibly stupid. In the ending of Aron’s path, the main ship goes through a black hole and warps back in time one thousand years or so (I’m pretty sure going through a black hole doesn’t actually work this way and should probably kill you in a horrifying death but who said that Phantasy Star III didn’t favor its share of bad writing?) The ship is then greeted by planet earth. Now, what does this mean? Well, if you go back to the ending of Phantasy Star II, the earthmen had access to the supercomputer Mother Brain because of what they were taught by the people of Phantasy Star III. With this much in mind, we have essentially established that the setup for Phantasy Star II exists because of what happened in Phantasy Star III. III comes after II but is integral to setting up its own plot. But III can’t happen without II happening, which doesn’t work without III which doesn’t work without II. Can you see where I’m going with this? By making this ending, Phantasy Star III has undermined not only any sense of originality the previous game had, but it undermines its own gimmick, the main thing which is supposed to be the selling point of the game! Because of this ending, we can assume that if Aron’s path isn’t selected, then Phantasy Star II can’t happen because the events that led up to it never occurred. Because of this, Aron’s path is technically canon or at least the closest there will be to a canon ending to this game.  Having a canon ending undermines having a system where choices are supposed to be at the forefront of a player’s mind. You’ve essentially stated to the player “you must pick this path or else you are wrong”. And if you’re going to do that, you might as well make the game a linear experience because a linear experience wouldn’t’ suffer from the problems I’ve listed with this game’s generation system. But that’s not all! Because of what I stated above, we also have a predestination paradox, where neither game can occur without the other having existed previously. This is unresolvable no matter what happens. In terms of writing, this is inexcusable and takes what I considered a previously inoffensive plot to offensive levels.

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The credits then flow and this godforsaken game is finally over. Overall, what do I think of it? If this long essay-like review hasn’t convinced you already, I hate this game. I don’t hate this game for being different like many would be quick to accuse me of, I hate it for being a spectacular failure in almost every way. If this game had achieved its goals while managing to be a different “black sheep” I would gladly accept it for what it was. Instead, I hate the game for what it is – a failure. And hate isn’t a word I use very often in reference to video games, but I think its very appropriate here. Phantasy Star III quite literally drags. It drags on the audience, it drags on their patience, it drags on their soul. It has no heart, no passion, and no desire to be anything other than a pathetic excuse for a video game. Once the initial difficulty of the game wanes down, the game becomes so easy that it becomes a procession of sorts. And at that point, one must ask themselves what is the point of playing the game? The outcome is inevitable. The player will eventually win as a means of attrition, it just depends how much fury and frustration come from their hands before it occurs. I can’t even bring myself to say that this game is an embarrassment to the series, but I honestly don’t think so. When I think of Phantasy Star, I think of the other titles instead of this game. This game is so removed from anything resembling familiarity to the Phantasy Star franchise that I can’t associate it with the series in good conscious.  I say there is no point in playing this game, so do yourselves a favor and play better games instead, like the other titles in this series.

Phantasy Star IV (Sega Genesis, Sonic Team, 1994)

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So, how do you follow up one of the most critically acclaimed rpgs of the early 90’s? You do it by taking what made it work, improving on what didn’t and streamlining the rest of the game in an incredible package. Those who know my opinions and tastes know that I consider Phantasy Star IV the greatest rpg of all time. I mean that as purely as I possibly can. No embellishments, no hyperbole, nothing like that. Obviously others will disagree with me and that’s fine, there’s a good amount of competition for that title. Final Fantasy 6/7, Chrono Trigger, etc. But for my money, PSIV trumps all of them, and I’m here to tell you why.

After the disaster that was Phantasy Star III, the Phantasy Star crew took a break from the main series, occasionally producing a side-game or two that would remain stuck in japan (Though each of these games has fan-translations). However, it was in 1993 (’94 for us Americans) that the Phantasy Star team brought the final chapter of the Phantasy Star Saga to the Sega Genesis. Now, you may be asking “What happened to III? Why are we skipping to IV after II?” That’s because III is a misleading title. It’s not so much as the third game in the series as it is a side-game. If you want to get into specifics, III technically takes place after IV does, so I feel there’s no reason to do III before IV.

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Phantasy Star IV takes place 1000 years after the Great Collapse (The event in which Rolf disabled Mother Brain, destroying most of the advanced technological culture in PSII). Over 90% of the Motavian population died as a result, but it was ultimately for the greater good as the people left managed to salvage what was left of their culture and move on. Motavia has now reverted from the terraformed green planet Mother Brain shaped it into, back into the desert wasteland players from the first game will remember it as. No longer is Mother Brain controlling the world and its population, the people are generally free to do as they will and there’s hardly anything in the way of an established government in this world. Remnants of the advanced technology used over a thousand years ago do still exist, even if it’s nowhere near as prevalent as it was the prior game. Because there’s little in the way of government, a Hunter’s Guild has opened up to deal with the chaotic and rampant monsters that run throughout Motavia. The game starts proper with the hunters Alys and Chaz as they investigate a monster disturbance in a Motavian academy.

Now, there are a lot of different things that immediately come to the surface with Phantasy Star IV. One thing, the game’s presentation is a lot better than II or III. Instead of simply having character sprites kind of bounce around when talking to each other, PSIV has manga style cut scenes. They’re structured something like a comic book, allowing the player to see each character’s reactions. This is a significant difference from seeing a few sprites pop up a dialogue text and makes the game and the exposition feel a lot more engaging. Another new feature is the inclusion of a party chat feature. I don’t know the specifics of which game introduced it first, but it’s a pretty neat feature to include in the game. It adds little bits of colorful dialogue to the game and lets the player know exactly where they need to go next. It doesn’t detract from the game at all and is completely optional, but adds functionality and intuitive design to the game, which is always a pleasant thing for me.

Combat and character-balance are two features that Phantasy Star IV improves greatly upon from II. Returning from II are techniques, except this time the TP pools characters have to draw from has expanded greatly, more than enough that a player can reasonably feel comfortable using their techniques in random battles without much worry.  Far too often a player in PSII had to intentionally hold back from using techs except in extreme circumstances because the characters simply had pretty limited amounts of TP to draw on. This is fixed here, and it’s all for the battle now since combat is a lot more entertaining instead of something a player has to trudge through just because. Another addition is the inclusion of Skills, which work similar to magic charges from Final Fantasy I, but with a larger pool of charges to work with. Like with TP/MP, the amount of charges a player gets for a certain skill increases with each experience level the player accumulates. This allows for more variety in what characters can do without devolving to the point that every character can do everything, as can be the case with some other rpgs.  One more addition to the battle mechanics of Phantasy Star IV is the inclusion of combos. If two or more characters use the proper techniques/skills in the correct order, they can use a more powerful combination technique. Unfortunately, it has to be done as described or else it won’t work, just as any enemy can potentially interrupt the combo by taking their turn in the middle of it. Fortunately, PSIV’s designers sought a work-around for this issue in the form of Macros. A player can pre-set a number of Macros so each character will take their pre-set action, and the player can even choose what order they will act in. This means the turn order can be precisely manipulated so that the proper characters can act in the order desired and so that an enemy will not interrupt them. It’s a brilliant mechanic that definitely should have been included in many other rpgs after this game was released, but unfortunately wasn’t. I hope many game designers look back to this game and realize the potential that this mechanic has and repurpose their games with it in mind.

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In regards to character balance, almost everyone is useful in some capacity. Both Chaz and Alys right from the get go establish their positions in combat rather readily. Alys serves as a jack of all trades archetype whereas Chaz is more of a Magic Knight subtype. Later on come characters such as Hahn (who fills the role of “Black Mage” in the early goings) and other characters fill more niche but necessary roles within the party. There are two androids Demi and Wren (Who function by being able to be unaffected by standard healing items/spells but have their own healing powers to compensate) and Gryz (Who is a bruiser with high attack power and HP that can take a lot of hits for the party). Then there’s Rika who has the best experience growth as well as combining high attack power, speed, lower tier healing spells and buffs. Raja carries all the high-tier healing abilities but is relegated to that role, Rune replaces Hahn for the “Black Mage” archetype and is much more efficient at it, and finally Kyra who at late-game combines the magical utilities of Rune and Alys’ jack of all trades mentality. Each character comes into the game appropriately leveled, so that the player never needs to have to grind experience levels in order to keep them even with the rest of party. The designers also intelligently took care to make sure their equipment is always on par with the rest of the crew, making it so they didn’t need to constantly purchase superior arms once they had joined the party. As well as keeping each character balanced into their fixed role, this keeps the player engaged with the game at a fast pace, never having to spend time forever in once place to be assured that he/she can finally progress further.

Unlike Phantasy Star II, IV has a revolving door of characters that make up its cast not at all unlike Final Fantasy IV. Some stay for very short periods of the game whereas others are involved for the duration of the entire game, primarily the “Big Four” of Chaz/Rika/Rune/Wren. This is particularly good, as it allows for a wide variety of cast without focusing so much so on one individual character. Some detractors would argue this is to hide a weak cast, but I vastly disagree with that sentiment as the same technique has been used in other video games and other mediums to great effect! In a plot whose focus is more centered on pacing, dragging things out in regards to character development would be a blow to that setup, and I still feel that PSIV’s characters are entertaining enough to merit their existence. It isn’t as though they have absolutely zero depth at all and given the technical restrictions of previous games in the series they undoubtedly have the most character development in this game compared to all others. The central idea behind this plot over character development dichotomy is flow, an important concept integral to PSIV. In a tightly composed and efficient experience, being able to flow quickly is something extremely important to the feeling of the game. And this is precisely what makes Phantasy Star IV so enjoyable as an experience.

Phantasy Star IV, is quite obviously a video game. I don’t think anyone can possibly come up with a more obvious statement. As such, it conforms to the standards of what a video game is. What PSIV isn’t, is a movie or book. And it’s perfectly okay with that. Unlike movies or books, characterization and writing are only a small piece of the puzzle for a video game. There’s gameplay to figured out, dungeons to arrange and one needs to figure out how the plot fits into the game both literally and thematically (Or else what’s happening between gameplay and plot feels disconnected and inorganic). There’s an actual game that needs to be played. For that, it only makes logical sense that a plot within a video game would lean towards being fast-paced action with some witty lines and charming moments thrown in. It works in a video game because it tailors perfectly to the medium itself.  Some other games spend disproportionate amounts of times in a vain attempt in fleshing out the worlds and characters that inhabit them, and yet I don’t think that in of itself is not an inherently bad thing to do. There are strengths to assuming that style of narrative but I don’t think it’s conducive to the format of a video game and fits a book or movie more readily. It’s merely inefficient which is PSIV’s greatest strength, is that it’s such a tight and efficient experience.

In terms of setting and tone, Phantasy Star IV is both a logical extension of II and a bit more welcoming in comparison.  Motavia has reverted back to its desert wasteland from PSI, but in exchange is nowhere near as dark and moody as PSII felt. The tone of Phantasy Star IV is less serious, and more charming and whimsical than any other in the franchise and I think that’s a decision that’s all for the better. In the bitter and often depressing atmosphere of Phantasy Star II, the player was left to defend for themselves in equally harsh dungeon designs and enemies to fight. In PSIV, the difficulty of the combat and dungeon layouts has been significantly reduced, all for the better. No longer are random encounters so difficult as to threaten to wipe out the player in two rounds or less. Neither are the dungeons so massive as to leave players confounded on how exactly to progress. That isn’t to say that they’re so brain-dead that a child could clear them no problem, but it finds a nice and solid middle ground between masochism and simplicity. Combat has a lot of variety with each character’s abilities and yet isn’t watered down due to everyone having too much variety in their powers. Each dungeon usually has one specific element to it that makes it unique in some fashion, keeping the experience fresh. Too often, rpgs result to a copy-paste mentality in dungeon design. There are usually three to four unique dungeon gimmicks or designs are stretched out and reused a number of times, which can make the experience feel a bit stale. It is because of this, that the uniqueness of PSIV’s dungeons help keep this game feel like it’s aged much better than some of it’s peers have.

One aspect of PSIV’s combat I adore is the amount of options given to the player without handing them absolutely everything. Elemental weaknesses, healing, instant death, buffs and attack-all abilities are all useful in varying situations, keeping combat interesting over the haul of the entire game. For rpgs, that’s a critical component, as rpgs tend to be lengthier than other genres of video games. Basic gameplay needs variety to sustain player interest over a longer period of time, after all. Platformers, shooters and puzzle games don’t have this issue as they are shorter games. Even rpgs as early as the SNES/Genesis era could last as long as 20 or more hours, easily worth multiple playthroughs of a much shorter game. Phantasy Star IV is on the shorter end of the stick when it comes to total playtime (Usually around 12 hours), but I feel these points help illustrate how well paced PSIV is. Pacing is an important thing in video games, as it helps us keep our attention on the game for the long haul. I’ve played numerous games that bored me or I simply quit because the pacing was mediocre and my interest simply could not be sustained. Pacing in an rpg has to do not only do with keeping the basic gameplay elements interesting, but by making the plot interesting and introducing new plot elements at a reasonable pace. Not too fast to leave the player confused but not so bogged down in details the player may not care about.

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Phantasy Star IV’s plot, for better or worse is a really fast rollercoaster ride. The manga illustrations breathe a life into the game not seen in other rpgs, and most cutscenes don’t take very long to get through but have enough meat to them to satisfy the player. Combined with the party chat that pretty clearly tells the player where to go next, PSIV always moves full steam ahead. Like PSII, the structure of the game is fairly linear though PSIV adds minor touches of non-linearity to the game. The plot progression is still done in a linear manner, but an occasional out of the way town or extra dungeon with no bearing on the plot will appear along the way, usually bearing some reference to a prior game in the Phantasy Star franchise. PSIV is chock full of these references throughout the game, mostly to the first two games in the series but there is one reference to PSIII, though it’s entirely optional. These references are merely for the player who is already invested and interested in the Phantasy Star franchise as a whole, but the game keeps itself fairly self-contained so recognizing them isn’t really necessary. This serves to make PSIV a lot more accessible, easy to pick up and play even if the player doesn’t know what happened in PSI and PSII. Some minor worldbuilding details are missed and some references forgotten but in the end it’s not a huge deal.

Musically, PSIV has taken strides even beyond what PSII achieved. PSIV returns with PSIII’s composer but manages something far better than PSIII’s soundtrack. PSIII suffered from very poor sound quality due to it trying to go for an orchestral type of soundtrack for an early 90’s rpg. It just wasn’t gonna work, whereas PSIV works within the limitations of the Genesis chip and puts out some of the best tunes on the console ever had. PSIV’s soundtrack ranges from catchy and upbeat to chaotic and atmospheric when necessary. For example, the random battle and boss themes are catchy but have enough variety that they don’t get old too quickly. The final boss theme starts out extremely atmospheric and foreboding but quickly segues into a blast of chaotic riffing. There are moments in the plot in which can best be described as tender and the music follows suit, as well as moments that are uplifting and the music properly matches those moments. There are even some remixes, such as the dungeon themes from PSI being remixed in this game. The instruments are different, but they’re still recognizable to players familiar with that game, bringing not only more references from previous games but adding to a sense of finality and closure to the last game. These are all effects that bring a greater sense of engagement to the player, especially if they’ve played each game up to this point.

But don’t just take my word for it, have a listen for yourself. Hell, have another one on me!

Now I am going to go for a proper dissection of PSIV’s plot. Since this is an in-depth plot analysis, I am going to indicate that if you do not want plot spoilers to skip the remainder of this review. However, if you’re curious about the plot, feel free to continue reading on.

The plot of Phantasy Star IV may not be its most standout feature compared to it’s robust and excellent combat system (Though it certainly isn’t its worst feature), but that’s merely due to the game’s tight structure and lightning fast pacing. If nothing else, PSIV’s plot is entertaining on its own merits while using the strengths of the series’ continuity to add an extra dimension to the game. Unlike I and II, whose plots were fairly bare-bones, IV has a meatier story going for it, without resorting to bogging the game down with unnecessarily long cut scenes. Basically, what Phantasy Star IV does it does really well and its that it emphasizes pacing over in-depth plot.

Like I mentioned earlier, the plot of PSIV starts with two hunters Alys and Chaz investigating a monster disturbance in a Motavian academy. It’s soon after they take this job that the player is introduced to Hahn who desperately wants to join the duo. Alys agrees, but only for a payment of money. This is somewhat of a running gag through the early sections of the game, with the price Alys demands increasing each time. What’s interesting is that the player actually receives the money from each of these moments. It’s not anything major, but attention to detail is something that Phantasy Star IV executes flawlessly and this is another example of it.

At the Motavian Academy, the two Hunters Alys and Chaz receive a job to deal with the growing numbers of monsters that exist in the basement of their facility. What’s immediately noticeable is that Alys instantly picks up that there’s something shifty going on, indicating her intellect, instead of blatantly trusting their client just because. Especially with a flimsy excuse given to them as to what is going on, it showcases that the heroes are actually competent and not naive children that tend to dominate the casts of rpgs. As soon as the duo prepare to infiltrate the basement, an assistant to the client, Hahn asks to join the group. Alys decides to let him join, but only for a fee. She continues this process throughout the game, becoming something of a running gag, showcasing Alys’ ruthless intellect while at the same time keeping a lighthearted mood about the whole situation. Its a very humorous thing and mostly played for laughs.

With Hahn added to the group, the party uncovers the source of the trouble in the basement and refers back to the principle. Who in turn starts to explain what is going on, which introduces Zio as the game’s early villain. As it turns out, Zio essentially blackmailed the principal to keep his trap shut about various nefarious things happening in the part of the world known as Birth Valley.  The group sets out to trail Zio and figure out what exactly is going on with the world. More information on that comes as soon as the party gets to Birth Valley and finds everyone in it completely petrified. The immediate goal now shifts to finding a cure for everyone afflicted by this incident, which leads the group to find a man named Rune, who turns out to be an old friend of Alys (There are implications that there is more to their friendship than meets the eye, but that’s never really put into focus in the plot).  Rune then also joins the group, which brings about an interesting gameplay change. As players will undoubtedly notice, Rune is well above the level curve for this point of the game, which leads to a lot of interesting possibilities for the short amount of time he’s in the game. His abilities for one are clearly a step above what the player is used to at this point, so this encourages a lot of experimentation with techs/skills and the like. This is a good thing, as Phantasy Star IV’s combat is complex enough to really encourage making use of that experimentation mindset.

The town in which the player actually finds Rune is completely in ruins, apparently obliterated by Zio before Rune had ever gotten there. The fact that the town is already in the shitter gives us two clues about Zio. One, that he works faster than the party does and two, he’s a threat that needs to be taken care of. Both of which are very good traits for a villain to have in order to establish both relevance and threat. There’s an immediate goal to be considered, outside of the influx of monsters plaguing the land, which lends more credence to PSIV’s philosophy of moving the game at a blistering pace. What’s even more interesting is that in a previous town of Mile, Zio’s Castle is clearly visible across a currently uncrossable passage of quicksand, yet the heroes are unable to make their way across it for the time being. It reminds me a bit of how LaShiec’s Castle in PSI was way out of the player’s reach and yet it was still known as a clear goal. Eventually the player will be able to make it there, but it serves for a good reminder of the future goal and makes for good foreshadowing.

Soon after making their way to a future town, Rune leaves the group but it replaced by the likes of Gryz as Rune has other things to take care of while still pointing the party in the right direction. Gryz certainly doesn’t have the utility that Rune had in combat, but he fills the big bruiser role in a more than adequate fashion. This also starts a turning point where many characters in Phantasy Star IV start coming and going at different points in the story. Only a small handful are permanent fixtures in the party, though most characters do return at one point or another.  This is also important for gameplay reasons since that means the usual party setup is never a constant but always changing. Since Rune is out, the party now lacks the character who had all the multi-targeting techniques and skills all of a sudden in lieu of a melee centric character with slightly better defenses. It’s a subtle change to the game mechanics, but it’s a very effective way of changing up the game so combat is an ever changing force within the game, never stagnating or remaining still.

With Gryz in the party, the group is lead to the cure for the petrifaction in Birth Valley and quickly undoes the effect Zio had on them all. This opens up an area in the back cave of Birth Valley that’s essentially the first major dungeon of the game (The player had gone through a small number of smaller dungeons prior to this, but for the purposes of this review I don’t consider them “major dungeons”).  At the end of the Bio-Plant the party runs into Rika who promptly joins the party. To those unaware, Rika is essentially a continuation of Nei from Phantasy Star II. She carries a similar appearance while still maintaining her own unique charm and identity. However, things are a bit different this time around. I mentioned in the Phantasy Star II review that Nei represented the bridge between technology and nature and Rika is no exception. However, Phantasy Star II also had a very cold and distant atmosphere to it so it made sense that the two concepts couldn’t be properly linked. Phantasy Star IV though, is nowhere near as harsh and unforgiving. To the contrary, PSIV is fairly lighthearted and has a very warm and welcoming atmosphere. Then as you expect, Rika has a much easier time fitting into society (Or what’s left of it) than Nei ever did. Whether or not that’s a deliberate design choice is up for debate, but I like to imagine that represents the world being able to accept a more radical concept like a biological half-breed like Rika. It leaves a very positive image and works well within the framework of PSIV’s plot and atmosphere.

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With Rika along for the ride, the group learns of new developments, specifically the kinds of developments that threaten the livelihood of their beloved planet. “Seed”, the computer controlling everything about the Bio-plant reveals that the system (That is, the system adding life-support to Motavia) is unleashing lots of monsters into the wild and is currently beyond its control. If nothing is done, the ecological climate of Motavia will be in serious jeopardy, eventually leading to its destruction. The solution to this problem then becomes to shut down every identical system in Motavia, a surely tedious task. However, it seems that only Nurvus (Since it’s the one that supplies energy to each system) needs to be shut down for the betterment of Motavia. However, Nurvus can only be shut down by an android named Demi, who is currently held hostage by Zio. So all in all, it seems a confrontation with Zio is absolutely inevitable no matter what. Finally, Seed acknowledges that Rika is a product of one thousand years of genetic information (If that didn’t make sense, she’s Nei’s successor) and allows Rika to depart with the party. Soon after, the entire building collapses after a self-destruction (Most likely done intentionally by Seed to circumvent the system from making more monsters). Now I think it’s time to discuss Rika at length, because she is quite a powerhouse. Her level starts at one which may lead more experienced RPG veterans to be wary, but that is not the case here. Rika’s levels advance extremely quickly due to her low experience curve and have a multitude of unique abilities. At this stage of the game she’s clearly the game’s best healer, has access to useful buffs and has a very reliable physical attack to use. All in all, she’s without a doubt one of the most well rounded characters introduced to the game thus far and never really leaves the party despite others coming and going so often which helps make her one of my favorite characters in the game.

In the next few towns the player encounters, one of them exists near an abandoned spaceship that clearly crashed into Motavia’s surface. This dungeon is completely optional, but it gives a bit of information about Phantasy Star III in it at its conclusion. This is the only point in the game which has any kind of relation to PSIII at all, which is a good thing as far as I’m concerned. It should be noted that this part right here is optional. Now, what makes that such a big deal? In Phantasy Star III, the town that explained PSIII’s relationship to the rest of the series was also completely optional though in that case that information was a lot more crucial to understanding what was going on. In PSIV, the events of PSIII are largely irrelevant so this is a non-issue. I find it curious that both games use the same tactic, but PSIV’s execution is top-notch so it doesn’t detract either from the plot or the gameplay. In PSIII though, the execution leaves a lot to be desired, and so it becomes a detriment to that game. This really showcases the differences in execution between these two games and why I really like one while I loathe the other. Next up is the town of Aiedo, which serves as the general hub for all things on Motavia in PSIV where the player can decide to do sidequests. Sidequests are done via the Hunter’s Guild, which can be accessed as soon as the player gets to Aiedo and has no other restrictions. Various quests are posted in the Guild, and the player can choose to satisfy them for a monetary reward, or ignore them entirely. As the player progresses through the game, they’ll unlock more quests to undertake. PSIV doesn’t have too many sidequests, but of the ones it does have are pretty entertaining and give a bit of backstory to the world of PSIV. All in all, I approve.

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(Why Chaz, it’s the stench of failure that emnates from Phantasy Star III!)

Before the crew finally gets too Zio’s Castle, there’s an odd little town right next to it. Unsurprisingly, the entire town is composed of people who are into Zio’s cult religion. I personally like this little touch because it shows what Zio’s been doing over the world. He’s been trying to expand his influence and empire, and not just sitting on his throne. It also gives the player another incentive to stop him so that they can stop the influence of his cult. It’s a small touch but I think it’s one that goes along well with all the other touches PSIV offers. There’s also an additional sidequest in the Hunter’s Guild later in the game that revolves around this cult, for what that’s worth

The first thing the player notices as they enter Zio’s Castle is that there is a basement section that’s completely sealed off for the moment. The player will be able to access it at a later part of the game, but it gives a certain sense of foreboding to it. “What’s exactly in that basement?” the player might ask to themselves. That’s for them to figure out down the road once the plot calls for it, but adds a kind of foreshadowing and makes the lead up to that part of the dungeon interesting. This dungeon also features some unique techniques in dungeon design. There are sections where the view appears to be from the side instead of top-down (It isn’t, it’s just the perspective that makes it seem that way). It’s nothing special but it does make the dungeon seem a bit more unique that way and as far as aesthetics are concerned it’s a neat trick.  At its conclusion, the dungeon ends with the crew finally finding the android Demi. Unfortunately, Zio has no plans to allow his android to escape without a fight. Enter the first “major” boss fight of Phantasy Star IV, and it’s an unwinnable one. After 3 turns the fight automatically ends with Zio dealing major damage to Alys, causing the party to retreat (But manages to keep Demi with the party despite their failure).

What’s interesting about this segment is that it becomes clear that Zio is a pawn to Dark Force, the true antagonist behind PSI and PSII. Statues emblazoned with Dark Force’s face are littered throughout Zio’s Castle, alluding to that upcoming plot point. It’s pretty neat foreshadowing on PSIV’s part. Dark Force even appears in the background of the fight against Zio, if that point wasn’t clear enough already. For those familiar with PSI and PSII this simply means PSIV is a continuation of what we’ve seen before: Dark Force trying to destroy Algol once again. With regards to PS veterans, this should be obvious enough at this point which establishes the connections between I, II and IV. This helps since each game has their own style and feel (II and IV in particular contrast each other very heavily; one being rather cold and harsh and the other bright and welcoming). For those that didn’t play the first two games, then this is just a cool plot twist that they didn’t see coming but can appreciate after going back to playing the prior games. It’s this balance PSIV strikes between old and new players that makes it a really special game.

With Alys unable to recover, the party is left to assume another way to deal with the issues surrounding Motavia’s survival without her. Fortunately, Demi takes her place in the party so the group doesn’t lose a party member total. Demi’s introduction to the game is interesting because it marks the inclusion of instant death techniques. Unlike most RPGs where instant death is an afterthought due to exceedingly low hit percentages, PSIV has managed to balance out their use. Most instant death abilities are based on a specific monster type, and if they’re weak to it you’re basically guaranteed to kill them. If they aren’t weak to it then the likelihood of them being insta-killed is significantly lowered, so the player is encouraged to experiment and strategize. PSIV almost always lends instant death abilities to skills which are dictated by charges. Unless the player is disgustingly overleveled, they will likely only have a handful of charges with which they can use those instant death skills. This allows them to be useful but not overpowered either, which is an important distinction in combat and it’s a part of why I think PSIV still has some of the best turn based combat ever in a jrpg.

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(Yes, that will never ever be taken out of context under any circumstances)

Without Alys, the next goal is to find Ladea Tower since it’s assumed that’s where the party can find Rune and have a much better shot at dealing with Zio if Rune joined them. This leads to Demi introducing the player to their first vehicle of the game, the Land Rover. Vehicles have been a part of the entire PS series (Even that game which we do not speak of) so for veterans this is no surprise. PSI had three distinct vehicles (Though only two were necessary for completion) and PSII only had one. This time however, PSIV changes up how vehicles are handled. While riding in one, combat is handled completely differently. The player is taken to a 1st person view of the cockpit with completely different mode combat. Instead of each character getting a turn, the vehicle uses various attacks it has at its arsenal instead and is treated as Skills are for the party. Vehicles have their own HP completely separate from what the party has, so that’s nice. Vehicles also move a lot faster than the party does (And the party wasn’t exactly moving at a sloth’s pace either) on the world map. With access to the Land Rover, the party has now what it needs to access Ladea Tower, but it’s also confirmed by Demi that the cause of what is going on with Motavia not only has to do with Nurvus malfunctioning but a space satellite named Zelan that is issuing abnormal commands. So even if the party defeats Zio, there’s more to do to ensure Motavia’s survival. This adds another goal on top of defeating the villain (which admittedly can seem fairly old hat), making the scenarios surrounding the solar system feel a bit more epic in scale other than just “beat the bad guy”.

At this point a few side areas open up (Notably the Plate System which has an optional Skill Demi can learn here) and Termi which serves as a giant reference point to PSI. Alissa from the first game is treated with reverence that she never had in PSII (I can only assume this means that ancient records that predate PSII were found) and even has her own statue to boot. It’s nothing special but is another nice reminder of the player’s accomplishments if they did play the first game, further cementing the connections between the three games.

Once in the Ladea Tower, the party finally meets up with Rune (Who incidentally enough, is evenly leveled with the whole party unlike last time where he was easily ten levels ahead of everyone else). With Rune in the group, the party finally has a five man party for the first time in the game. The group moves to collect the Psycho-Wand (Which apparently allows the party to actually damage Zio unlike last time). But before they set out for a rematch, they move back to check on Alys. Unfortunately, things don’t quite go as planned. Shortly after the crew reaches her, she dies. Despite the sadness inherent to this scene, I really like what this means for the characters. Alys was essentially Chaz’ mentor, meaning this is the point where he needs to think about himself and where his priorities lie. He no longer has his mentor to rely on anymore, no crutch to hold onto. This makes things more interesting as Chaz now needs to stand up and grow even stronger to not only deal with Zio, but the problems that plague Motavia as a whole. This is emphasized even further in the following cut-scene where Rune talks to Chaz about Alys and her contributions and what they mean long-term.

Hahn decides to leave the party, owing to his connections to the academy to help them out in some other way. Hahn eventually does return to the group at the very end of the game, but until then Hahn is but a fleeting memory. Regardless, with the Psycho-Wand in hand the group assaults Zio’s Castle one more time but this time they are not blockaded by the invisible barrier from before. This allows them access into Nurvus (The very same area from before that was mentioned). Unfortunately, they need to be in the very nucleus of Nurvus in order to do anything with it. Before the group reaches said nucleus however, they run into Zio one more time. The second fight against Zio runs differently than the first in that it’s no longer an unwinnable boss fight. Bear in mind that the player has to actually use the Psycho-Wand as an item in order to tear down Zio’s defenses that prevented the player from damaging him the last time (I thought doing so was obvious enough but I’ve heard comments from other players that they didn’t think to actually use the item on him, so I figure it’s worth mentioning).

As for what this boss fight means, I like it quite a bit. Being able to finally fight Zio for real after the illusionary boss fight before is rather satisfying (Especially after what happened to Alys) since the game doesn’t dick around with unwinnable boss fights. If used sparingly, they’re an effective means of making the player feel like they’ve accomplished something by conquering a tough opponent, but if they’re used too much then it feels very unsatisfactory and I consider that a negative when it comes to game design. Fortunately, PSIV is on the winning side of this dichotomy.

After the fight, Zio is killed but the party’s troubles aren’t over yet. Vengeance has been dealt with,  but Demi is forced to leave the party so that she can effectively deal with Nurvus on her own. But as it turns out, Nurvus is only one of the systems that needs working with and the party will have to find other ways of fixing the other systems spread throughout Motavia, so their work is hardly done despite Zio’s death. The next target turns out to be Zelan, the space satellite mentioned earlier. Demi (assumedly) raises a previously underground space shuttle for the party to use so that they can contact Zelan and Demi’s master Wren. This is also the point where Gryz leaves the group since he doesn’t want to go leave the boundaries of Motavia for his sister’s sake, leaving the group down to a trio.

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Once on Zelan, the party finally gets to meet Wren (For those curious, this Wren is different from the PSIII incarnation despite looking similar). Unfortunately, he reveals that Zelan has absolutely no control over the Motavia systems whatsoever, but the satellite Kuran that is responsible. Wren joins up, serving as the party’s tank for the remainder of the game (The rest of the game will see the Chaz/Rika/Rune/Wren lineup stay consistent with the 5th spot swapping in and out with the remaining characters). While heading over to Kuran, there happens to be a stowaway (assumedly provided by Dark Force) that attempts to destroy the ship they’re in. While the party easily crushes him, the pawn still succeeds in doing so, forcing a crash landing onto the planet Dezolis. Shortly after landing, the Dezolian priest Raja joins the group as well, rounding out to a party of five once again.

Before I advance further in PSIV’s plot dissection, let me make one thing clear. Dezolis is a hell of a lot more bearable in this game than it was in any previous game before it. No longer is there any bullshit mogic cap crap to deal with as in PSII or the separated tunnels that made PSI’s Dezolis a nightmare to navigate. It’s still cold and frigid, but it’s no longer a pain in the ass to deal with, so I am perfectly fine with that. With that in mind, let me take a minute to talk about Raja as far as combat goes. Raja is awesome. Normally White Mage/Priest archetypes aren’t the best characters in the game, but those characters aren’t Raja. Up to this point the healing capabilities of this party has been so-so. Not bad, but not awe inspiring either. However, Raja is a powerhouse when it comes to supportive abilities. His healing easily surpasses anything anyone else has had at this point, accurate instant death for evil enemies, and the only skill in the game that restores TP (Also note that Raja has insanely high TP growth and he’ll almost never run out). As far as healing characters in jrpgs go, Raja is easily one of the best.

The player is left to their own devices at this point, but the plot progresses after wondering through a few scattered towns over the Dezolian overworld into a hidden hangar. Inside the hangar is their next objective, the spaceship Landale (A PSI reference, since Alissa’s last name was Landale). Once in the Kuran satellite, it’s obvious that Kuran is very different from Zelan in that now the player has a full dungeon to navigate. It’s really nothing terribly difficult either, but what makes Zelan stand out is that at the end is Dark Force as the next major boss. Normally (And by this I mean PS I and II) Dark Force is the end-game boss. Since the player is only about half-way through the game at this point, that obviously isn’t the case here. There’s reasons for it, but if Dark Force is involved this early into the game, that’s obviously reason for alarm on the player’s part (Assuming they’re a series veteran, otherwise it doesn’t mean much to them).

What concerns the party is that now Kuran is working properly but the significant snowstorms are still ravaging Dezolis with very little explanation why. The party agrees to head back to Dezolis to investigate the matter further, while Wren unveals the Ice Digger, a vehicle that makes travel through the snowy weather more bearable. Like the Land Rover, combat in the Ice Digger works in a similar fashion except the Ice Digger is a tad bit more powerful – to compensate for the stronger enemies found on the Dezolian overworld. And for what it’s worth, the Ice Digger is another shoutout to the first game (Since the player had to purchase it in that game, where it’s graciously given to the player this time around for free).

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At this point there are a few side-areas the player can divulge in (And doing so has its own rewards too). One such example is the Myst Vale cave. It’s essentially a giant reference to the first game (again) as it’s filled with Musk Cats (The same type of animal as Myau from PSI). At its conclusion, the player encounters an extremely large Musk Cat (Who is implied to be Myau, and it’s really obvious that it is). For the player’s efforts they receive the Silver Tusk. Ignoring again the obvious PSI shoutout, every single person who plays PSIV should make it a priority to collect this item as it offers Rika the ability to converge the holy element in her physical attacks. Since most end-game enemies are weak to holy, this is without a doubt a side-quest the player shouldn’t turn down.

Soon after making their way to Dezolis to further investigate the matter, the party runs into Espers (Lutz’ underlings from Phantasy Star II) trying to deal with the same black energy wave that ended up killing Alys. As a result of being exposed to it, Raja falls ill and is unable to proceed with the party, knocking the party members down to four once again. Fortunately, Raja and the others afflicted with the illness aren’t in as much danger as Alys was (Alys took a direct hit, where it’s implied the others have a much lighter version of it). The next goal is the Garuberk Tower which seems to be the only thing left which can be causing the dangers on Dezolis. As they do so, they encounter a young female Esper intent on getting through to the tower but caught up by animated trees that are quite violent. This leads to an interesting boss fight in one sense – that while the player can easily kill the monsters in the fight, they continually regenerate rendering the fight unwinnable. The monsters themselves will likely not kill the player though, leaving the fight a bit different from the unwinnable fight against Zio. The Esper introduces herself as Kyra and turns out to be the final “5th” party member in all of Phantasy Star IV (More on that later when it becomes pertinent). Kyra suggests that the crew head to the Esper Mansion to figure out how to progress into Garuberk Tower.

I want to take this moment to talk about Kyra’s combat potential, especially since she’s the final extra party member in PSIV. Kyra operates as sort of a fusion between Rune and Alys, being a jack of all trades offensively with a bit more of a magical focus.  That doesn’t sound so hot on its own, but unlike Rune and Alys, Kyra is the 5th character in the unit. This means she doesn’t have to worry about tanking and can focus on healing with the occasional multi-targeting nuke to finish off the enemies after everyone else has had a row with them. In that sense, I think she works perfectly in the fifth and final  slot.

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The Esper Mansion is a gigantic shoutout to Phantasy Star II, since it obviously has its origins in that game. There are references galore to Lutz and even Alissa from PSI. As the group makes it towards the center of the Mansion, the next big plot development occurs. Despite Kyra’s pleas that she believes that Lutz is here in the Mansion, Rune corrects her saying he’s been dead for a while now (After all at this point Lutz would have to be over 2000 years old to be alive still). Instead, his spirits carries on in the Telepathy Ball. If the right person were to present itself at the Telepathy Ball, then all of that Lutz’ experiences and thoughts would transfer over, in this case to Rune. Because Dark Force continues to assault the Algo universe once every 1000 years, this allows for the solar system to be prepared to deal with Dark Force even many years down the road as a defense mechanism. Since Rune now has the memories of the previous generation Lutz’ he also knows why Dezolis is being bombarded by the calamity: Palma’s destruction in Phantasy Star II lead to an imbalance which seems to be the cause (that’s the assumption at least). They’re uncertain if Dark Force is still around or not, but the possibility is still up in the air. So the logical conclusion is to assault the Garuberk Tower, but the tree barricades them from doing so. The response to that is the Eclipse Torch, but those that guard it refuse to hand it over to just anyone. Unfortunately, some minions appear and steal it, with the condition that the party need visit the Air Castle to retrieve it.

I really like these scenes for the main reason it continues to drive home the “Each generation surpasses the last” theme the Phantasy Star series has always had. This keeps things consistent among the games, and gives the events in PSII more weight to them, since the major event in the 2nd half of that game was the destruction of Palma. The introduction of the Eclipse Torch further cements these connections (as is common in PSIV by now) and the Air Castle brings memories of PSI back to the seasoned PS veteran. And you know, being one of those myself that always gives me a raging fan boner. While this section might be construed as unnecessary, I disagree and in addition I think it leads to some of the more memorable sections of the 2nd half of the game.

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(You know things are getting serious when the weird cloaked dudes are coming out of their cellars)

For the Air Castle itself, it’s easily the most complex dungeon in the entire game, featuring two boss fights, many alternate paths, constantly switches between inside and outside sections, and feels like a gauntlet round in a sense. So essentially it’s about as difficult as one of Phantasy Star II’s easier dungeons (Which alone says more about how unnecessarily complex PSII’s dungeons were). Of the two boss fights in the Air Castle, both are interesting in a variety of ways. First off is the power trio of Xe-A-Thoul. The most notable thing about them is that they’re the only boss fight in the entire game that has a counterattack if the player uses any multi-targeting attacks on them and that counterattack is pretty damn nasty. Beyond that is the basement which is an exact replica of the layout of the Air Castle of Phantasy Star I. Another neat reference that I certainly appreciate as well as I’m sure other PS veterans will. Especially when you take into consideration that PSIV uses an overhead perspective whereas PSI used a first-person perspective, which makes that level of attention to detail pretty incredible.  At the end lies LaShiec, still somehow alive even after the thrashing Alissa handed him in PSI. One interesting detail is that the boss music for LaShiec is the same music used for Zio (Who was controlled by Dark Force), implying a link between them.

After defeating LaShiec once more, he disappears into nothingness (Apparently at the hands of Dark Force), they have the Eclipse Torch allowing the group access to the Garuberk Tower once and for all. For one thing, Garuberk Tower is absolutely nothing like PSI or PSII ever had in terms of dungeon aesthetics. It’s purely organic, in the creepiest way possible. PSII was too focused on illustrating a cold and cruel atmosphere so every dungeon in that game had to be cold and mechanical, and due to hardware limitations nothing like this could have been presented in PSI. GT is full of the most disgusting organic elements that one could come up with in a 16 bit context. Monsters heave saliva at the player, dislocated eyeballs are scattered about (And some need to be investigated in order to progress through the Tower since they lower walls that blockade other portions).  The organic nature of Garuberk Tower really meshes well with Dezolis’ traditional position of having very little to do with the technology of the rest of Algol. At the top of Garuberk lays Dark Force (again?). This certainly proves the suspicions the party had before about multiple Dark Forces being true, the second one does differ a bit in how it looks (It’s a bit bigger with more spider-like legs at its sides).

What I really like about this portion of the game is the fact that most of the game has been a pretty breezy ride, but not to the point of being handholding. Its been slowly building up in terms of difficulty and now it finally peaks, throwing two of the most difficult dungeons in the game at you at once. They’re not impossible or cheap dungeons by any means (The designers probably used up all their impossible dungeon designs by the time they finished making Phantasy Star II) but still manage to put forth a very considerable challenge and that’s a sense of balance I really like and appreciate. As was the case with Phantasy Star II, the difficulty often skewed too far in the direction of sadism. There’s nothing wrong with a fair challenge, but in moderation lies the key.

With the second incarnation of Dark Force dead, Garuberk Tower disperses, saving Dezolis from all the intense weather storms it was suffering from. As a result, Kyra leaves the party having accomplished what she set out to do initially. With things at ease, all seems well until an explosion in the distance over the same Temple that refused to initially hand over the Eclipse Torch. Upon arrival, the priests there explain that they believe it to be the work of “The Profound Darkness” and mention Rykros. The next step becomes to acquire the Aero-Prism (Another PS reference!) at the Soldier’s Temple on Motavia. While they work their way back there, Demi sets up the Hydrofoil, the final vehicle in the game which allows travel across water (Meaning all of Motavia is accessible to the player at this moment).

Once the player enters the Soldier’s Temple, they’re introduced to Seth who immediately joins the party. Now, I said before that Kyra was the last 5th, and that’s still true in a sense. Once the party reaches the apex of the Soldier’s Temple and collects the Aero-Prism, Seth is revealed to be the third incarnation of Dark Force the party has had to fight (Players who have a real nose for attention to detail might notice that Seth’s skill list is full of abilities the first two Dark Forces used prior; totally not suspicious). Unlike the first two times, the third Dark Force has a full body instead of being a head attached to an entity. One interesting thing to note is that each succession of Dark Force in PSIV has more and more humanlike qualities, going so far as to have him successfully imitate one in the form of Seth. What that means in the end is up for debate, but I like to think its PSIV’s way of saying even “evil” is a living, breathing entity of its own kind, regardless of ethics.

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With the Aero Prism revealing the location of Rykros, the party moves to head on to the mysterious planet unheard of until now. Once there, a spirit named Le Roof who explains that he is there to elaborate on the Genesis of Algol, but only once the group has performed a task for him to showcase their worth. Now, this part of the game seems like a fetch-quest (and to be honest, it kind of is), it serves the purpose of having the player explore through Rykros. It’s new and the player has yet to have a chance to explore through it, so at least it has the benefit of being a new and unexplored area. It helps that the items collected are actually used for the player’s benefit later on, and not just exclusively a plot item. This section of the game is only two dungeons (There’s a third but it’s inaccessible for the moment).

Once the party has accomplished the task, Le Roof explains everything about the history of Algol. The summarized version is that two ancient spirits fought each other a long time ago. The winner was declared The Great Light and the loser The Profound Darkness. In response, The Great Light sealed The Profound Darkness via a seal that included the three main planets of Algol (Motavia, Palma, Dezolis). For the most part the seal kept it away, but every one thousand years it was able to send a small portion of its soul known as Dark Force into Algol. Rykros was the invisible, fourth planet was created when the seal was at its weakest to remind Algol of its duty. Because of Palma’s destruction in Phantasy Star II, the seal is currently much weaker than it once was, and the seal is coming to its final moments.  The only way to truly stop The Profound Darkness is to enter its dimension (Thanks to the items the party collected during the fetch-quest, they can do so with no harm to them). So, the goal is to go in, defeat TPD, and come home and celebrate, right?

Well, this is where PSIV changes things up a bit from how RPGs typically handle these situations. Chaz immediately resents being construed as a puppet and refuses the call to action. Hell, he even compares it to being the same as Zio – a puppet following the whims of its master. Rune has an idea on how to properly explain everything to Chaz, which lies directly in the Esper Mansion. Rune leaves Chaz alone to find the sword Elsydeon. Now, while this seems a bit generic and tame in most circumstances, this is where things get interesting. The moment Chaz receives the sword, the memories of all those before him who fought hard against Dark Force/Profound Darkness to preserve peace for the Algolian Solar System flood into his mind. The struggle against Dark Force goes far beyond just himself, but everyone around him.

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Now, the player may be wondering what difference that makes from now and then. After all, Chaz is now mentally prepared to go take on The Profound Darkness, exactly what he was told to do before. To me, the difference is that Chaz has chosen to do so willingly for the benefit of those that he cares about. That’s what makes him different from the likes of Zio who did so only because he was chosen. This is what makes him different from a stereotypical “Chosen Hero” because in those situations the hero has no “choice” in their actions, everything is guided along by fate or something else. That is not so here, instead Chaz has chosen his own path for the sake of those around him. It annoys me so much to see so many video games resort to a “Chosen One” archetype to justify making a main character important or the most powerful person in the universe without building them up first. Now, it could be argued that Chaz isn’t the most developed protagonist ever but I think the game gives him a decent amount of characterization, enough even to say that this game avoids that specific trope rather well. This whole scene also continues the “the next generation surpasses the next” theme in a very vivid manner seeing as Chaz is literally experiencing the triumphs and failures of the generations that preceded him. On the subject of the Elsydeon, there’s always been a bit of controversy on it stemming from the thought that it might be the Neisword from PSII and the Laconian Sword from PSI. Considering that it’s a statue of Alissa that’s holding the sword in the cave, and he also finds memories related to those of Rolf (Who held the Neisword in PSII), I have always believed this particular theory. It’s all up to interpretation of course, but it makes everything feel like a successful closer to the final dramatic moment in PSIV, so I’m going to make the assumption that is the case.

With that settled, the group moves back to Motavia to find that all the previous party members (sans Alys, for obvious reasons) has decided to join Chaz and co. for the final battle. Of course, this being a game with technical limitations the party is only allowed to take one of them into the final battle, giving five party members for the fight against The Profound Darkness. Normally the party wouldn’t last in the dimension that The Profound Darkness exists in, but thanks to the rings that the party acquired in Rykros, they can easily survive (Which adds an in-game reason as to why only one more party member can be taken, which I guess is better than leaving it up to video game logic).

However, before I get into details about the final dungeon and the final boss fight, I’d like to speak on one last sidequest that opens up at this point. On Rykros, The Anger Tower was previously inaccessible but that it no longer the case. The dungeon is fairly similar to the other towers on Rykros, but it ends with Chaz in a one-on-one encounter with what seems to be Alys. The fight is pathetically easy, but it’s revealed to be an illusion for one of the spirits that exists in Rykros. The spirit has a question for Chaz and what happens next depends on the player’s answer. If they say “no” then they are awarded Megid, one of the most powerful techniques in the entire game. If the player answers “yes” then they are forced into a boss fight that they will surely lose unless they’ve hacked the game. Megid is powerful enough to warrant completing this sidequest no matter how badly the player just wants to finish the game.

The reason for this is that the spirit asks the player a philosophical question. Do they deliberately want and desire a very dangerous kind of power? Chaz’ rejection is based on the notion that he doesn’t want to be controlled by it. And by therefore refusing to be controlled by it (In a similar manner that he rejected taking down The Profound Darkness, I might add), he has then proven himself capable of controlling it. The person who explicitly desires this kind of dangerous power is the one who will become dominated by it, which is why doing so makes Chaz worthy of it. It’s only a small detail, but it’s also a touch I appreciate in the end. On the subject of Megid, it’s a lot more viable in this game than it was in PSII. In that game, it deducted half of the HP of all your party members in determining the damage output of Megid. Here, it’s still extremely powerful but no longer has that side-effect, so it’s okay to use it without worrying about being trashed by the next enemy you encounter. What also makes it interesting is the use of Alys, Chaz’ mentor to instigate an emotional reaction out of him, yet holds still in his convictions to make sure he makes the right choice. It’s not a huge detail but it’s one I still very much appreciate.

Finally, before the player gets a chance to tackle the final dungeon they are afforded the opportunity to take any of the previous party members that left into the final battle. They’re properly leveled and equipped automatically, so the player doesn’t need to do any tedious grinding to get them up to speed. The player also has the ability to skip choosing a 5th member to assist him or her in the final dungeon. There are no benefits for doing this outside of a player seeking a challenge. Regardless of what the player picks, the final dungeon all things considered is pretty easy. Virtually every enemy in it is weak to Holy attacks (Which the player should have an abundance of at this point).  They’re all very susceptible to instant death, and with the levels the player has accumulated, they should more than enough to clear through the majority of the enemies no problem. One criticism I commonly hear regarding the final dungeon is it’s aesthetic design. Namely, the dungeon is a wild mix of sprawling colors thrown together to give an eerie and psychedelic edge. I think it works to great effect but others have complained that it made it difficult to progress through the dungeon.

At the dungeon’s conclusion, lies The Profound Darkness. The boss fight is interesting, for a variety of reasons. For one, it includes some interesting aesthetic design choices in the final boss, is split into three sections giving a dramatic final boss feel, and thematically serves as the finishing number for the Phantasy Star franchise. Each of the three forms of The Profound Darkness shares the same color as the respective Dark Force encounter, as well as their style. The Profound Darkness goes from looking inhuman, to insectoid, to finally having a human-like figure. I’m not sure what that’s exactly supposed to represent, but the fact that the designers chose to pay attention to such a minor detail entails to me that it certainly wasn’t a coincidence (or I could be playing the part of a pedantic nerd, who knows!)

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As far as difficulty is concerned, the final boss I feel is a fair challenge. It certainly can dish out heavy amounts of damage and is the only boss in the game that can dispel the party’s buffs. Yet I’ve never once lost to it in all my time playing PSIV, so I don’t think it’s an over the top kind of difficulty either. What really makes the fight awesome is the music of the fight. I’ve mentioned before that I love PSIV’s soundtrack as a whole, but the finale really makes that apparent. The first two forms use a doomy, droning funeral march number to really set the mood of the battle. But where it kicks into gear is the final form into some fucking heavy metal. On the Genesis sound chip no less, which I imagine is an impressive feat (I’m no programmer, so all I can do is merely assume). The way the percussion slowly builds and builds with synthesizers adding layers of texture; leading up to the head-banging main riff alongside a very catchy bassline makes the fight seem so much more dramatic and bombastic as a result.

With The Profound Darkness finally killed once and for all, Dark Force’s influences across Algol are finished. Everyone gets together one last time to say their final goodbyes. Raja, Wren, Rika, Demi and Kyra set out on The Landale to return to their homes on Dezolis and Zelan. However, at the last second Rika decides she wants to be with Chaz and dramatically jumps out of the ship in a heartwarming moment while he catches her. Rune leaves the two alone and disappears, properly ending Phantasy Star IV. The credits roll while briefly explaining that the sacrifices of generations past are never forgotten and only serve to fuel the next generations – The principal and underlying theme of Phantasy Star IV and the series as a whole which I think is something that anyone can relate to. After all, don’t parents wish for the generation in which they’ve created grow up to supersede their accomplishments, and for that process to continue ad infinitum? That’s exactly what’s happening with players who played I, II and IV. They’ve had the opportunity to see how the Algolian solar system has developed, changed and transformed over the course of two thousand years and to see the entire civilizations that Algol has fostered to finally live in peace is a satisfying and emotional affair. This kind of accomplishment is nothing like I’d ever seen or felt in any other RPG series, which is why Phantasy Star is one of my all-time favorites.

Phantasy Star IV, at its core is a game intended to finalize the Phantasy Star franchise and bring everything to a close. All the references and nods to past games, all carefully crafted to bring about the end of the series in one powerful stroke. It’s almost customary in today’s video game industry to continue franchises well past their high points, degrading the series until it cannot sustain itself anymore. Instead, PSIV chooses to go out with a bang, much like a successful rock band retiring at the peak of their popularity instead of dragging their heels every step of the way. And for that, and that alone I salute Phantasy Star IV for doing what many other series have either failed to do or refuse to do. It is for that reason, and the many others I’ve outlined in this very long essay, that I consider Phantasy Star IV my favorite RPG of all time. And no, not even Phantasy Star III in all it’s failures, can take away from that. Would I love a fifth game in the series? Absolutely, but only under the pretense that the game would equal the level of quality seen in this game and previous entries. Otherwise, it would be nothing more than a veiled attempt at nostalgia whoring. As for the game as a whole, I think PSIV ultimately succeeds as the sum of its parts. The battle system is the most interesting and obviously the best part of the game, and the plot and characters are solid, if unspectacular and the music holds up very well. None of the other features are enough to make the game a 10/10 on its own merits, but its how the game melds each unique part together into a cohesive whole that makes this game so fantastic to me.

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Phantasy Star II (Sega Genesis, Sega AM7, 1989)

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Sequels are a funny thing. For one thing, they’re very easy to screw up. There are expectations to keep, trends to take into consideration and fans to please. If the sequel strays too far away from what the fans expect, usually you’ll find a lot of bitching from your own target audience. However, if it’s too trite and doesn’t change up anything at all, the game can easily be described as generic and pedestrian. There has to be a solid middle ground to appease both sides. This is compounded with the concept of a sequel to an RPG. When it comes to a sequel to a Megaman game, introducing some new level concepts or mechanics is good enough to keep the formula from becoming stale without radically changing things up. But RPGs generally have an emphasis on plot, large settings and exploration. That only makes it even more difficult to construct a sequel to an rpg because the plot threads between both games must make coherent sense and make the progression from I to II feel organic and relevant.

These difficulties and more are precisely why I consider Phantasy Star II one of the greatest sequels of all time, as far as rpgs go. Not that there’s too much competition in terms of rpgs that are direct sequels of one another (Though I’d label PSIV the even more superior sequel). Without contradicting anything established in the previous game, PSII introduces even bolder sci-fi elements that even the first game didn’t have and makes the experience feel completely fresh compared to the original. Unfortunately, Phantasy Star II also throws at the player dungeons designed by the likes of Satan himself and a difficulty curve that’s nothing short of masochistic. Phantasy Star I had it’s difficult sections, but PSII is noted for being one of the most difficult rpgs of its era, alongside the likes of Dragon Quest II. So, most of the praise for this game is going to come from how new and interesting this was for the genre when it was released, whereas it’s criticisms are going to come from how over-the-top the difficulty is.

But I’ve digressed long enough; let’s really get into what makes Phantasy Star II a terrific sequel. Phantasy Star II is set one thousand years after the events of Phantasy Star I come to a close (Namely, Alissa and friends defeating LaShiec and bringing order to the Algonian Star System). This is interesting, because being set so far past the first game allows for a lot of leeway. Given the sci-fi setting, this makes the advances in technology present in this game a lot more believable especially after having played the first game. Anyway, the setting of Phantasy Star II places more emphasis on the planet Motavia. A huge computer system named Mother Brain controls everything on Motavia, from the weather to the food supply to mass production of goods and services. Mother Brain is revered as a god of sorts, being unquestionable, even so far as the government of Motavia is concerned. In doing so, there are hardly any traces of Alissa’s victory over LaShiec, instead a mechanical entity has taken her place. This is kind of interesting as it serves to make players of the first game feel uncomfortable and emphasizes the cold, mechanical protection of a supercomputer over that of a more organic and human entity. Technically Motavia is still the same planet from the first game, and yet it’s changed in so many ways. In the first game it was a barren, desert planet with very little in the way of life outside of a couple of towns. However, it’s a green paradise thanks to Mother Brain’s domes that provide food and nourishment for the population at large. Next, Mother Brain’s control over the planet makes it clearly evident that people are becoming more and more lethargic and lazy over time. Various NPCs over the towns mention how they don’t need to work or even protect themselves, lending themselves to Mother Brain’s protection. Also, nobody on Motavia seems to even know where Mother Brain’s physical location on Motavia is, and yet her presence is still felt throughout the game in various ways. This definitely lends a particularly unique atmosphere to Phantasy Star II that is still unmatched in rpgs to this day.

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The game begins proper with an Agent named Rolf reliving the final moments of Phantasy Star I in the form of a dream. Despite some of the jarring transformations Motavia has made from one game to the next, this scene allows the player to feel that there still is a connection between games.  Rolf is helpless to do anything about his dream however, and wakes up in a cold sweat.  Soon after, he suits up for his job and receives his next mission. Monsters are getting loose and threatening the world of Motavia, despite Mother Brain’s supposed protection. Anyway, Rolf’s mission is to discover why they’re popping up all over the place and to put a stop to it. Supposedly, finding the recorder in the bio-systems lab will help him figure out what exactly is causing this madness. At which point he returns to his home to prepare for the mission, at which Nei (Whose name means “Human that is not a human”, referring to how she was created) begs him to take her with him. It’s immediately revealed that Nei is something like an adoptive sister to Rolf, and that Nei is a creation consisting of both human and biological monster dna. As such, most people think of her as a monster, but Rolf took her in, almost as if she was his own sister. Since the outbreak of biological monsters is occurring, Nei wants to know more about herself, hence why she so desperately wants to join Rolf. He accepts, and then from there the player can play Phantasy Star II properly.

Let it be known, Phantasy Star II is a far more linear game than its predecessor in terms of structure. Where to go and what to do is largely dictated by the game’s plot. In the beginning, because access to the biosytems lab is blocked off for plot related reasons, the player must progress forward to the first dungeon to acquire dynamite so access to the second dungeon, and within there the player can find Tiem who can initiate a necessary cutscene that allows the player to move into the section of Motavia where the biosystems lab is. This process continues throughout the whole game, only letting up at minor points in which the player is set to acquire multiple plot items from multiple dungeons and the player is given the choice to tackle certain dungeons in whatever order they want, but they still cannot properly progress until all the plot tokens are collected. Essentially, the player can tackle of one four dungeons in any order, but they still need to finish all four in order to move on, so the game is still fairly linear. This isn’t a bad thing, but it’s a marked difference from the semi non-linear approach that Phantasy Star I took. Phantasy II is a more plot-driven game, so it makes sense that it would go for a more linear approach. Phantasy Star IV would also continue that style, and that’s my favorite game in the franchise so it’s not an approach I have any issue with.

As soon as the player reaches the next town in the game, they are introduced to the game’s mechanic of acquiring new party members. For each town the player makes their way into, if they return to the first town in the game and check their home, they will be awarded with a new party member. If the player wants to switch party members at any point in the game, they do have to return to their home, which kind of sucks if you’re in the middle of a dungeon. While this mechanic does seem rather obtuse, talking to NPCs throughout the game illuminates to the player that they should return to their home every once in a while. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than completely leaving them in the dark. As far as party members go, I figure now is the best time to dissect each character from a combat standpoint. Rolf is like Alissa from the first game, being something of a “Magic Knight” archetype. He’s competent at melee but has enough attack magic to take out some of the more powerful enemies in the game. Nei is what is commonly referred to as a “Glass Cannon”. She’s incredibly fast and can dish out very good damage but her low defense and equipment draw will leave her taking lots of damage. Rudolph is the prototypical “Tank”. He is the only character in the game with no access to spells in the game, but he makes up for it with his equipment draw, being able to deal lots of damage and having the HP and defense to take lots of hits. Despite his inability to use magic, I always find myself using him because of how useful his high HP is. Next up is Amy, who is your usual “White Mage,” though in this sci-fi setting she’s referred to as a doctor. Her equipment draw is nothing special and her defense/HP are pretty miserable, she has access to a wide range of buffs and healing abilities, including only one of two party members who can revive others (Which is a blessing considering this game’s difficulty). Next is the underappreciated Hugh, whose abilities revolve around specifically disabling biological monsters that popular the majority of the first third of the game. Which is all well and good, but after that point, for various plot reasons mechanical enemies soon dominate the rest of the game and since his abilities don’t work on those types of enemies, Hugh’s abilities are suddenly diminished.  Next we have Anna, whose interesting quirk is that she uses slashers (Or simply put boomerangs) that hit all enemies, being the only character who can do so without the proper technique. Unfortunately, she’s pretty lacking the techs department, but she doesn’t really need them for the most part. Then we have Kain, who for whatever reason speaks in a very “southern” dialect and specializes in destroying and dismantling machines. In this sense, he’s a direct contrast to Hugh whose abilities work only on biological enemies, and basically for every spell that Hugh has that damages/stuns/kills a biological enemy, Kain has a matching variant that does the same thing on machines. Since machines dominate the latter parts of the game, Kain is much more valuable to the player than Hugh will ever be. Last but not least is Shir, whose specialty is stealing. That being, if the player walks into a shop with Shir in the party she will have a random chance of stealing a specific item from the store, but if she does so the player must return to their home town, which is a quite tedious affair especially late into the game. Shir’s abilities are like a much worse version of Rolf. She has a large range of techniques but she needs really high levels to use any of them, and her TP growth is the worst in the game and a very poor equipment draw. Her only real use is stealing, fortunately her ability to steal from shops can lead the player into acquiring the visiphone, which is a godsend given this game’s difficulty but that’s a matter I’ll get into another time.

Summing everything up about the characters, it becomes clear that the party selection in Phantasy Star II really isn’t that balanced. Rolf, Nei and Rudger are clearly the three best to use in the early parts of the game without exception. Amy has use as a healer and has useful buffs for some of the more difficult random encounters, so for the majority of the game she’ll likely sit in your fourth slot. Hugh has use early in the game, but the later machines that dominate the 2nd half are too obnoxious to consider using Hugh on, so you might as well not bother wasting your time with Hugh. Anna’s slicers have use early on as well, and she has better equipment than Hugh, but against the meaty defenses the machines boast, Anna’s use diminishes the further into the game the player gets. Shir flatout sucks at anything combat related, but the stealing is an okay trait and she’s fast but that’s about it. Kain definitely has a lot of usefulness in the late sections of the game, and his equipment draw is pretty good unlike most of his comrades so he retains some usefulness even in the early reaches of the game. Who you choose to use in combat is ultimately up to you. As far as jrpgs go, Phantasy Star II was one of the first games to give definitive backgrounds to each character, and a decent portion of the praise for the game was exactly for this. And that’s true, I can’t think of any other rpgs in 1989 and before that did that. Unfortunately, it’s 2014 and not 1989 anymore. While it was an impressive achievement, and later rpgs would obviously look at Phantasy Star II as an influence in this regard, it’s very difficult to look at PSII and really take notice of what exactly it did to further the genre when other games are immediately more accessible due to advancements in technology and have the memory to have a lot more dialogue between characters. This makes PSII’s achievements seem… a bit barren in comparison, though not unnoticeable. I definitely do appreciate these advancements, but someone else could play through the game and not appreciate them as much just because they’re used to much better. This is an issue as most of these characters have no dialogue outside of their introductions. The back-stories are nice additions for a game this old, but with no dialogue to further their characters, they seem to really fall short to me.

Now that I’ve talked in-depth about the main characters of the game and touched on their capabilities in combat a bit, I think it’s time to get into the combat of Phantasy Star II.  Unlike Phantasy Star I which had a very Dragon Quest-esque viewpoint (1st person) to the combat, the characters are visible from the back. It may seem only like a very small addition at first, but it adds a lot to the presentation of the game. Instead of seeing a small slash animation that barely looks anything like that, we get to view the character running up to the enemy and slashing them with their weapon or casting the appropriate technique. It’s a step up from the first game, and shows advancement in presentation from what most rpgs were used to at the time. The same goes for enemies; they all have their animations, even for attacks that are different. Sure, later rpgs have technically superior animations, but it’s at this very moment that rpgs have evolved beyond entirely basic animations without dragging them out to gargantuan lengths. For when Phantasy Star II was released, I think the animations are extremely high quality and appealing to look at. Another thing about the combat in Phantasy Star II are the backgrounds… there’s only one of them. It’s a futuristic-looking pseudo-3D kind of background, which works for the most part. It gives the illusion of depth to not only the field of battle, but I think it looks cool enough on its own and lends itself well to the sci-fi image the game has. Of course, it’s the only background you’ll see in combat during the entire game, even during boss fights so it can wear itself out pretty easily on the player. I don’t mind it, but others have criticized that function of the game in the past.

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One of the main features of combat in Phantasy Star II is the inclusion of auto-battle. I’m sure some obscure PC rpg has included this feature at one point or another, but as far as jrpgs are concerned, this is definitely one of the earliest inclusions of the feature and it works pretty spot on. The player will enter a string of commands for each party member, and the party members will execute them, one by one. They will repeat the commands ad infinitum until the battle ends, or the player interrupts the auto-battle themselves with a touch of a button. If the player uses techniques (The game’s equivalent of spells from other rpgs), they revert to attacking physically in the next round so they don’t constantly end up using the same spell repeatedly, sapping the character of their precious TP pools. This is actually a very good thing, seeing as TP growth is very limited, so it’s pretty often that a player wants someone to only cast a spell once and then revert to attacking so they don’t run out of TP quickly. This feature doesn’t apply to spells used through special items, which can be used infinitely, which is another genius implementation of this system. Since items that cast spells are an infinite resource (unlike naturally using techniques that eat into a player’s TP pool), there’s no risk of using them would hurt the player, whereas it would hurt the player to uselessly cast spells when they’re not needed. If the player does want to change techniques, they can interrupt the auto-battle and switch them up in the next round at their leisure. The care and attention placed into it to make sure the potential pitfalls that can occur with auto-battle aren’t at all present is noted and it makes Phantasy Star II definitely feel ahead of its time. Not to mention, the benefits of having an auto-battle system means that a player doesn’t need to tediously re-enter attack command constantly, as is often the case in older rpgs such as this.

Since combat and dungeon crawling are almost always inherently linked to one another, I feel this is the best time to segue from one to another. Unlike the first game, where all the dungeons were in the first person perspective without any kind of map, Phantasy Star II handles them from the third person-overhead view. It’s definitely better than what Phantasy Star I gives to the player, but at the same time Phantasy Star II’s dungeons still have some pretty big issues of their own that hold the game back. They’re enormous. Even the game’s initial dungeon is exponentially more complex than the final dungeons issued to the player in most other rpgs, and that trend only continues to the very end of the game. These dungeons are also littered with extremely difficult random encounters that can very easily destroy an unprepared player, who isn’t playing with the mindset of getting the most out of every decision they make. It’s very easy to get halfway through a dungeon and be wiped out due to running out of resources because of how difficult the encounters are and the labyrinthine quality of the dungeons themselves. A more prepared player can more easily handle themselves in this game, but it’s still incredibly difficult to do so if the player hasn’t memorized the layouts of the dungeons. Fortunately, the game did come with a guidebook that included maps of every dungeon but I feel a video game shouldn’t rely on outside resources to be playable which is a legitimate strike against Phantasy Star II. I do appreciate the 3rd person perspective, but one can argue this is a step backwards from the first game just due to the sheer insanity of these dungeon designs. I think this is a technical improvement over the first game, but as far as practicality is concerned this is a step in the wrong direction.

I mean, this isn’t even the most complex dungeon in the game.

Fortunately, most of the dungeons in Phantasy Star II do not force a boss fight upon the player, thankfully. Given the difficulty of the dungeons, players would be too exhausted to even attempt a boss fight for the sake of progression. There are only a total of four in all, though one is merely a “story” boss (In which the player is expected to lose for the sake of plot-based progression) and the final two are slapped into the very end of the game. Now, there are nineteen dungeons in total, so there are a lot of dungeons that simply don’t have any bosses to them and only exist to host a plot token, similar to Phantasy Star I in some respects.The bosses that do exist are quite difficult, though honestly I feel none of them quite replicate the challenges inherent to the dungeons themselves. That’s a good thing, since as I’ve mentioned before, this game’s dungeons are a pain.  Some would argue this lends itself to a “Quality over quantity” element to Phantasy Star II’s design as far as boss fights go, though that’s not the case with the game’s dungeons with the game hosting nineteen in all.

One feature that makes Phantasy Star II’s dungeons exceedingly difficult, other than the labyrinthine element, is the monsters that lay dormant in them. Most dungeons have what I dub as “Doom Encounters” which are so difficult that the player should treat them as if they were a boss fight. Without the proper strategies and equipment, they can easily wipe out the player’s party in two rounds of combat or less. These are the most crucial situations in the entire game and one who isn’t prepared is likely to see the game over screen multiple times before finally finishing their respective dungeon. Given the depth and the length of the dungeon in this game, that means that players will likely face multiple “Doom Encounters” within a single dungeon unless they’re using outside assistance to ensure they get through the dungeons as fast as they possibly can. This causes a conflict to me because I’m not exactly sure if I want to call this poor game design or not. It’s definitely frustrating, but I will admit there is a certain charm to making one’s way through a difficult dungeon. The dungeons aren’t impossible, even without using maps if the player is prepared, so I suppose what I want to say is that Phantasy Star II definitely straddles around the line between cheap and difficult game design. It’s really difficult for me to say definitively which side PSII is on, so I’ll say that it’s a very blurry line and let the player decide for themselves.

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(Seriously, getting ambushed by these guys is a death sentence)

Now, the time has come to talk about the game’s music. Phantasy Star II continues the tradition of having some pretty rocking tunes, though its style is a bit different. Phantasy Star II while still maintaining a fun and catchy vibe to its music but with more of a techno edge. One of the more memorable themes is the random encounter theme, which really is a good thing since random encounters are quite common in rpgs like this. While the Genesis’ sound chip is inferior to that of the SNES, one thing I always thought it did well was provide a good thundering bassline which is present in nearly every major track in the game. The town themes do vary and give a very serene feeling to them whereas the respective dungeon themes are catchy but feel appropriate for a dungeon. And then you have the boss theme which I absolutely love in its heroic feeling and atmosphere. Though I’ll admit I wasn’t a huge fan of it at first, but the soundtrack as a whole really grew on me, to the point I consider its music an absolute classic.

Secret Ways
Mystery
Violation
Death Place

Now, whereas the dungeon design of Phantasy Star II may come off as frustrating, that isn’t to say that the game doesn’t offer conveniences of its own. I’ve already talked about the auto-battle system and how it streamlines the game, but I’d like to talk about a few other features that PSII includes that makes the game a bit easier to swallow. Right at the start of the game, the player is allowed access to a luggage room where they can store items they have but don’t need. This also includes key items relevant to the advancement of the plot. This is an amazing feature after playing the predecessor and its issues with inventory space, so once you no longer need a key item you can stick it into the luggage and never have to worry about it again. The luggage has limited space of its own, but I’ve never exceeded it without deliberately trying to fill it up. I’m not sure on the specifics, but I’m sure this is one of the earliest implementations of such a feature in rpgs, if not the earliest. Continuing on the subject of inventory management, each character now has their own inventory slots in the menu, instead of each item being shared by everyone else. Unfortunately, equipped items do in fact count towards the allotment of items a character can hold, but since each character has their own slots, it’s not a huge deal.

Another added convenience in this game is a bit of a hidden one. It’s called the visiphone, an item that allows the player to save anywhere in the game (Otherwise they have to go to a specific spot in a town in order to save), even dungeons. So, the player does in fact have a counter to the masochism inherent to the dungeons, even if it abusing it is a fair bit tedious. One can potentially save and reload through the dungeons repeatedly to progress through them, but I don’t like doing that myself because of the aforementioned tediousness.  Of course, actually getting your hands on the visiphone is another matter, if you don’t have a walkthrough telling you how to get it. It’s acquired by having a level 10 or higher Shir enter the control center, and the player will have a random chance of it being in Shir’s inventory when she re-enters the party. It’s not particularly complex, but there’s absolutely nothing in-game that indicates that this can even be done and that bothers me. I particularly dislike “tricks” in games that require the most asinine logic to figure out. Fortunately, the visiphone is an optional item in the game and is in no way required to complete it, so it’s not a huge blow for my enjoyment of the game.

Another neat convenience to the game is the ability to warp between towns the player has already been to for a very small fee. It’s basically piss change, and it saves a lot of empty time that could be spent walking between towns on the world map. It doesn’t seem like much at first, but the longer you play the game the more precious this feature becomes as the distances between towns gets bigger. I’m certain this would lay the path for other rpgs with warping functions to make distance between towns already traveled a non-issue as far as design is concerned. It may seem like I’m blowing a small feature out of proportion, but since Phantasy Star III fails for not having something simple like this, it really makes the advances made in Phantasy Star II feel special. One final neat feature is the inclusion of the library, which is accessible at the very start of the game. Going in there is completely optional, but it gives the player knowledge about the world at hand, and gives backstory information relevant to players curious enough about the world to find out about it. The information given also strengthens the link between the first game and this one.

Now that the base game has been dissected at great lengths, I think it’s time to dive back into the plot of Phantasy Star II and its themes. I went into detail about the themes of the first game because I found them interesting, and I feel the same way about them in this game. I went over the basics of the world and its setting because that would lend itself well to talking about the other mechanics of the game.  The first third of the game is spent exploring Motavia, conquering one dungeon after another, slowly unlocking each section until the final showdown of the first part of the game commences with its finale. It’s during this section of the game where everything in the world feels so helpless and overpowering.

For example: blocking the party’s path to the entryway to the path to the 3rd dungeon is a dangerous criminal. It’s even implied that this man nearly killed Nei as a child. Apparently as the party later finds out, his daughter was kidnapped by thieves and demanded a huge ransom that he clearly could not afford. It’s at this juncture that he turns to crime in order to afford his daughter’s random, killing people who refuse to hand him money at the spot he guards. Where this turns south is that the player rescues his daughter from the 2nd dungeon, but she insists on wearing a veil to hide herself and wants to confront her father one on one. The situation goes badly, with her father killing her without realizing what he’s done until it’s too late. At which point, he kills himself out of sorrow, allowing the player passage through the part he was blockading in the first place. It may only seem like a stepping stone on the way to the next section of Motavia, but thematically it means a lot. It establishes that despite all the protections and comforts provided by Mother Brain, people still have the same capacity for insanity and murder that they did without her protection, which really begs the question “Why do we need Mother Brain anyway?” and really drives home a foreboding sense of mystery to the game. The scene in of itself doesn’t even last a minute, but it establishes so much thematically for the game.

The next big plot event is essentially the climax for the first part of the game. At the end of the sixth dungeon, the huge Climate Control facility lays Nei’s “sister”, Neifirst. Apparently Neifirst was the creation behind all the biological monsters inhabiting Motavia, and was the catalyst for Nei’s creation. It’s not really explained in-depth in any manner, but Nei separated herself from Neifirst because she couldn’t stand it, and now Neifirst wants to eliminate Nei. This proceeds into the game’s first boss fight, though instead of a party vs. boss affair, the fight is between the two Nei’s. While it is certainly possible to win the fight with the proper preperations, it’s not mandatory and the game expects you to lose. This results in Nei’s death, which is permanent. She gives her final goodbye to Rolf and company, who proceed to do battle with Neifirst in her place. An interesting tidbit about the battle is that if Nei does win the 2nd battle with Neifirst isn’t necessary at all, but the game continues as if Nei was killed regardless, since the two are “linked” (If one dies, the other dies as well).

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(It turns out FF7 was 8 years late to the party)

Upon the defeat of Neifirst, the entire Climate Control facility starts to implode from the inside-out since Neifirst was controlling the place and she’s no longer alive to control everything. The party warps at the last second to avoid being killed and makes their way to the starting town, only to found out that Nei cannot be revived. Normally, if a party member was defeated the player would have to go to one of the “Cloning labs” to have them revived and playable once more. It’s a weird and very unsettling way to handle player revival in an rpg. The fact that they are not simply “revived”, but brought directly a clone that replaces the dead corpse of the deceased party member. I don’t think I need to explain why that’s downright creepy and it only serves to make the technological world of Phantasy Star II feel strange to the player. This is a stark contrast to what the player is told when the party attempts to have Nei cloned and revived and they’re told it only works on humans and Nei is only half-human. This frustration is further compounded by the fact that now the government of Palma has listed Rolf and his companions as criminals, since their actions were supposedly an attempt to “damage” Mother Brain. This is an event that really puts into question how much of Mother Brain’s protection is legitimate if it can’t properly discern between people doing what they can to help and to hurt others, and if technology should have such an active role in determining right and wrong. Especially one the player still cannot physically see for themselves.

It turns out that since the Climate Control was the force that kept the weather on Motavia in check, allowing huge waves of oceans to eventually crash into and flood everything else on the planet. Despite his crew’s new status as fugitives, Rolf’s boss explains the situation to him without handing him over to the authorities. It turns out if the dams were released, the water flow wouldn’t be such a big of a problem as it is right now, so Rolf offers to go find a way to release the dams to save what is left of Motavia. To me, this is one of the biggest turning points of Phantasy Star II. Rolf lost his “sister” in combat, listed as a criminal for doing his job, knows something is up with Mother Brain and then finally the world starts going to shit but he steps up and offers to save Motavia from the shadows, which means even if he succeeds he likely won’t receive credit for it due to his status as a fugitive. I mean really, it’d be easy to just say “You guys can fuck off” and leave the world to rot and not worry about what’s going on. Sure, Rolf doesn’t have a terrific amount of dialogue in the game, but it’s a moment like that, that represents what kind of a person Rolf is and why he’s the hero of this game.

However, it’s also at this section of the game that things start getting somewhat cryptic. The game tells the player that they need the four keycards found in the Control Tower to unlock the dams, but neglects to mention its location. There’s nothing to indicate its location at all anywhere in the game, leaving the player to tediously wonder around until they strike gold. Mechanically, this is also another turning point, as this is the first part of the game where machines are introduced as the foil to biological enemies (And the point in which Hugh becomes useless and Anna becomes mediocre). Most machines have incredibly high defense values, making characters that either use guns or have access to damaging techniques highly valuable. This also means the average difficulty of the game has jumped up a few pegs, and the game was already hard enough as it was. This is made even more worse because the player needs to have the “Musik” (It’s literally spelled that way in-game) technique to unlock the door to the cards. To explain in brief: the Musik tech is acquired in one of the towns in PSII by talking to a musician that clearly prefers the company of men and paying him a small fee. He charges women more for the process than he does men, and the official English translation tries to hide his blatant homosexuality. The only issue I have with this is that the game really makes it obvious that a player could have picked it out even with the English translation. Anyway, with the Musik technique the player can open up the final door of the Control Tower to acquire the four cardkeys that lead to the dams.

After the player acquires the four cardkeys, uses them in each respective dam, it appears that Motavia is saved again. Unfortunately for Rolf, Mother Brain’s sentries have come to capture his crew. The player is introduced into an unwinnable boss fight, at which point the entire party is captured and made prisoners on the space satellite Gaila. As soon as Rolf regains consciousness, he learns that they are sentenced to death when Gaila reaches its destination (which is never actually revealed to the player). Shortly thereafter, it turns out Gaila crashes into Palma of all planets, which would very likely kill the party. During this, Rolf expects death, but is instead shown the exact same dream from the beginning of the game once more. Before he can properly ponder why he’s seeing the same dream once more, he awakes in a stranger’s spaceship, no clue what exactly has happened. The stranger introduces himself as Tyler, a space pirate (Who suspiciously looks a lot like Tylon from the first game). He reveals to them that it’s true that the satellite destroyed Palma and everything that lived on it. Now this is where things differ in the plot based on the translation you’re playing. In the English translation, the party was saved by Tyler at the last second. However, in the Japanese translation, the party were in fact killed but revived via cloning by Tyler, which again leads to some pretty creepy implications. I’m okay with either translation’s version of those events, but the Japanese translation is a bit more in line with making the player feel at unease with the world they live in. Tyler informs the party about a rumor of someone opposing Mother Brain on the planet Dezolis and drops the party back into the starting town on Motavia. Rolf’s boss decides to assist the party by unlocking access to the roof and the spaceship there that will give the player access to planet Dezolis once and for all.

Now, this is a huge risk being taken by the commander, since Mother Brain declared space travel illegal several years before Phantasy Star II even began! Anyway, this leads to the final segment of the game, Dezolis but I’d like to talk about some other things first. First of all, Palma’s destruction, for anyone that played the first game there is almost certainly going to be a feeling of sorrow in seeing the main planet from the first game be destroyed. Obviously, if the player didn’t play the first game then that’s kind of a moot point, but they’re still able to understand the ramifications of blowing up a planet are kind of huge, and at the same time if someone did play the first game, there’s an instant connection to the first game that’s lost. This fuels the desire to stop Mother Brain and figure out what exactly is going on in the Algolian Solar System.

Before I get even further into the plot, I want to point out how the game handles Dezolis from a mechanical standpoint. I’m not going to sugarcoat it; Dezolis in Phantasy Star II is bullshit. It’s mean, unforgiving and the dungeon crawling and the counter-intuitive measures it forces onto the player aren’t fun in any sense of the word. The player enters Dezolis from Skure spaceport, which is in of itself an annoying long labyrinth. There are four exits to Skure, each leading to different sections of the Dezolis world map. There are three towns on Dezolis and four hidden dungeons that won’t appear until a specific key item is acquired, but that’s not the worst part. In the three towns return the Dezolians from the first game. Now, in Phantasy Star I they had a very nasty characteristic of lying to the player, but the designers decided that Dezolians needed to speak a completely different language from the player. There is a work-around for this, but it’s in the form of the mogic cap (not to be confused with the magic cap, which are different items) which once equipped allows the player to speak properly with the Dezolians. Until the player does this, they will be locked out of using any kind of services in any towns, such as warping/save/equipment shops/and healing. This glaring issue is further compounded by the fact that the mogic cap cannot be purchased on Motavia, and is only found in Skure. I already mentioned this, but Skure is not exactly a small, linear dungeon (Which is the only way such a mechanic would come off as anything less than horseshit) but a fairly big one with lots of passages a player could easily miss. Until the mogic cap is collected and equipped, the player can’t even heal of all things, meaning if the player is out of TP, they have to go all the way back to Skure, use the spaceship to go back to Motavia and then heal. Then they have to go back to the spaceship and make their way through Skure once more and then travel to wherever the player was advancing to. This is unnecessarily tedious and is complete horseshit, as far as I’m concerned. Fortunately, as an experienced veteran of the game I know to pick it up each time I play the game, but a first-time player will not have that advantage and likely run to the wall of frustration I mentioned. If the player does get the mogic cap, then Dezolis is nowhere near as tedious as I described thanks to being able to warp between towns safely and having access to healing. Now, I complained about how Phantasy Star I handled Dezolis and how it was easily the worst part of the game. The same thing applies here, but I think how this game does it is worse than the first game.

Ranting aside, I do like where Dezolis comes into play as far as plot goes. It’s the final stretch of the game, a planet devoid of much life or technology. Mother Brain’s reach to this planet consists of the occasional machine enemies the player fights, but most of the combat consists of native Dezolian creatures, implying that MB doesn’t have much influence on Dezolis. Whereas Motavia represents a technological paradise, Dezolis represents nature at its coldest and harshest. I find it to be an interesting foil between the two planets and their positions as far as plot and gameplay are concerned. It really solidifies the whole “man vs. technology” theme that runs rampant across the game.

Finally, once the player reaches the Esper Mansion they’re finally showcased what exactly is going on with the world. The leader of the mansion, Lutz revives from a long sleep to essentially give a plotdump. The evil incarnation Dark Force from the first game apparently has something to do this with the issues surrounding Mother Brain, and that Rolf is the last descendant of Alissa from the first game. Again, this drives home the connection from this game to the previous one: Rolf taking the same position Alissa was in before. On the run against a tyrannical foe with the odds against them, except this time Mother Brain seems to be a more over-reaching enemy than LaShiec ever was. It’s interesting to compare to the two, since one was a human who succumbed to the powers of Dark Force and subsequently lost his humanity while the other is a machine that has no personality outside of its programming. It’s also interesting to note that this also makes sense thematically why Rolf is having a dream about Alissa’s fight with Dark Force. It foreshadows what Rolf must eventually do for himself and who or what is exactly behind the events that have taken place. It’s also revealed that Rolf was saved from death by Lutz during a spaceflight when he was a small child (Though that bit is never really gone into detail). It’s interesting to note that this was the event that leads to Mother Brain banning all space travel.  It’s at this point Lutz explains to the player what needs to be accomplished. By acquiring the eight Nei arms the player will have the opportunity to defeat Mother Brain and the evil surrounding Algol once again. It’s not explained why the arms are referred to as “Nei” (The word literally means “Human that is not a human”, but it’s not clear how that relates to the weapons), but their power is assumed to be enough to do the job. Lutz hands over the Aeroprism which makes the next four dungeons that were previously invisible to the naked eye clear and visible.

While I really do like this scene as far as plot goes, because it establishes so many connections between the two games it’s pretty abysmal on the gameplay end. The player needs to acquire two Nei items from each of the four dungeons, which makes this segment of the game little more than an annoying fetch-quest.  These are also some of the most complex and irritating dungeons in the entire game, at which point they almost mandate the use of a map to get through them.

Take a look at the most egregious example. This is Ikuto, which is as far as I’m concerned the most complex dungeon I’ve ever come across in an rpg. It’s getting it’s own paragraph simply because of how much bullshit it throws at the player. Not only are there plenty of enemies who can easily wipe out your party in a couple of rounds, but the dungeon has a unique twist to it. Instead of starting from the bottom and working their way up to the top, Ikuto works in reverse. The player starts at the top and must use pits to descend floors, but with no way to go back to the top without the warp spell. If you’re going through this without a map, you’re going to have to go through this dungeon multiple times because of how many potential paths exist in this dungeon. I don’t mind complexity, but Ikuto takes things way too far to the point that I consider Ikuto impossible without a map.

Once the player has acquired each of the arms, Lutz offers the player the final Nei item, the “Nei Sword” for Rolf to use and then offers to transport his party to the final dungeon where Mother Brain finally awaits.  The final dungeon itself is, shockingly enough, a fairly simple romp. Considering the length, difficulty and challenge the previous dungeons had in them, I’ll take what I can get. At the end of the dungeon, the player comes across an inconspicuous looking treasure chest that instead, holds Dark Force. The very same Dark Force from the first game has returned, implying some kind of link between DF and the corruption of the Algolian universe. I’ve probably beaten this into the ground at this point, but I really do like how the game handles this. For a first time player they still know that Dark Force is one of the antagonists, but for those that played the first game, they get to see how Dark Force has evolved stylistically.

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As the picture above indicates, Dark Force has gone from its initial form to something that looks like it came out of H.R. Giger’s work. Hell, it almost looks distinctly 3D though I suppose that’s just because how the sprite is drawn. Dark Force looks incredibly threatening here, which is fair because it’s the hardest boss in the game, to the point I feel it’s a negative quality. It only has two moves, but one of which inflicts the “Evil” status on a player (This is the only fight in the game in which evil can be inflicted on a player). Evil makes so that party member’s actions occur at random, with a chance to do a variety of useless actions. I don’t mind the evil status as a concept, since Dark Force is an embodiment of evil, it makes sense that it can cause even courageous minds to lose faith in themselves and the mission they’re on. But from a gameplay perspective, it’s bullshit. The only way to rid a player of the evil status is for the Neisword to randomly activate in the middle of combat. There is no method in which to force the Neisword to activate, so it’s entirely up to chance. It’s possible for Dark Force to turn all party members evil, in which they can potentially stand around doing nothing while being beaten into a bloody pulp. This is something would have worked a lot better if the player had a way of activating the Neisword of their own accord, making this boss fight more of a legitimate challenge and not one that ultimately is left up to chance.

With Dark Force gone, only Mother Brain stands in the way of the player. While the boss fight itself comes off as a less threatening Dark Force, in terms of what it means for the plot is pretty interesting. Mother Brain herself as replaced Alissa as the dominant and powerful force “protecting” Algol. Yet Mother Brain is a mechanical entity which completely contrasts Alissa’s victory as an organic force. Both of these characters are female and yet stand in stark contrast to one other, something I find interesting. If Rolf and company do succeed in destroying Mother Brain, then all of the systems that give food and shelter and other services to Motavia will be destroyed. This leaves the population as a whole largely defenseless since they aren’t used to protecting themselves. However, if the party decides to not take out Mother Brain, that leaves this entire operation pointless and will only cause more suffering in the long-run as the citizens continue to become more lethargic and helpless. It’s the ultimate moment in which the player realizes that mankind is going to have to suffer great lengths in order to regain their independence and take on Mother Brain in full force.

At her defeat, it seems like everything is as planned. Motavia and the rest of Algol will have to live without the advanced technology, but they’re free, right? Well, not quite yet. The player is introduced to a group of men who apparently had everything to do with the events of this game. More plotdumping is then explained to the player, with the dubbed “Earthmen” having used Mother Brain to slowly take over and weaken Algol from the inside out. As it turns out, Dark Force influenced them to evil, and somehow (this isn’t brought into exact detail) caused them to rot the Earth to the point of decay. This brought a lot of anger and frustration upon them and wanted to wreck Algol as a result. It sounds a bit hokey on the surface, but it brings up some interesting things as well. It proves that Dark Force was the force behind not only the first game but this one too, and implies that while Dark Force can influence others, it does not directly control them. The Earthmen chose to do evil because it existed in their hearts, and not simply because they were being forced to, which I think is an important and powerful distinction. I only wish the explanation behind the motivation of the Earthmen wasn’t so corny.

In the final climactic scene, the Earthmen and Rolf’s companions do battle with each other over the fate of Algol. Each of the party members gives one final, inspiring line of dialogue to the audience and then ends without actually showing what happened. It’s never actually stated what really happens in that final scene but I imagine Rolf’s party was victorious but couldn’t survive or make their way back home for whatever reason. As for what happens to Algol without Mother Brain’s protections? Well, that’s what Phantasy Star IV exists for. It’s a jarring ending, but I appropriate for the atmosphere the game has. The inclusion of the boss theme in the climactic cutscene at the end is an amazing addition to the energy of the scene.

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(I mean seriously, tell me that’s not badass as fuck)

That brings me to the final part of this plot dissection by asking a question. “What is the overarching and dominant theme of Phantasy Star II?”. Now, someone may say “It’s just a video game, why go into such detail about the themes?” Well, that’s because I feel that PSII went to the effort to create them, so I’m going to go to the effort to dissect them. PSII doesn’t do it perfectly (I’d certainly have appreciated a lot more dialogue and character development from the rest of the party) but I still think how it handles this is leagues above not only most rpgs of it’s heyday, but games even today.

Phantasy Star I’s theme was about someone doing what was right in the face of adversity, despite enormous odds levied against themselves. I feel that’s definitely present in the sequel, but expanded upon moreso. Technology becomes a much bigger factor in the world of Phantasy Star II. Motavia is transformed from a desert planet to a green paradise, but at the cost of the citizens becoming lethargic with their newfound protection. This creates a man vs. technology theme that wasn’t present in the previous game, but not in the sense that nature is pure and technology is evil as one might expect. The planet Dezolis has barely any influence from Mother Brain but is still a very harsh wasteland, destroying that theory. Instead, I look at it like this, nature represents man at it’s basest: uncivilized but able to fight and protect for itself whereas technology represents a civilized man but has lost his way. Nei exists as a half-breed between these two, so that nature and technology can be bridged in harmony with one another. Unfortunately, events come up so that doesn’t come to fruition, but it’s a theory that takes further hold in Phantasy Star IV, and I feel Phantasy Star II planted those seeds. Nei’s death represents that man isn’t quite ready to find harmony between nature and technology. It’s essentially the whole “Apollonian vs Dionysian” argument all over again, with nature taking the Dionysian side and technology taking the side of Apollo, neither able to find harmony with one other. With that being said, I think the key theme of Phantasy Star II is a political one. Others may disagree with me, but I think Phantasy Star II is making a statement about the follies of Socialism. The  world of Motavia, Mother Brain and how it all connects to each other gives the impression of the game as a whole being an allegory to Socialism. Mother Brain essentially controls all major functions of governement for Algol. She captured Rolf and his crew and sent them to die without a trial, gives food and sustenance to all citizens of Algol. There is no democratic voting process to it, Mother Brain decides everything. There’s no real way around it, I can’t possibly see Mother Brain as anything less than an allegory to Socialism itself. I find it interesting that a Japanese developer would make that kind of a statement and not a more western country in their stead.

Now, as I’ve rambled on for quite a lengthy period of time, what is there for me to say about Phantasy Star II in closing? It’s a beautifully frustrating game. The difficulty of it is insane to say the least and the dungeon design is enough to cause one to rip their hair out in frustration. It’s a beautiful game in that it introduced many concepts previously unheard of to rpgs such as a linear, epic plot. It brought concepts such as sci-fi directly into the jrpg genre defying the notion that every rpg needed to be stuck in a drab Middle-Ages setting, and dared to bring deeper themes and allegories into a video game. But actually getting to experience those points can be a frustrating and tedious affair due to its archaic design. In 1989, Phantasy Star II was an incredible masterpiece for to compare other rpgs to. Phantasy Star II set further standards for rpg sequels to have to live up to by continuing basic trends associated with the franchise while massively expanding on its scope and direction. In 2014, it’s an incredibly influential game that falls short due to its age, but it’s ambitious vision shouldn’t be denied because of that.

Phantasy Star (Sega Master System/Sega Mark III, 1987, Sega AM7)

So, I’ve never ever written a review for an RPG in my entire life. Which is exactly why I intend on doing this retrospective on the Phantasy Star franchise, reviewing four RPGs in the order of Phantasy Star I, Phantasy Star II, Phantasy Star IV, and finally Phantasy Star III. If you’re at all curious as to why III is after IV, that’s because III is really weird and in fact takes place after IV does canonically, whereas IV is the actual sequel to II and III is best described as a side-game. That and my feelings on III are exceedingly negative and I want to save my negativity for the last entry.

Phantasy Star (J)

Now, if you’re at all familiar with me and my opinions, you’d know I absolutely love Phantasy Star as a franchise. Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Pokemon, etc. are all rpg franchises I greatly enjoy to varying degrees, but none of them hit the sweet spot like Phantasy Star does. Phantasy Star is a series that manages to build upon each subsequent entry while introducing new concepts that make each game better than the last. Each game has it’s own core identity so no two games in the series feel similar yet there’s more than enough differences between each game to not feel monotonous. Of course, one could argue that’s exactly why III is the way it is, but that’s a tangent for a later time.

Now, because this review is looking at a game that is older than I am (Which is 24 at the time of this review, if you’re curious) by two years that means that this particular game is dated. Really dated. I still enjoy this game regardless of its age, but that means a lot of criticisms will be levied at some of the more archaic design choices Phantasy Star makes. If someone who is more accustomed to modern gaming conveniences, they would be hard-pressed to get past some of the things Phantasy Star forces upon the player, so I think these criticisms are more than fair. Now, since I’ve already brought up the subject of archaic game design, I feel that I should start this review off with the less archaic elements of Phantasy Star that actually have aged well and move on to its criticisms later on. And if there’s anything Phantasy Star does well is how it handles its themes. I specify themes because the actual plot itself of Phantasy Star may be a bit quirky yet nothing terribly original. But I find how Phantasy Star uses its themes to be quite interesting for an 8 bit title, if nothing else.

Phantasy Star begins rather abruptly in the fictional Solar System of Algol, taking the place of Alissa Landale who in the span of less than a minute witnesses the brutal death of her brother, Nero. Nero in his final breath pleads to his sister to avenge his death and tells her to acquire the help of a local hero, Tylon. Alissa agrees to her brother’s final wish and resolves to murder LaShiec, whose soldiers were responsible for Nero’s death to begin with. Now, I want to make it clear what this opening scene establishes in such a short time span: motivation. Right out of the gate, Alissa’s entire reason for going on this adventure is established very neatly. What also makes it really stand out for me is how efficient it handles motivation. Less than five minutes in, and the entire reason for the adventure is established. It doesn’t meander around, incessantly doodling around until the motivating force is finally established, it does so in a very compact and efficient manner and I commend Phantasy Star for that. Too many games stifle any sense of pacing by forcing an excessive amount of cut-scenes on the player before the game can even begin. By not doing so, the player is free to progress as they please.

Now that the motivation has been established, the player is able to do as they please, crossing over different areas, towns, dungeons and fight a large variety of enemies as is common fair in this sub-genre. One thing in Phantasy Star’s structure is that direction is heavily influenced by talking to NPC’s. There’s not much in the way of a linear plot to lead the player in the proper direction, so this is how Phantasy Star handles direction and I think it’s done adequately, if nothing else. There was rarely a time in my playthroughs I found myself confused on the overall direction and where to go to next. That doesn’t mean there aren’t a few snafus in this department, but overall I’d say direction is satisfactory. Now, getting back on track after the previous tangent, I commented on themes and how they relate to Phantasy Star. You see, the game’s primary antagonist – LaShiec sits alone in his Air Castle which is invisible to the naked eye. The majority of the game is spent trying to gather party members and then trying to find the necessary plot items to reveal the Air Castle and finally take out LaShiec once and for all. While having the villain sit in their fortress the entire time may seem a bit weak as far as villain presence is concerned, it’s interesting thematically. Because the Air Castle is naturally invisible, it gives the impression that LaShiec is untouchable, his fortress impregnable, and Alissa’s mission impossible. Because LaShiec is perceived to be untouchable, that makes Alissa’s resolve to assassinate LaShiec all the more impressive, given the odds that are stacked against her. As the player progresses through the game, they’ll come across more NPCs that given their plight give the impression that LaShiec does not give a fuck if his subjects are living in hellish situations or not. This only strengthens Alissa’s position that LaShiec needs to be eliminated, not only for the sake of revenge, but to protect innocent people that are being hurt by his rule. Of course, this is all interpretive, but it’s what isn’t said that makes this stand out all the more strongly to me.

So, as far as storytelling goes, Phantasy Star certainly succeeds if you’re into interpretive speculation like I am. However, Phantasy Star also has a number of failings, most of which are due to its age. There are a number of archaic issues that I feel are necessary to bring up. First, is combat. Like many other rpgs of this era,  Phantasy Star employs a turn based combat system. Players are given the option to attack, use a magic spell, use an item, Talk to the enemy (Which is horribly under-utilized but interesting nonetheless) or run from combat. There’s nothing wrong with this setup at all. It’s simplistic, but at the same time it’s far from confusing. What it lacks though, is variety. Magic is certainly useful, and it’s not the most useless in the series (That would belong to III), but the point to bring up is the availability of magic. Even the “Mage” archetypical character, Lutz, doesn’t have enough MP to dish out spells in every combat the player is in, forcing them to pick and choose when it’s the most efficient time to actually use their spells. The spells that are given aren’t that expensive, but the characters themselves have very poor pools of MP to draw upon, leaving them starved for magic. That leaves the player using the attack function a good chunk of the time, leading to the lack of variety I mentioned. This doesn’t mean magic is useless (Far from it) but it makes the scenarios in which a player can reasonably use magic are quite limited. This particular grievance isn’t unique to Phantasy Star but a pretty common occurrence in early generation RPGs, but it’s still a quality that makes Phantasy Star seem fairly archaic. The two later sequels would build upon this magic system immensely and make it far more enjoyable to use.

Going from one negative attribute to a more positive one, while Phantasy Star’s balance and battle mechanics aren’t particularly engaging, one thing Phantasy Star does well with combat is presentation. Enemy animations are surprisingly fluid and well-animated for the time period and are a lot more interesting visually than a very small sprite barely wiggling his or her arms. Another aspect of Phantasy Star’s presentation is its music, and by that I mean the japanese Master System FM soundtrack. There are three distinct dungeon themes that Phantasy Star rotates between, each with their own distinct personality and flair. This keeps the music played from growing stale to the player, especially when a good chunk of Phantasy Star’s playtime is spent dungeon-crawling. The music itself is quite vibrant, full of color, catchy and hits home a very distinctly “fun” impression upon the player.

Speaking of dungeons, now that the subject has been brought up it’s probably prudent to go in a bit more detail about them. I’ve already mentioned before that they take place in the 1st person and that the lack of a mini-map is a huge detriment to the game, so I’ll leave that criticism at the door for now. What I do want to focus on is the other aspects of Phantasy Star’s dungeon design. Like most rpgs of this era, encounters can happen at random every time the player takes a step, but the encounters don’t have a transition effect, they game places the appropriate menus without any need for a transition. I think that’s pretty neat for it’s time, especially with some of the lengthier battle transitions rpgs have come to embrace. The game’s dungeons though, do seem to have a logical flow in terms of complexity and difficulty. The early dungeons, even with the flaw of having no map function, are relatively easy to navigate. It isn’t until the later dungeons that get hideously difficult as the game has earned its reputation for being extremely difficult. Of course, the specific order in which you tackle the dungeons can very due to the game’s semi non-linear nature, but in general the dungeons will get harder as you progress through the game.

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I figure this is the best time to transition into the game’s structure. As I mentioned before, it retains a semi non-linear structure, somewhat reminiscent of Dragon Quest III. The beginning of the game is linear, with the player heading from point A to point B to point C and so on. After a specific point in the game (In this case, the construction of the space-ship and the acquiring of Hapsby) the entirety of the game’s three planets opens up to the player. In order to get to the game’s goal of killing LaShiec, the player needs a variety of “key items” in order to gain access to the Floating Castle. There’s not a terrific amount of plot involved in collecting these, outside of some slight backstory relevance to them, but they give a purpose and something to look forward to, and offer a sense of satisfaction once collected. It’s not much, but those little things can help offer a sense of gradual progression to a player, which I think is a much underplayed aspect of rpg design that some of the better games of this genre utilize very well. NPCs in Phantasy Star tend to at least poke the player in the proper direction of what “plot tokens” are needed, though this is not always the case. I feel that’s a good middle ground in between the dichotomy of just how much games are expected to hold your hand or to leave you completely out in the open.

As far as progression and structured are concerned, Phantasy Star is rock solid, as we’ve clearly established. A tad archaic when it comes to combat, but its presentation is solid enough to at least counter that criticism. I think it’s time to nitpick at various points of the game, since most of Phantasy Star’s mechanics have been dissected fairly in-depth by now.

I’ve mentioned before that the universe of Phantasy Star is split into 3 distinct planets – Motavia, Palma and Dezolis. I have no issues in how Motavia and Palma are structured into the game, but I do have some significant problems in how Dezolis is thrusted at the player. Now, the player can choose to tackle the events on Dezolis last, which is a good thing. What’s wrong with Dezolis? It’s extremely segmented. What I mean is that Dezolis is branched off into several areas divided by very short dungeons that are easy enough to find one’s way through it. To get from one end of the planet to the other, you’re likely to have to go through 5-6 of these passages, so making ones way through this planet is a bit tedious. This is especially jarring when the player has to move all throughout this planet to acquire multiple plot-relevant items necessary for completion. Even more so when you include the necessity of an item to illuminate dungeons. Gven the limited inventory space of the game, that can add up pretty fast and serve to make Dezolis more frustrating than it should honestly be. I think this map does a decent enough job illustrating what I mean about Dezolis’ structure.

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Now, continuing off a previous tangent – inventory management. Due to how Dezolis is thrown together, it definitely becomes an issue in that section of the game, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a problem in other parts of the game. The game allots thirty item slots to the player, but plot items count against that number. Fortunately, equipped items do not, but with the considerable amount of plot items thrown at the player at the tail end of the game, there isn’t much room for healing items.

This is especially worrisome when it comes to the most complicated dungeon in the game, Bala Malay. A dungeon this complex shouldn’t have to be bogged down with inventory management issues, because it takes a dungeon that’s clearly complex to the point of absurdity and compounds the issue. Making it so that key items didn’t clog up the inventory would definitely have alleviated most issues that this game has, especially with this sadistic dungeon waiting in the wings at the end of the game.

Now that I’ve talked about most things related to the game itself, I’d like to discuss a fan translation of the game. The original game had a pretty spotty translation; that was pretty par for the course for games of its era, but today it’s really glaring. Fortunately, the folks at SMSPower have done a wonderful job in fixing the translation problems, changing the font to something more readable and using the superior FM soundchip the Japanese version had. The following link will bring you to where you can properly play the game it should be played.

http://www.smspower.org/Translations/PhantasyStar-SMS-EN

With all these considerations in mind, Phantasy Star is an archaic, dated game. But for the time in which it was released, it was also incredibly ambitious and far-reaching, doing things the jrpg genre had not even conceived of before. It added sci-fi elements to a genre that was almost always stuck in the mindset that all jrpgs needed to be medieval, among other things. In the end, if we evaluate the game for when it was released and not by modern conventions, I think Phantasy Star is definitely a success. It’s not my favorite game in the series, but it establishes more than enough to justify its existence in the franchise and to this day is still one of the most influential jrpgs of its time. That’s good enough for me, and hopefully for you.

Sonic Genesis (Game Boy Advance, 2006, Sonic Team)

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Last time, I reviewed a game I had plenty of adoration and respect for and helped shape my gamer sensibilities growing up. This time, let’s shake things up a bit. I’m going to review a game that I feel the complete opposite. I have absolutely no love, no respect for this game whatsoever. I would go so far as to say that I loathe this game to a fair degree.

My first experience with a video game was at the tender age of two. Christmas morning, the year of 1991 I was given a Sega Genesis and a copy of the then-massively popular Sonic the Hedgehog game. At two years old, not only was the game revolutionary, it was mind-blowing. Of course, I wasn’t very good at the game at that age, but it set the foundation necessary to drive my interest in video games. It helped that the game was fucking brilliant and a near masterpiece only held back by minor flaws that the 3rd game in the franchise would fix.

Sonic the Hedgehog toned back the “Nintendo-hard” elements common in many NES 2d platformers, but didn’t dumb down the experience one iota. It just made the game that much more accessible to those that found Castlevania, Megaman, etc. to be a bit beyond their skill level. The game was intuitive but maintained a subtle level of complexity through it’s unique physics engine and non-linear level design. As I grew older, I found I adored intuitive game design (No doubt from my experiences with Sonic as a child) and some of my favorites games strike a delicate balance between being intuitive and accessible enough to engage the player but complex enough to not make the experience seem hollow and empty.

The physics engine allowed players to build enough momentum to quickly blast through levels – assuming they had the skills to maintain said momentum. Varying terrains (That being, the levels aren’t entirely flat terrain and actually vary, and skilled players can actually use this to their advantage!) could affect their momentum, obstacles could slow down their speed, different paths had different types of speed available to them. Being fast wasn’t a requirement, merely something for advanced players to do to prove their skill at the game. One could easily take their time and slowly crawl through it, and there would be hardly any punishment for it, but the reward for skillful play was plentiful and encourage repeated playthroughs so a player could master the game.

It was in this mentality, this kind of subtle design that Sonic the Hedgehog was such a massive success. In contrast, Sonic’s predecessors almost required a very high degree of skill to get by or to frustrate yourself trying. They lacked this intuitive yet clever design that made Sonic the Hedgehog so brilliant. They are by no means bad games, but a definite flaw to be brought up when discussing them. And it is with how these qualities made Sonic the Hedgehog such a fantastic success, made Sonic Genesis such an awful, awful game.

Sonic Genesis, as you may have already surmised by now, is a port of the original Sonic the Hedgehog, but on the Game Boy Advance. The port includes remixed tracks and the inclusion of the spindash move from the later Sonic games, which was not originally in Sonic the Hedgehog. So why exactly is this game such a failure? It’s a complete technical mess, resembling the original game by nothing more than level aesthetics and brand name, having none of the clever design quirks that made the game so brilliant. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, if you will.

According to the good folks over at Sonic Retro, Genesis was made using the Sonic Advance engine, with the original Sonic the Hedgehog source code. Now, I’m not a hacker, or a coder, or anyone who can say with any degree of professionalism as to what affect this had on Sonic Genesis’ physics, but I’d like to assume this decision influenced the game’s poor physics. I don’t think it’d be much of a stretch to say, that this decision reeks of laziness (Though not unsurprising, given Sega’s reputation around this time).


A good look at some of the game’s hilarious physics. Credit goes to the video author.

As you can see by watching this video, Genesis’ physics are beyond “wonky”. They’re absolutely abhorrent. The physics of the original game rewarded memorization and skill, yet maintained a fresh sense of intuitive design that still remains today. In this “port”, the control is jittery, unfocused, and lacks any sense of real “control”. The player is at the mercy of the game, instead of the player being able to manipulate the game to their whims. I won’t go into the minor details regarding Sonic the Hedgehog’s physics engine, but the general gist of it can be boiled down to “Slower uphill, faster downhill”, which allows the player to manipulate their environment so they can go as fast or as slow as they like. This gives the player an unparalleled sense of control compared to many other games. That’s the key word “Control”. The player is left helpless and out of control. In that sense, this port is hardly anything but a failure.

Many times, I’ve encountered situations where I was certain that the game had changed the hitboxes dramatically. Close encounters with spikes/enemies/obstacles that I could barely clear in the Genesis version, damaged/killed me without hesitation in this port. This requires me to completely change my approach to how I play the game, despite the many playthroughs I’ve completed in the original game. This in essence, completely defeats the point of a port (Which is to allow people who didn’t grow up with the game to experience the original game with some minor touchups, not entire physics changes). Sonic Genesis is not a remake of the original, but marketed as a port of the original, so this is completely unacceptable. Now, if this was a remake, I might be a bit more receptive to these changes (Though in all honesty, even in a remake these changes are total ass), but it’s a port.

Why is this all so important, you ask? That’s because, this lazy decision turned Sonic Genesis into the anti Sonic the Hedgehog, in a sense. It twisted and distorted everything that made Sonic the Hedgehog such a fun game to play, and made it incredibly tedious and cheap. The “screen crunch” (Meaning that in the transition from the console game to a handheld, less can be shown on the screen at once, giving the player a much smaller range of vision making the experience more frustrating as a result) makes jumps that were once routine, an exercise in tedium and frustration. This alone removes the intuitiveness that had made the game a classic, and one of it’s most addictive and accessible features. Only truly skilled players will be able to progress through this game, and that’s only through memorizing the game’s level design and enemy placement. A player whose first experience to Sonic the Hedgehog is this port, will find it to be incredibly difficult and frustrating. In short, Sonic Genesis just isn’t fun to play at all.

The remixed music, is probably the best part about the game, despite the pretty poor sound quality of the Game Boy Advance. It’s mediocre, and if you have a nostalgic connection to the old tunes, will probably make you cringe at first listen. They’re not abhorrent or atrocious if you don’t have any kind of nostalgia for the game’s original soundtrack, but it’s certainly mediocre and nothing noteworthy. The least offensive and most enjoyable aspect of the game, if you ask me.

The only way I can honestly recommend anyone play this game is if they are truly curious if the game is as bad as people say it is (Protip: It’s worse). If you want to play the original, I’d recommend emulation well before this recommending this port (And this game has been ported to so many goddamn platforms, there’s no real need to unless you’re really strapped for cash). I love Sonic the Hedgehog, the franchise and the original game with this title (Of course, not the 2006 title of the same name) despite the ups and downs that come with this franchise. But Sonic Genesis, is a game I honestly despise, to the point that I’d consider it the worst game in the series. Arguments can be made for other games in this woefully inconsistent franchise for being worse (Sonic 06, Labyrinth, Blast, Shadow to name a few), but I honestly think Genesis takes the cake.

Ristar (Sega Genesis, 1995, Sonic Team)

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Sometime back in 1995, a quirky and odd, but strangely charming platformer made its way onto the Sega Genesis. Made by the wonderful folks at Sonic Team (The same group responsible for the Genesis Sonic games), Ristar certainly gets a similar treatment as the old Sonics did. For a Sega Genesis game, Ristar looks incredible. There is a surprisingly large amount of attention to detail present within the game, which I wouldn’t expect anything less than the folks who created my all-time favorite video game (Sonic 3 & Knuckles). Ristar certainly gives off the impression that there was a lot of time and effort spent into its development. I mentioned before that Ristar looks very sexy for a Genesis game but that’s not all! Call me insane, but I swear Ristar looks just as good as a Super Nintendo title, if not a bit better. Which is quite an accomplishment, given the Super Nintendo’s superior hardware compared to the Sega Genesis, so clearly the effort put into this game definitely shows. But how does it play?

In a word, balanced. One of the few 16 bit platformers I’ve played that doesn’t suffer from being either painfully difficult or pitifully easy. Not to say either is a bad design choice (I’m a hardcore Castlevania fanatic, and my favorite game of all-time is Sonic 3 & Knuckles which is piss easy as far as I’m concerned), but its definitely refreshing to see a platformer maintain a balanced difficulty curve from beginning to end (With exception to the final boss, but at that point, they already have your money). Early on, Ristar is a pretty easy game. You have plenty of time to react to any dangers that come your way, it slowly introduces gimmicks that become more pertinent as the game goes on. Enemies are large and easy to notice and being able to react to them isn’t an issue. As the game progresses though, the level designs get a bit more subtle, enemy and boss patterns get more complex and require using the skills you obtained playing through the game to move past them. Failure to learn from what the game taught you prior will most likely not end well. While the early game is quite simple and easy, and the mid-game is nothing to write home about if you’re experienced with platformers (As far as difficulty is concerned), the final boss at the end of the game can really catch you off-guard and is far more difficult than anything else the game has thrust upon you. Ristar’s narrative is about as typical as you can get for a 16 bit platformer, which is to say it does what it needs to and nothing more. It introduces a crisis and a motivation for the main character to take care of it and leaves the player to finish the job. Ristar’s father among many other dwelling citizens among the solar system that this game occupies has been kidnapped by the evil space tyrant Greedy. Ristar’s father supposedly is a great hero of some kind, but the game never really goes into detail about that. So in short, with his father kidnapped, its up to Ristar to save the day! Eh, not the greatest narrative either, but platformers have never been known for their plots (Well except for Ninja Gaiden). As mentioned before, it does what it needs to do. It introduces Ristar’s place in the game, and a clear motivation for what he sets out to do. Is it shallow? Absolutely, but for a game of this scope, I don’t particularly mind.

Now Ristar (Who looks like an animated star, with arms and legs and the like) controls pretty simply. There’s nothing ultra-complex about the game, so the learning curve is fairly moderate (Unless learning how to manuever the spinning poles counts as complex). The main thing that sticks out about Ristar is his ability to extend and stretch his arms considerable lengths, enough to grab and bash into them and defeat his foes. The whole stretch mechanic is kind of interesting in that while Ristar is bashing into enemies he gets a few invincibility frames during that animation, which can come in handy in a few boss fights and makes certain portions of the game much easier otherwise (It seems minor at first, but those invincibility frames can be godsends in some boss fights). The game also introduces some swinging poles that allow Ristar to move in a circle and collect enough momentum that he can bounce around the screen like a “Shooting Star” (Hence why he’s a Star) and is invincible during that period. While bouncing about, he’s pretty stiff and difficult to control, but Ristar is not a game that revolves around cheap instant death pits, and he is invincible, so it’s not a huge issue. He can grab in all eight directions (Just like Simon Belmont can whip in all eight directions in Super Castlevania IV!) too. During normal gameplay (That is, not in one of the harder difficulty settings) Ristar has four units of health represented by a group of stars in the far right corner of the screen. Losing all of them causes him to lose a life, as you would expect of a platformer from this generation. Throughout the levels are yellow stars and blue stars, which restore 1 and 4 units of health respectively, so if you’re diligent and can find where they are located, Ristar can manage to take a decent beating. However, the game maintains a cap of 4 health points so that if you’re particularly aggressive (without the necessary skill to back it up) you’re in for an ass-kicking.

In addition to needing to travel throughout the solar system and its planets to rescue everyone from Greedy’s grasp, there exists the option of partaking in a number of special bonus rounds. These are completely optional, but performing and completing them allows you to gain access to special passwords once you’ve completed the game. They’re essentially mini-games, one in each level that isn’t a boss act. You only get one chance to complete the mini-game though, and each one has a time limit and some of the later special rounds can be quite stingy with their time limit, which makes getting all 12 relics feels like an exercise in trial and error/memorization. If you fail, you won’t get another chance unless you start a new game. But again, they’re completely optional, and there’s hardly any penalty for not getting them other than missing out on a few passwords that aren’t even that important (They simply allow things like boss rush, harder difficulty settings, level select, etc.)

Each level is broken up into 3 areas a piece with a sub-boss at the end of the first area and the real boss in the 3rd area, each with their own music and designs. Its rather refreshing to see different musical pieces used throughout the levels and not just one theme for each area. It also helps that Ristar’s musical score is quite spectacular in its own right, but we’ll get to that in a bit. Each level takes place on one of the several planets in Ristar’s solar system, and they’re all incredibly vibrant and very pretty to look at considering the era in which the game came out. The backgrounds and environments have a lot of attention to detail, as does Ristar himself. He alone has several animations present for a variety of situations which all pretty silly and funny in their own way, and the bosses have their own gimmicks to make them all feel unique from one another (The game’s 2nd boss is a Shark that attempts to ram at Ristar in the water, but damaging him causes him to ram into various plugs that hold the water in the room, causing the water to decrease his effectiveness to gradually decrease over the fight. It’s not anything special, but it is that little attention to detail that makes Ristar special). You see, I’m an absolute whore for attention to detail, so neat little things like that just stick out to me, and Ristar being a game that does attention to detail pretty well, has my attention as such.

As far as level design is concerned, the game strikes a nice balance between not being hand-holding and not being confusing to the player. While the levels aren’t nearly as non-linear as what someone would expect from Sonic 3 & Knuckles stages or the sprawling labyrinthine design of Super Metroid, it’s not as linear as say – Mario 1 would be. It’s a nice balance and it’s easier for a first-time player to sink their teeth into it, without an experienced player getting tired of picking the same path through the level for the nth time. Like a lot of platformers of the era, Ristar likes to use the method of introducing a mechanic early in a level as a subtle tutorial and then expanding upon that gimmick down the road as the player has had more opportunities to get used to said mechanic (Which is exactly how it should be done, Sonic Team. Not that I’m bitter, or complaining or anything.)

Each individual world, as mentioned before, is quite pleasing to look at on it’s own, though I suppose each world falls into “generic platformer level” trope as far as aesthetics are concerned (Being a 2d platforming whore on the other hand, I really don’t give a damn as long as they’re done well). The first planet (Flora) is a lush, green filled world (or the token “Green Hill Zone” level if you want to go that far) with plenty of color and is the easiest level in the game. The 2nd one (Undertow) could be described as “token water level” (Though Ristar sports much better swimming controls than a lot of games do, so this really isn’t a bad thing). The 3rd world (Scorch), is your token fire world or would be if I played more platformers whose fire levels rained meteors on you periodically and had a sub-boss that consists of a few matches of “Simon Says”. The 4th world (Sonata) is actually quite unique in that it doesn’t take an elemental theme (Like your usual Forest/Jungle/Fire/Ice/etc. levels) and is instead focused on music as a theme (the 2nd level of this world is filled with nothing but instruments as platforming gimmicks. It’s actually quite fun to mess around with them). The 5th world (Freon) is your token “Ice level”, though I find it captures the “winter wonderland” atmosphere quite well. Despite the world not doing anything particularly noteworthy as far as aesthetics are concerned, it’s fun enough on it’s own. The 6th world (Automaton) takes on a very futuristic and mechanical tone (Not unlike Metallic Madness from Sonic CD) and makes pretty interesting use of the swinging mechanic that other levels don’t. The final world, isn’t really much of a world on it’s own. Instead, it’s a prologue (and by that, I mean a small level that might as well act as a prologue to the final boss), a penultimate boss fight (Which is actually quite easy once you realize Ristar has invinciblity frames once he bounces off of enemies after grabbing them), and a final boss fight (Which despite the game’s colorful and cheery tone, is actually quite difficult and can be a complete bastard if you suck at the game).

The game’s assortment of bosses, I find maintain legitimate difficulty (You could argue the final boss’ instant death vortex is cheap, though the method in which the player avoids the attack is one of the game’s main gimmicks, so it might not be as cheap as first glance would indicate) throughout. The early game bosses have pretty simple patterns that are easy to recognize and counter. Later on in the game, the bosses are faster and a bit trickier to figure out their attack patterns (Which again, is how I feel difficulty in a game should be handled). As far as design goes, the bosses manage to be quite memorable and colorful (Who can forget beating a giant bird that shoves sour musical notes on the player or an ice monster that’s killed by throwing hot soup in it’s mouth?) Upon completing the game, the player is rewarded with passwords based on how many treasures he/she found during the course of the game, like mentioned earlier. Unfortunately, this brings me to a criticism of the game and that is how the passwords are given to the player. In order to get the full passwords, you need to acquire all twelve treasures, which isn’t exactly an easy feat on it’s own. The game also has no save feature or a traditional password system (There is no password you can use to save your progress, basically), so if you want the passwords, you’ll need to grab all of the treasures in a single run through. It’s a lot more difficult than it sounds, trust me. It’s a pretty minor complaint (nitpick would be more accurate), but I still feel it’s worth mentioning. It doesn’t ruin the experience of the game for me, but that’s also possibly because I owned the game as a child and have a pretty intimate knowledge of the game’s mechanics. A similar person playing the game for the first time can’t say the same thing, and may not have the same patience for this mechanic as I do. So I feel it is a legitimate complaint, if only a minor one.

Overall, what do I think of Ristar? I think it’s an absolutely fantastic game, with a few minor flaws that hold it back (No save feature, fairly generic platformer tropes, end-game can be quite brutal especially for inexperienced platformer players) from perfection. It’s not my favorite platformer ever, but I do find myself wanting to go back to this game from time to time. If I were to list my favorite 2D platformers, it’s certainly one I’d closely think about listing towards the top, but isn’t quite there. It is, however, a game I can easily recommend to anyone that enjoys 2D platformers like I do. The game is availible on Virtual Console, so even without a Genesis this game can be easily found and purchased.