2274: Holding Back the Night(s) of Azure

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The more I play Nights of Azure, Gust’s latest game, the more I like it.

It’s a slow burn, though, I must admit; although the setup and premise is intriguing, mechanically it feels a little obtuse to begin with — or perhaps I’m just overthinking it and trying to play it like a conventional grind-heavy RPG, which it emphatically isn’t.

There are a whole bunch of unconventional aspects to the game, most notably its progression system. The level cap is just 11, for one thing, and unusually, the protagonist’s level progression isn’t a case of grinding for experience; rather, you collect “Blood” from fallen enemies, and then make use of this in increasingly large quantities to gain a level. Levelling up increases your base stats, unlocks new skills to purchase using the four different types of skill points, and sometimes gives you access to new weapons or abilities.

However, there’s a more noteworthy aspect to levelling up, which is that it gives you access to a story scene between the protagonist Arnice and the “Maiden of Jorth”, a mysterious young woman who looks awfully like Arnice’s ladyfriend Lilysse and hangs out in a dream world. During these scenes, you generally have the option to either find out a bit more about the background lore of the world or a bit more about the relationship between Arnice and Lilysse.

It’s interesting to see level progression and narrative progression intertwined so closely, as this isn’t something that happens very often. In fact, outside of level-locked quests in MMOs, the last time I remember it happening in a single-player RPG is The Granstream Saga on PlayStation 1, though this came at it from the other angle in that you levelled up at predefined moments in the story rather than levelling up triggering story scenes.

There’s a more conventional levelling system in there too in the form of the “Servans” system that forms the main basis for the battle mechanics. During the game’s action sequences, Arnice can take one or more “decks” of Servans with her, and summon them in exchange for her SP. She can have up to four Servans out at once, and each of them have a combination of passive, automatically activated and manually activated “Burst” abilities. They all act independently of Arnice; while you can give them some rudimentary orders such as “Follow me” and “Attack my target”, they mostly do their own thing according to their personality — some loyally attack your target without question; others hang back and attack if they feel like it; others still don’t like fighting at all and would rather dig up items for you.

There was the potential for the lack of direct control of the Servans to be enormously frustrating, but it seems to work pretty well. Arnice isn’t an especially strong combatant by herself, but wading into the melee yourself generally sends a clear message to your Servans as to which enemies you want to focus on. And the more you use them, the more they level up; after an action scene, they gain experience points in a more “normal RPG” style, levelling up and unlocking abilities of their own.

Each of the Servans seems to have a very different use; I have what feels like a good party right now, but I’m sure it won’t be ideal for every situation. Of particular note in this system is the fact that each Servan has a coloured affinity, and the combination of affinities in your deck (or, rather, which affinity has a clear majority) determines what weird and wonderful demonic form Arnice can transform into after charging up through battle. These demon forms are enormously powerful in various ways — some hit hard, some are very fast, some can take a beating. They’re particularly useful when it comes to the bosses in the game, which are interesting, challenging battles that demand successful juggling of Arnice’s attacks, your Servans’ attacks, positioning and well-timed transformations.

I don’t feel I quite have my head around all the mechanics in Nights of Azure just yet, but I’m enjoying it a lot. The story and characters are compelling, and the game doesn’t waste a lot of time with endless dialogue sequences; it’s pretty pacy, moving from one episode to the next in short order, and the action sequences are cut into short, 5-15 minute chunks, making it an easy game to dip into.

There’s a whole bunch of interesting stuff going on in this game, in other words, and I feel it’s probably a strong contender to spend a month on over at MoeGamer in the near future. So I think I’d probably better start taking notes!

2266: Nights of Azure: A Peculiar Game Destined for Cult Status?

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Two of my favourite games of all time are Cavia’s Nier and Ganbarion’s Pandora’s Tower. They’re both gloriously unconventional takes on the role-playing game genre, mechanically and narratively, and they’re both extremely rewarding to engage with. They were also both the recipient of mediocre to middling reviews when they were first released, and have since — at least, in Nier’s case — broken free of that critical mire and attained cult status.

I’ve only played a couple of hours of it so far, but Gust’s Nights of Azure looks like joining these two overlooked classics in “flawed masterpiece” territory, as it has a lot in common with these two ambitious titles.

Nights of Azure casts you in the role of Arnice, a half-demon woman tasked with slaying Fiends and keeping a young woman called the Saint safe so that she can perform a ritual that will seal away the evil Nightlord and prevent the world from falling into perpetual darkness. There have been numerous Saints throughout the generations, but this time around the young maiden who has been chosen happens to be one Lilysse, a woman with whom it quickly becomes very apparent that Arnice has previously had an extremely close relationship with. Like, lovers close.

The two women are polar opposites in many ways. Lilysse is carefree and demure, while Arnice is confident and serious, though she has an easily rattled side to her. Their reunion after what has seemingly been quite some time apart begins with the two displaying that characteristic awkwardness around one another that two former lovers often show, but it’s obvious that there are still feelings there — particularly once Arnice starts finding crystallised memories around the city that forms the backdrop to the story, and when she starts exploring dream sequences that give you the option of either exploring the overall lore of the setting or the relationship between Arnice and Lilysse.

The gameplay of Nights of Azure isn’t your standard action RPG. There’s a bit of Castlevania in regard to the gothic opera aesthetic; there’s a bit of Shin Megami Tensei in the demon-summoning mechanics — the majority of your damage output in combat will come from your summoned demons; Arnice is mostly there to give orders and support; there’s a bit of 3D brawler action in terms of the basic controls; and there’s even a touch of the Souls series in there with regard to one of the game’s two main currencies being “blood” which can be used either to power up Arnice or purchase things.

Combat is fairly straightforward but satisfying. Arnice has a weak and a strong attack — initially with just a sword, but later with three other weapons — and a special attack that consumes her SP bar. She also has four decks of up to four Servans each to summon, and these also cost SP to summon. When a Servan is summoned, it performs a special ability, so it’s tactically advantageous to wait for a good moment to summon them rather than getting them out right away; once they’re out, they also have access to a Burst ability as well as their skills that they use automatically. This Burst ability is strong and tied to the Servan’s role in the party, be it tank, damage dealer or healer, and is limited by the Servan’s own SP bar.

The Servan stuff is interesting because it reminds me of the good bits of Japanese collectible card games on mobile: you collect units, you level them up and upgrade them, you customise them with attachments, and you take a suitable deck into battle with you to deal with any encounters you might face. Unlike Arnice, Servans level up just by engaging in combat — no Blood required — and gain access to more abilities as they reach higher levels. Arnice can find or purchase Fetishes throughout the game, too, and these can either be “actualised” into a new Servan, or given to an existing Servan to buff them up. Servans’ skills can also be customised by giving them various items.

The structure of Nights of Azure is pretty intriguing, too. All the main action goes on at night-time, and you’re limited to bursts of 15 minutes in the action stages before you have to go back to Arnice’s home base. In practice, this never really becomes an issue because you’ll reach a checkpoint or finish an area long before the timer expires in most cases. After coming back from the evening’s adventures, Arnice does some “daytime activities” that can result in the acquisition of skill points in four different fields, which can then be spent to acquire different abilities. She’s also able to take on quests aside from the main story, which are generally either “kill [x] of [y]” or “find [z]”, but reward her with useful items and currency. There’s also a battle arena where she can take on combat challenges with specific conditions to clear, with varying rewards on offer according to what her score is when she’s completed the challenge in question.

All in all, it feels like a very, very odd game so far — though this isn’t a bad thing at all. It feels inventive and interesting rather than being same old, same old, and I’m interested to see how it develops further. The core narrative of the relationship between the two leading ladies is intriguing and compelling, and the whole narrative is dripping with initially unexplained mysteries, supported by the overall aesthetic having a wonderful otherworldly feel to it — drenched in blue mist with character models that look like flowing pencil sketches, somewhat similar to the Atelier series.

And the music. Oh gosh. How wonderful is the music? Combining Michiru Yamane-style gothic rock tracks in the action stages with some distinctly Shoji Meguro-style jazz and funk back at the hotel and some beautiful solo piano pieces during the more heartfelt moments, the soundtrack is absolutely lovely.

It’s a pity the translation is so atrocious, riddled with typos and grammatical errors — and one of the PSN trophies even refers to the protagonist by the wrong name, presumably an erroneous transliteration from the original Japanese — but ultimately even these flaws don’t detract from an immediately intriguing, compelling and downright bizarre action RPG that deserves a great deal more love and attention than I can guarantee it’s (not) going to get from the gaming community at large.

2265: Final Fantasy XV’s Going to Be Something Special

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The other night, Square Enix held a livestreamed event showing off some information about their upcoming RPG Final Fantasy XV. It was, I think, the biggest deal I’ve ever seen any company make about one single game, and as a marketing exercise, it was enormously successful — despite the rather irritating hosts (I now have even less desire to check out Kinda Funny Games than I did before, which wasn’t much) the event did a good job of teasing the game as well as uncovering some genuine surprises.

This latter aspect is no mean feat in this day and age of leaks and rumours, and it was almost ruined earlier in the day when Gamespot “accidentally” (yeah, I’m sure you hated all the traffic you got) leaked the game’s September 30th release date. Fortunately, the other surprises — and there were several — were successfully kept under wraps, and Square Enix were even able to have a bit of fun with the knowledge that the release date was already out in the wild rather than doing the usual po-faced corporate thing.

So what’s so exciting about Final Fantasy XV then? Well, for me, the most interesting and exciting thing about it is the fact that Square Enix is clearly going all-out on this one. They are taking it very seriously and obviously throwing an enormous budget at both the game and its extended universe.

Yes, I said extended universe: that was one of the biggest surprises of the presentation for me. Because Final Fantasy XV won’t just be telling its story through the game, though this will naturally be the main focus. Alongside the game we’re also getting a prequel anime series, depicting how the main character Noctis and his friends became so close, and a feature-length CG movie called Kingsglaive, which shows a parallel story to the game focusing on Noctis’ father King Regis. Not only that, but we’re also getting a mobile game that actually looks like it might be quite fun, and is actually part of the main game’s world.

Final Fantasy XV does have a bit of an uphill struggle ahead of it, however, for numerous reasons. Although Final Fantasy XIV built a considerable amount of goodwill for the series — particularly among lifelong Final Fantasy fans — its audience was relatively limited compared to the rest of the series thanks to its status as a massively multiplayer online game, and a subscription-based one at that. Its single-player predecessors, the three games in the Final Fantasy XIII series, however, had a somewhat peculiar reception — Final Fantasy XIII was roundly praised on its original release, but since then it has seemingly become fashionable to bash it, with complaints ranging from the protagonist Lightning being boring (she isn’t), the game systems being too simple (they aren’t) and the tutorial being 20 hours long (kind of true, but it actually keeps the early hours of the game moving along at a good pace).

Not only that, but Final Fantasy XV is a radical reinvention of how we play Final Fantasy. Or, at least, that’s what people think. In truth, Final Fantasy hasn’t been what the people complaining about XV’s systems think it is for quite some time now, and XV is simply following a pattern of the game gradually experimenting, changing and innovating with each new iteration.

The reason why people feel that XV is such a sudden shift in direction — even though it really isn’t — is because their frame of reference is still, for whatever reason, limited to Final Fantasy games up to maybe X at the latest, and X is the point where the series started getting a lot more experimental than it had been.

That’s not to say, however, that the series had rested on its laurels; on the contrary, despite the early installments in particular seeming quite similar in terms of mechanics, each did something very different. Don’t believe me? Well, all right. I’ll prove it.

Final Fantasy: First in the series. Eschewed static character classes in favour of the ability to “promote” each of the classes to a more powerful, effective version partway through the game. Established the “Jobs” that have been used in many other Final Fantasy installments since.
Final Fantasy II: Eschewed a traditional progression system in favour of an Elder Scrolls-style “level it up by doing it” system. Get more HP by getting hit. Get more MP by casting magic. Get more strength by hitting things. Took some getting used to, but was an interesting twist on the standard RPG formula, and is all the more remarkable considering it came out in 1988.
Final Fantasy III: Returned to a traditional levelling system but combined this with the ability to switch character Jobs without having to completely respec or reset levels. You could change your party makeup on the fly without having to change characters, in other words.
Final Fantasy IV: First 16-bit installment in the series. First use of the Active Time Battle system, which combined the strategy of turn-based combat with a real-time element. Stronger emphasis on story and characterisation through static, non-customisable characters.
Final Fantasy V: Revamped Final Fantasy III’s Job system and made it even more flexible with the ability to equip abilities you had learned from other Jobs, allowing you to effectively create hybrid characters. Used Active Time Battle.
Final Fantasy VI: One of the most impressive games on the Super NES, both technically and in terms of storytelling. First use of the “learning abilities from equipping things” system used in several other installments — here, abilities were learned by equipping Espers, the summonable creatures. Used Active Time Battle.
Final Fantasy VII: First 32-bit installment in the series, first CD-based installment in the series and first 3D polygonal installment in the series. A spectacular achievement of the time, both technically and in terms of storytelling. Introduced Materia, which have made an appearance in a couple of other Final Fantasy games. Used Active Time Battle, brought to life in animated 3D rather than relatively static 2D for the first time.
Final Fantasy VIII: First installment to have realistically proportioned characters. Outlandish character development system in which character level was less important than the Guardian Force (summon) you had equipped on the character, and what magic spells you had Junctioned to stats. An unpopular installment due to its initially baffling and easily gamed mechanics, but a solid story and visually very impressive for the time. Used Active Time Battle.
Final Fantasy IX: A supposed “return to the roots” of the series, featuring less realistically proportioned characters but maintaining the polygonal characters on pre-rendered backdrops aesthetic of VII and VIII. Brought back the “learn things by equipping stuff” system, this time with abilities attached to equipment. Used Active Time Battle.
Final Fantasy X: First entry on the PlayStation 2, and first entry to have full 3D polygonal environments both on the field and in battle. Also first entry to have voice-overs, which also meant the end of being able to rename your characters — except for the protagonist, whom no-one ever said the name of throughout. Did not use Active Time Battle, instead using a turn-based system with a manipulable turn order called Conditional Turn-Based Battle. Also eschewed traditional levelling in favour of the “Sphere Grid” system, which allowed either a little or a lot of control over character development depending on if you chose the original or “advanced” version at the outset of the game.
Final Fantasy X-2: First direct sequel in the series. Returned to Active Time Battle, but revamped it with variable length turn bars. Also brought back the Job system, but revamped it with the ability to change Job in mid-battle. First non-linear entry in the series, with the whole world map open from the outset and the freedom to tackle challenges in whatever order you want, level and gear permitting. Also featured multiple endings according to how much optional content you saw.
Final Fantasy XI: First massively multiplayer installment in the series. First entry since the original Final Fantasy to feature a player-created character. First entry to use a freely rotatable over-the-shoulder camera rather than fixed camera angles. First entry to feature pretty-much-kinda-sort-of-real-time combat.
Final Fantasy XII: First single-player installment to feature MMO-style pretty-much-kinda-sort-of-real-time combat. First truly open-world single-player Final Fantasy in which it was possible to run from one end of the world to the other without having to go to a separate “World Map” screen. First (and only) use of the License and Gambit systems, allowing for a considerable amount of character customisation and tweaking of party members’ AI respectively.
Final Fantasy XIII: First PlayStation 3 entry in the series. First use of Paradigm system, allowing for switching of roles in mid-battle — though these weren’t the old Jobs from past installments. Changed focus in battle from micromanaging turn-based combat to switching your party lineup (and, consequently, abilities) to respond to situations. Had a lot more tactical depth than people in the last few years gave it credit for.
Final Fantasy XIII-2: Built on XIII’s base systems and mixed things up a bit with two fixed party members and a third slot taken by recruitable, trainable, nameable monsters. Featured an absolutely baffling non-linear time-travelling storyline, showing everyone that XIII’s linearity perhaps wasn’t such a bad thing after all. First Final Fantasy to have DLC. (Oh, yay.)
Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII: First second sequel in the series. First game to focus exclusively on one character (with the arguable exception of Final Fantasy XI, though you try doing anything solo in that game). Featured a Job-like system where you could change outfit in mid-combat for access to different abilities, and each outfit had its own independent Active Time Battle-esque bar. Allowed free movement and dodging in combat. Featured a non-linear, time-limited structure designed to be replayed.
Final Fantasy XIV: Second attempt at a massively multiplayer installment in the series. Massively ambitious — too much so. Gave players a great deal of freedom but not enough direction. Had a seamless open world. Technically impressive — if you could run it — but a disastrous failure.
Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn: The most impressive “phoenix from the ashes” I’ve ever seen. A Realm Reborn ditched its predecessor’s more unconventional aspects and adopted a more traditional MMO structure with a heavy focus on matchmaking cooperative content and a Job system in which you could individually level Jobs as if they were completely different characters. The most story-heavy MMO I’ve played for some time, and a true love letter to fans of the series, with guest appearances from characters including Gilgamesh, Ultros, Shantotto, Lightning and numerous others. Expanded by Heavensward.

So as you can hopefully see from that breakdown, Final Fantasy has consistently reinvented and updated itself with each installment. While the entries between IV and IX all used the Active Time Battle system for their battles, their core progression mechanics were very different to one another. And from X onwards, the series became considerably more experimental with both battle and progression mechanics; its only look back to the “line up in a row and take it in turns to hit things” approach was X-2, and even that did plenty of interesting things with the basic format.

Now we’ve established that Final Fantasy has been pretty consistently inventive throughout its considerable lifespan, XV’s approach doesn’t seem quite so scary a change. And it seems even less scary when you actually play either the Episode Duscae demo that came out around the time of Final Fantasy Type-0 HD — we didn’t even get into spinoffs in the list above, otherwise we’d be here all night — or the recently released Platinum Demo, which primarily acts as a showcase for the game’s engine and basic mechanics.

My friend Chris described Final Fantasy XV’s approach to combat as taking the philosophy behind turn-based combat and applying it to a real-time depiction. This is why you don’t button-mash — you hold a button down to attack. You have time to consider what you’re doing rather than hack-and-slash. You have limited resources to use for casting spells or defending. The strategy is there, it’s just in a slightly different form to what we might be used to.

And, having spent some time with both Episode Duscae and Platinum Demo, I’m convinced. The fluidity of the combat animations and how seamlessly you can switch from one weapon to another mid-combo is sure to make for some interesting battles, and once party members and more spectacular abilities start coming into play I don’t doubt we’ll be seeing some truly exciting setpieces, of which the battle with Behemoth in Episode Duscae is just a tame example.

Final Fantasy may not be what it used to be, then, but it’s never really been “what it used to be”, because it’s reinvented itself with each and every installment. Embrace and enjoy the change — XV genuinely does look like it’s going to be a real work of art when it’s finally with us at the end of September, and I for one can’t wait to get my hands on it.

Or, if you really can’t deal with Final Fantasy doing new things… well, there’s always Bravely Default, which absolutely is doing what Final Fantasy used to do, and I say that with great fondness.

2252: Estival Versus: Early Impressions

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As I said the other day after finishing Senran Kagura 2: Deep Crimson, the follow-up to the Vita spinoff Shinovi Versus, Estival Versus, was waiting for me to stick it in my PS4 and start rumbling in the sunshine. So that’s what I’ve been doing.

A recap for those who aren’t familiar with the complete Senran Kagura series and its continuity: first came 3DS game Senran Kagura Burst (actually a remake of the Japan-only Senran Kagura: Portrait of Girls with an additional full-length story from the perspective of the “evil” shinobi), which introduced the ten girls who make up the cast members from “good” shinobi school Hanzou and “evil” shinobi school Hebijo (as well as recurring guest characters Daidouji and Rin) and took the form of a 2.5D brawler with simple RPG-style character progression.

Then came Vita game Senran Kagura Shinovi Versus, which followed on directly from Burst’s story and introduced ten new characters: five from another “good” shinobi school Gessen and five who took the place of the now-renegade Homura’s Crimson Squad at Hebijo. The story focused on characterisation of the four groups and their interactions with one another, but in its final moments teased what would become the main conflict of the Senran Kagura series: the clash between shinobi (both good and evil) and the demonic youma. Gameplay made the jump from fixed-perspective 2.5D to third-person 3D, leading many to (somewhat erroneously) draw comparisons to Koei Tecmo’s Warriors series.

This was followed by 3DS game Senran Kagura 2: Deep Crimson, which left behind the new Gessen and Hebijo characters in favour of focusing on the original cast once again, and pushing the shinobi-youma plot arc forward with the introduction of legendary character Kagura and a strong focus on the machinations of the evil Hebijo chairman Dougen. Deep Crimson returned to fixed camera angles but had a stronger sense of depth than Burst, making it feel more along the lines of a somewhat less setpiece-heavy Devil May Cry than Streets of Rage.

And then we come to Estival Versus, the latest release. (There was also Senran Kagura Bon Appetit among all that lot somewhere, but that’s a deliberately comedic spinoff rather than a canonical entry in the main narrative.) Estival Versus is the first of the series to appear on home consoles as well as handhelds thanks to its simultaneous PlayStation 4 and Vita releases, and it marks a return to Shinovi Versus’ 3D fighting formula, with battles unfolding in large 3D arenas rather than side-on, linear levels.

My initial impressions here are based exclusively on the PlayStation 4 version, I should probably point out; from what I understand, the Vita version is pretty solid, mind, it just runs at a lower framerate and resolution — and, obviously, is on a smaller screen (unless you use a PlayStation TV). As such, take comments about the technical performance of the game accordingly.

Well, then, that would seem like a decent place to start: for the most part, Estival Versus runs beautifully fluidly, with crisp, high-definition graphics, the beautiful character animation that has come to exemplify the series, and a smooth framerate that usually sticks around the 60 mark with a few exceptions when things get particularly busy. Even when the framerate drops, however, the action continues to feel fast and fluid, giving the game a pleasantly “arcadey” feel.

The jump to the big screen makes a surprising amount of difference. Combat feels rather more weighty than it did in Shinovi Versus, particularly when you use the characters that wield heavy, slow weapons rather than the more hack-and-slash-friendly characters. This is a good thing, on the whole; every character feels noticeably distinct from one another, and getting to learn some of the more challenging characters is satisfying.

Besides the returning cast from Shinovi Versus, there are a number of new characters, too: the three “Mikaruga Sisters”, each of whom handles very differently, along with some other characters who are particularly important to a number of aspects of Senran Kagura lore at large.

I can’t speak for the entire story yet, but Estival Versus so far seems to be following a similar pattern to Shinovi Versus: beginning with what sounds like it should be a throwaway plot that simply provides an excuse for all the characters to fight one another, but which actually turns out to be a means of exploring these characters in a considerable amount of depth. Here, the basic concept is that the casts from the four schools have been somehow whisked away to a tropical paradise where dead shinobi who have not yet found rest appear to linger. Shortly after arriving, the girls are challenged to take part in the “Shinobi bon dance” ritual — a battle royale that demands each of the groups smash the others’ festival platforms in an attempt to assert their dominance and, subsequently, be allowed home first.

It sounds kind of dumb initially, and indeed the first couple of chapters of the game largely consist of the girls messing around and being silly with one another. By the third “day” of the festival, however, things start picking up, and some of the central mysteries surrounding the situation the girls find themselves in start to unfold. I anticipate that by the eighth day, there will have been some very significant happenings in the world of Senran Kagura, though I shall refrain from conjecture here for fear of inadvertent spoilers.

Estival Versus so far appears to be a very fun game indeed, with a solid single-player mode, some interesting-sounding online multiplayer modes (both cooperative and adversarial) and the now-obligatory Dressing Room feature, which allows you to play dress-up with your favourite girls, pose up to five of them in a diorama and then snap pictures of them from various angles. I’m not sure I’d recommend it to someone as their first Senran Kagura game, since, like Deep Crimson, it’s the midpoint of a series — a series that currently has no end in sight, I should add — and, unlike many other franchises out there, it begins by immediately working on the assumption that you already know who these characters are, how they relate to one another and what they went through together in the previous games. Like Deep Crimson, there are some efforts made to give a bit of context in the early hours of the narrative, but you’ll get far more out of it if you’ve played through the stories of Burst, Shinovi Versus and Deep Crimson beforehand to understand where things are in these girls’ world right now.

Very much looking forward to seeing how things develop — and perhaps jumping into the multiplayer a bit, too. If you have a copy and are playing online, feel free to add my PSN ID Angry_Jedi to your friends list; do please leave a note with your friend request if you know me from here or Twitter, however!

2250: Is There Anything More to ‘Senran Kagura 2’ Than Big, Bouncing Cartoon Breasts?

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Senran Kagura 2: Deep Crimson is actually something of an increasing rarity in the modern games sphere: it’s a sequel that actually rewards knowledge of its predecessors rather than acting as a standalone story or reboot. For sure, you can play through Deep Crimson without having played Senran Kagura Burst or Senran Kagura Shinovi Versus — despite the “2” in the title, this is actually the third in the series canonically, or fourth if you count the original Japanese release of the first half of Burst as Senran Kagura: Portrait of Girls — but you will get far, far more out of it if you have knowledge of the setting, characters and backstory of what’s going on.

Senran Kagura as a series concerns itself with the happenings in the secret world of the shinobi. Trained in secret at specialised academies, shinobi are split into two main groups: “good” and “evil”. “Good” shinobi follow orders, help people, Do No Wrong, that sort of thing. “Evil” shinobi do the more shadowy work that is more traditionally associated with those of the ninja persuasion — assassination, espionage and generally being a bit of a bastard without anyone finding out about it until it’s much too late.

youma1 Life can’t be interpreted in such black-and-white terms, however; there are myriad shades of grey, and this becomes particularly apparent over the course of the Senran Kagura series’ overarching narrative threads and themes. In Senran Kagura Burst, the “good” shinobi of Hanzou Academy came to understand a little more about their “evil” Hebijo counterparts and that they weren’t so different despite their theoretically opposing ideologies; in Senran Kagura Shinovi Versus, we learned the truth about this stark good-evil divide: it’s an artificially created construct intended to provoke bloodshed between the two opposing sides, the net result of which lures horrific creatures known as youma out of the darkness so they can be slain by high-ranking shinobi.

In Deep Crimson, the questions over what “good” and “evil” really mean are further raised when the Hanzou students are tasked with initially capturing and then slaying a young girl called Kagura. Kagura, it seems, is destined to fend off the youma in particularly spectacular fashion, so surely the “good” shinobi want to keep her safe rather than splatter her over the nearest wall? Being good little, well, good shinobi, though, they set about making preparations for their mission, because good shinobi follow orders and don’t question them. It takes the “evil” shinobi of Homura’s Crimson Squad — the former Hebijo students — to convince them to think for themselves and realise that questioning this sort of drastic action is really probably okay if you stop to think about it for just a moment or two. And indeed, there’s quite a lot more to Kagura than initially appears.

youma2 In Senran Kagura Burst, the relationships between the Hanzou and Hebijo girls was explored through each of them fighting one another and coming to an understanding with their opposing counterpart. It was revealed that “evil” is actually a more inclusive concept than “good” in the world of Senran Kagura, since “good” can turn people away for “not being good enough”, while “evil” accepts everyone, no matter how nice or nasty they might have been in the past. Indeed, Burst’s storyline — particularly the Hebijo-specific path — takes great pains to humanise the Hebijo girls and depict them as interesting, flawed and often tragic characters who all have their own reasons for turning to the darker path.

In Deep Crimson, these relationships are further explored in a number of different ways, both through the narrative and through the game mechanics. A significant addition to Burst’s 2.5D brawling action is the ability to play missions in cooperative pairs, either with another player on a second 3DS system or with the AI taking control of the other character and you being able to switch the one you’re in direct control of at will. The game’s narrative makes a point of putting “opposing” — or perhaps it’s better to say “complementary” — characters together; here, rather than fighting against each other, as in Burst, the girls come to understand one another better by fighting alongside one another against the shared threat of the youma. This doesn’t, of course, preclude the fact that a number of comic misunderstandings lead to physical altercations between these pairs at several points in the story — Senran Kagura as a series has always known how to strike a good balance between pathos, drama and humour — but the net result of all the girls’ battles right up until the end of the game is that they all come to understand, appreciate and like one another better.

youma3 This paired-up action is more than just a gimmick, too; the way it’s presented really creates a strong sense of these characters being real people and having actual feelings towards one another. Whether it’s the tomboyish, loudmouthed Katsuragi giving the emotionless Hikage an enthusiastic high-five after a successful combat or the dour but utterly besotted Yagyuu catching her darling Hibari in a perfect princess hold after a joint special attack, the game’s beautiful animations are absolutely packed with personality, giving each character both a unique look and feel, making them all instantly recognisable.

This uniqueness extends to the way each of the girls plays as well. Far more so than in Senran Kagura Burst, at least, each girl has a very different fighting style, with their own unique button combinations required to unleash combo attacks and specific moves. While you can get away with button-mashing to a certain degree early in the game, once you start fighting more powerful bosses — and even more powerful individual enemies — factors such as positioning, launching, air control and dodging become significantly more important, and there are even some RPG-style status effects to inflict and contend with, just to make things that little bit more interesting.

Each character’s three special moves are unique, too; while some are simple area-effect nukes around the character position, others are charge attacks across the arena, good for cutting through swathes of enemies, while others have more specialised uses that can turn the tide of battle in your favour. Of particular note is Haruka’s “Death Kiss” move, which charms anyone hit with a large heart-shaped projectile and prevents them from attacking for a brief period; frustrating and combo-breaking when it hits you, massively useful when you’re able to do it yourself.

youma4 Unfolding across five separate chapters — each with an escalating focus and scope from the previous — and culminating with some dramatic moments of personal growth and epic conflict in the final chapter, Deep Crimson’s narrative is a strong one that is paced well and feels like it’s the series really hitting its stride. While Burst in particular felt like it was more concerned with introducing the characters and their relationships with one another — no bad thing in a series as characterisation-focused as this — Deep Crimson feels like the overall narrative of the series is moving significantly forwards. The characters aren’t treading water: their personal growth in the previous installments is acknowledged and used as a basis for this game’s narrative to build on, and this is where the particularly rewarding aspect of complete series familiarity comes in. It has, so far, been an absolute pleasure to witness these girls growing up and finding out more about themselves, their place in the world as people — and their place in the world as shinobi.

As I say, you can absolutely get some appreciation out of Deep Crimson if considering it in a vacuum, but the Senran Kagura series as a whole is at its most rewarding when you take in every piece of information available out there: creator Kenichiro Takaki and his team have created a very strong and believable setting and sense of context across these games, with some wonderfully human-feeling characters that interact with one another in relatable, believable ways — even when they’re being silly rather than serious. Like other prolific Japanese series such as Neptunia, the cast has transcended its original context to become a convincing set of “virtual actors” who wouldn’t feel out of place in situations other than fighting for their lives — indeed, we’ve already seen them put their weapons down and do other things in the immensely silly (but immensely entertaining) Senran Kagura Bon Appetit — and I sincerely hope that we see a lot more of these girls in the coming years.

Fortunately, I needn’t lament that my time with them has come to a close with the conclusion of Deep Crimson’s story, since Estival Versus has just released and is eagerly awaiting insertion into my PS4. More thoughts on that to come when I’ve spent some time with it.

Oh, hold on now, I didn’t answer the question in the headline, did I?

YES

2248: Pinning Down the Problem with Coverage of Niche Games Like Senran Kagura

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I made a mistake last night; actually, I made two. I read a Kotaku article, and then I commented on it.

The article in question was Mike Fahey’s “Let’s See How Long it Takes Senran Kagura to Make You Uncomfortable”, which took the form of a Let’s Play of the first half an hour of the game — well, the first half an hour of story, to be precise, up to the opening credits — and which was written in an obnoxiously holier-than-thou tone, with Fahey claiming that he is okay with fanservice, but then going on to completely contradict himself by not engaging with latest Senran Kagura game Estival Versus on anything more than the most superficial level.

I’m not going to take that article apart piece by piece because I already did that in my comment, which, within two replies, had me being accused of being a paedophile — how predictable thou art, Internet — but instead I want to talk a bit more broadly about what I think the issue is with coverage of popular but niche-interest titles such as Senran Kagura and Japanese games in general.

Sex.

Not the presence of sexual, titillating, provocative, ecchi or even hentai content; I’m all for that, and happy whenever games feature it in an unabashed manner. But the fact that whenever mainstream games writers come across one of these games, that is all they can fucking talk about.

Let’s focus specifically on Senran Kagura for a moment. As legend has it, Senran Kagura as a series exists because creator Kenichiro Takaki wanted to see boobs popping out of the Nintendo 3DS’ stereoscopic 3D screen. A shallow inspiration, for sure, and if he’d left it at that — if Senran Kagura had been nothing but pretty girls thrusting their boobs in your face — then the series would have sunk without trace before it even became a series. Instead, we’re now confronted with Estival Versus, which is the sixth game in a series that has only been around since 2011 — a series which shows no sign of slowing down and, rather, much like fellow beloved niche series Neptunia, continues to go from strength to strength with each installment.

Surely “3D boobs” aren’t enough to carry six games’ worth of content, though, I hear you say, and you’d be absolutely right. The reason why Senran Kagura is so popular, and why it now spans four different platforms (Vita, PS4, 3DS and mobile) is because for all Takaki’s bluster about “tits are life, ass is hometown”, it is extremely, painfully obvious throughout every installment of the series that both Takaki and the people he works with absolutely adore these characters and want to tell interesting, enjoyable, emotional and thought-provoking stories with them. They also want to tell silly, funny, self-parodying stories with them. And they want us to watch these girls grow up, both as young women and as trainee shinobi. In other words, they want us to think of the complete Senran Kagura cast as, effectively, a set of “virtual actors” who can come back time and time again in different games, and fans will follow because they want to see what their favourite characters are up to, not because they want to see 3D boobs.

This is the frustrating thing that pieces such as Fahey’s nonsense completely fails to take into account. Sexuality is part of Senran Kagura’s aesthetic and appeal, sure, but it’s not the main point. There are far more interesting things to talk about, such as the relationships between the girls, the nature of good and evil, the series’ extensive use of Japanese mythology (specifically the subject of youma), the juxtaposition between the narratives’ slice of life elements and the more fantastical shinobi elements, and how each and every one of those characters has gone on a significant personal, emotional journey since their first appearance in their respective games. (Mobile game New Wave is arguably the exception to this, being your bog-standard Mobage virtual collectible card game with non-existent gameplay, but, what with it being a mobile game, I don’t really take it particularly seriously anyway.)

To put it another way, when writing about Senran Kagura — or indeed any other Japanese game that decides to make use of a provocative art style or aesthetic — focusing entirely on the sexual elements and how “weird” they are or how “uncomfortable” they make you feel is doing both the game and the audience an enormous disservice. The majority of the games’ audience know what they’re getting into with regard to the fanservice, so they probably want to hear more about what makes each particular installment unique; what the most interesting parts of the narrative are; whether they stand by themselves or fit into a larger narrative — that sort of thing. Focusing on sexuality and how “problematic” this sort of thing is is nothing but lazy writing that requires little to no research; indeed, when Senran Kagura 2 came out last year, there was at least one review that proudly stated it was based on less than half an hour of playtime, and I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen more Estival Versus bullshit. The European release isn’t until Friday, so perhaps there will be some more then — or perhaps I’ll be pleasantly surprised. I’m not holding my breath.

What I want to see, then, is someone covering a title like Senran Kagura and treating the sexy stuff as just what it is: part of how the game looks, but not the point. I’d even like to see someone challenge themselves to write about it without mentioning the sexy stuff at all if they didn’t think it was directly relevant to what they found interesting. I want to see someone engaging with it on a personal, emotional level: how did the story make them feel? Which characters did they relate to? Were they particularly attached to any specific pairings of characters? Which characters did they enjoy playing as, and did that match up with the characters they liked as people? Did they learn anything from the experience? Did they come away from the experience feeling like they had taken something away from it, either emotionally or in terms of knowledge or skills?

These sorts of things are surely basic questions when it comes to criticism of creative works, but it seems they’re too far beyond your average games journalist in 2016, who would rather post animated GIFs, talk about how jiggly boobies make his swimsuit area feel a bit funny and make implicit assumptions about people who do like this sort of thing — assumptions that are further reinforced by the attitudes of people in the comments section, who make people with differing viewpoints afraid to speak their mind for fear of being branded as something extremely unpleasant.#

The sad thing is that something like Senran Kagura ticks a whole lot of boxes that these hand-wringing idiots claim to want from their games: powerful, non-submissive women in lead roles; the presence of “people of colour” (God how I hate that fucking phrase); stories that acknowledge the complexity of emotions within the human heart and mind; gameplay that reflects the narrative themes; sensitive treatment of distinctly “adult” concepts, including trauma… the list goes on.

And yet because boobs, they either fail to see — or deliberately ignore — the presence of all these things. That’s just sad; not (just) because I’m fed up of reading this sort of spastic dribbling on wannabe tabloid sites (not to mention feeling the need to write my own spastic dribbling in response) but because there are a lot of people out there who are deliberately, willfully depriving themselves of some excellent, intriguing, engaging and emotional gaming experiences, all because they can’t look past something a bit sexy.

As I said on Twitter earlier today: thank heavens for social media and personal blogs, at least, where people who are actually into this sort of thing can find one another and enthuse about the things they love at great length without worrying about offending the always-offended. I just wish we hadn’t been so let down by the media.

2233: MegaNep’s True Ending: A Love Letter to the Dreamcast, and to the Player

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I cleared Megadimension Neptunia VII’s True Ending path this evening, after a horrible moment where I thought I hadn’t triggered it and would have to do the whole thing through again (which is actually not quite as monumental an undertaking as you might think) — and I was very impressed with one of the most satisfying finales I’ve seen in a story-based game for quite some time.

Mild spoilers ahead.

At the core of MegaNep’s overarching narrative is the story of Uzume Tennouboshi, a new character to the series who, like the series regulars, embodies a games console — in this case, Sega’s ahead-of-its-time Dreamcast. For those unfamiliar with their gaming hardware history, the Dreamcast was a 128-bit console that came out towards the tail end of the console generation that was primarily 32- and 64-bit: that of the original PlayStation and the Nintendo 64. It was astronomically powerful in comparison to its contemporaries and was home to some wonderful games, many of which are still fondly remembered today. But for one reason or another, it was regarded as a commercial failure, and both it and its games dropped out of mainstream distribution after just a couple of years, with the 128-bit era only starting in earnest once the PlayStation 2 shattered all expectations of what console gaming was all about following its launch in 2000.

Uzume’s identity and background is initially a mystery to Neptune and company, but over the source of MegaNep’s complete story, her past comes to light. Having once been a goddess to what is now Neptune’s domain of Planeptune, she was voluntarily sealed away due to the fact that she was unable to control her “illusion” power and largely forgotten about; an allegory for the Dreamcast being released onto the market too early and developers and publishers alike arguably not being sure how to make best use of this new power on offer.

The main villain of the piece is revealed very late in the story to be the darker side of Uzume, representing her irrational hatred and bitterness at feeling abandoned by her people. Through a complicated series of happenings too twisty-turny to describe in detail here, Neptune and her friends eventually manage to help Uzume come to terms with her past and realise that her memories have become tainted by hatred and regret; her people, in fact, loved her and cherished her, and it was with a heavy heart that they saw her sealed away for the protection of everyone.

There are two endings to MegaNep: one in which Uzume sacrifices herself to ensure her dark counterpart is not able to send a horde of monsters from her delusional “Heart Dimension” into Neptune’s Hyper Dimension, and another in which Neptune and her friends refuse to leave her to die, and ultimately help her to overcome her darkness. This latter one is the True ending, and it demonstrates beyond a shadow of a doubt that the team at Idea Factory and Compile Heart hold the Dreamcast in considerable esteem; the truth about Uzume’s past is described with such a wonderfully warm feeling of fondness that it’s hard not to feel extremely nostalgic if you happened to be there when it all happened in our world, and the Neptunia series’ biggest strength — characterisation and the feeling of bonds between these characters — really shines through as everyone expresses their love for Uzume and she, likewise, expresses her love for them.

What also made the ending satisfying, aside from this wonderfully genuine-feeling appreciation for the Dreamcast and its games, was the Neptunia series trademark “Thank You Corner”, where the cast completely break the fourth wall and address the player directly, thanking them for playing and showering them with praise for beating the game. This is always a lovely moment in every Neptunia game, but in the case of MegaNep it feels particularly heartfelt; it’s obvious that the words coming out of the mouths of the characters are actually those of the series’ creators, expressing their gratitude for the series having gone from strength to strength over the years, overcoming the adversity of its early installments’ poor reviews, widespread ignorance from the press and self-professed RPG “experts” that persists to this day, and ultimately becoming a genuinely rather wonderful franchise that I really don’t want to see the back of any time soon.

In many ways, it was like a “curtain call” for the game, and while previous Neptunia games have handled this in much the same way, there was something about this moment in MegaNep that made it more satisfying and touching than it’s ever been before. It’s a rare and wonderful feeling for a creative work to seem like it’s talking directly to you, but the Neptunia series has always felt that way, and never more so than with Megadimension Neptunia VII.

Onwards to the post-game, then; I have trophies to clean up and Colosseum battles to fight! (And in the meantime, I promise I’ll find something new to write about soon.)

2232: Pondering Postgame

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I feel like I’ve become much more conscious of a lot of single-player games incorporating an almost MMO-like “endgame” these days, though pondering the matter a little further I’m not sure it’s as new a concept as I initially thought it was.

My musings on this subject are inspired by my second playthrough of Megadimension Neptunia VII, which is going considerably quicker than my 62-hour first playthrough of it thanks to its myriad of rather lovely New Game Plus features — faster run speed, higher jump height, ability to turn off random encounters and a bunch of other things besides, including the ability to instantly skip story scenes you’ve seen before — and in which I’m taking aim for the “true” ending and the subsequent postgame, which allows you to continue playing after the credits have rolled to clean up whatever it is you still want to get out of the game.

In the case of Megadimension Neptunia and numerous other games like it — largely JRPGs, with a few exceptions — the postgame is often designed with trophy collecting in mind, with some of the most challenging trophies requiring dedicated effort well above and beyond what the main story of the game demanded. In most cases, you’re not actually missing out on any story by pursuing these additional objectives; you’re simply expressing a desire to see everything the game has to offer, and to push your knowledge of its mechanics to the limit.

This is where the MMO endgame comparison comes in. Take my particular brand of MMO poison as an example: Final Fantasy XIV has a linear main scenario that takes you from level 1 to level 60 naturally, telling an interesting tale while equipping you with the skills you’ll need for high-level play. Once you reach level 60 and beat the main story you have a few choices: you can put the game down, satisfied that you’ve “finished” it; you can keep playing it to see what the new episodes of the story added in each new content patch add to the overall narrative; or you can delve into the endgame proper, which often relies less on story and more on mechanics and grinding, with the promise of significant increases in your character’s power as a reward.

This is exactly the case with modern single-player games that offer postgame content, too. In the case of Megadimension Neptunia VII, there are hidden treasures to hunt down, additional monsters to fight, challenging dungeons to clear and collectibles to… you know. There’s no actual obligation for you to take these extra challenges on if you’re satisfied with how the main story concluded, but the option is there for those who want to spend a bit more time with the game without having to worry about whether they’ll lock themselves out of something by advancing the plot too far.

As I say, I’d got into my head that this was a somewhat recent concept; when I think back to titles that I spent a lot of time with in years gone by, in many cases you had to take care of any and all of your business before you beat the final boss and rolled the credits. Take something like Final Fantasy VII, for example; once you unlock the final dungeon, pretty much the whole world is open to you, and there are a bunch of optional sidequests you can go and complete for some fairly significant rewards if you see fit, though none of them are essential to the plot, and none of them are necessary to beat the final boss. Once you do beat that final boss, though, that’s the end of the game — in RPGs of that era, you often didn’t even get to save a “clear file” to start a New Game Plus and carry over some of your achievements to a new runthrough.

But when I consider things in a bit more depth, the idea of the postgame — of an ostensibly narrative-based game remaining relevant and interesting to play even after you’ve seen the story’s finale — has been around for quite some time. Konami’s PS1 and PS2-era games, for example, often featured a ranking/score screen at the end of the game, challenging you to try it again, but do it faster/better/taking fewer hits. Other games unlocked new difficulty settings, or unlocked alternative (sometimes joke) endings. Capcom’s Resident Evil 2 took the ambitious approach of having multiple ways to experience the narrative: you could play it once as Claire, then see what Leon was up to while Claire was doing her thing; then you could play it “for the first time” again as Leon, then see what Claire was up to while Leon was doing his thing. Each of these four playthroughs, while similar, had its own unique content, making the game worth replaying — and once you’d done all that, there were the super-secret paths such as Hunk and Tofu, which mostly acted as a reward for those who had put in enough time and effort to master the game.

MMO players often describe reaching the level cap of their game of choice as “just the beginning” of your experience. And it’s very much true; pre-Heavensward Final Fantasy XIV sat at level 50 for a good couple of years, but managed to feel like it was progressing at a regular, steady rate, both in terms of new content and character power levels — and it’s doubtless the same with other MMOs that keep adding new stuff to keep level-cap players interested and engaged.

What I find interesting is the idea that a game designed primarily to tell a story — to have a clear end — can have so much beyond that story content, even if it’s a single-player game that isn’t expanded over time with new content, DLC or the like. It’s one of the many things that sets games apart from non-interactive forms of entertainment, and it’s an opportunity to enjoy a different side of a game you’ve taken pleasure in engaging with: having worked your way through the narrative, you’re now focusing on mastering the mechanics until you’re satisfied you’ve got everything you’re going to out of the game in question.

I never used to do multiple playthroughs of games — except for Final Fantasy VII, which my friends and I were borderline obsessed with in our teens — but these days, I very much enjoy exploring the postgame, trophy hunting and seeing multiple endings. Once I’m done with Megadimension Neptunia VII, I’m particularly looking forward to Dungeon Travelers 2‘s postgame; from everything I’ve heard about it, it very much takes the MMO approach of “finishing the story is just the beginning… now prove you really know how to play this game. If, you know, you want to.” — and that is something that has come to appeal to me very much over the years, even as many of my peers are getting less and less patient with lengthy, time-consuming games. I wonder what made me go the other way?

Oh well. Time for bed now; tomorrow I will find out if I’ve actually done all the arbitrary triggers that ensure I will get Megadimension Neptunia VII’s “true” ending, or if I need to do the whole bloody thing through for a third time. (That’s not actually too bad; to put it in context, while my first playthrough took 62 hours, my second playthrough has probably been no more than 3 hours so far, and I’m just coming into the third and final story arc, which puts me maybe an hour away from the “ending”.)

2231: Initial Impressions on Alexander: Midas

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Tonight, we cleared the last area of the new raid dungeon in Final Fantasy XIV… in its “normal” incarnation, anyway. Savage is likely to prove a somewhat stiffer challenge, but regular ol’ vanilla had plenty of hurdles to overcome, too.

Now that we’ve been through all four of the new raids, I thought I’d ponder how I felt about them, and about Alexander as a whole compared to The Binding Coil of Bahamut.

The first thing to note about Alexander is that the overall tone of the whole thing is very different to Coil. Coil represented one of the most serious, dramatic parts of Final Fantasy XIV’s story, and over its entirety revealed some very significant background lore about the Allagans and the Meracydians, both of whom we’d seen mentioned (and occasionally explored the relics of) but never encountered, mostly due to them both being long dead.

Alexander, meanwhile, largely concerns the goblins, and much like their Final Fantasy XI counterparts, goblins in Final Fantasy XIV are rather silly, afflicted with distinctive speech patterns and, for the most part, there for comic relief. They’re not very threatening, in other words, so for them to be introduced as the main villains of the new raid cycle was… interesting, to say the least.

The overall aesthetic of Alexander is very different to Coil, too. Coil began as an expedition into the bowels of the earth and gradually gave way into a combination of fantastic, otherworldly scenery and pure sci-fi, futuristic environments, many of which were absolutely breathtaking in their scale. Alexander, conversely, has a pretty consistent “steampunk” look throughout its entirety, though Midas does a somewhat better job than Gordias in terms of presenting a bit of variety in the way things look.

This difference in aesthetic extends to the main attraction of the raids, too: the bosses. In Coil, you fought a wide variety of foes, ranging from a giant genetically modified snake to a fearsome dragon god via technologically advanced defence systems, a bioengineered lamia, a robot treant and, of course, the reincarnation of Final Fantasy XIV 1.0’s main villain, Nael van Darnus, now going by Nael deus Darnus having apparently changed gender and gone a bit, well, dragonish.

Alexander, conversely, sees you fighting a lot of things in a similar mould: in Gordias, you fight a large steampunk robot thing, followed by a swarm of goblins and large steampunk robot things, followed by a squishy Pepsiman wannabe in what appears to be a sewage outlet, concluding with a battle against The Manipulator, which is a large steampunk robot thing. Midas is a bit better: first you fight a mad scientist goblin who keeps drinking his own concoctions and growing to Hulk-like proportions, then you fight a series of four large steampunk robot things, then you fight the main villain of the plot arc (and his cat), then finally you fight five large steampunk robot things — four of which you fought earlier in the raid — that then combine to make one enormous steampunk robot thing.

While I still like Alexander less than Coil in terms of its aesthetic and enemy designs, Midas is a big step in a better direction. Everything about it is better, from the variety between the four areas to the background plot that is revealed as you progress, which was rather lacking and forgettable in Gordias. It still lacks some of the outright drama that Coil had — the final boss of this particular cycle is an intense fight, but it’s more chaotically humorous than terrifying like Twintania, Nael and Bahamut were — but things are improving a lot.

Of particular note is the boss music for the final boss, which I present with some pleasure for you below, in all its ’70s anime glory:

Happy with how things have turned out with 3.2. I was getting concerned the game was losing its magic, but it’s well and truly back on target.

2228: MegaNep: Thoughts After a First Playthrough

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Well, I finally finished Megadimension Neptunia VII for the first time. Took about 62 hours or so in the end; that was taking it fairly leisurely through the game and taking the time to unlock stuff here and there that I perhaps didn’t need to do on a first playthrough. Next up for me is a New Game Plus run in which I go for the “true” ending, which leads on to a post-game segment during which you can clean up any bits and pieces you didn’t finish off first time around. Or trophy hunt.

For now, though, I want to talk about my experiences with the game after a complete playthrough.

The first thing to say about the game is that, as I’ve mentioned before, this is Compile Heart’s finest work to date. There are no significant technical issues beyond a couple of very minor frame drops in a few places; the script and translation is excellent (although there are a few more typos than there should be); and the gameplay is satisfying, enjoyable and well-balanced.

The first and last points there address two of the biggest criticisms the Neptunia series has had since its inception. From the original PS3 game onwards, the series — and Compile Heart’s work in general — had been plagued with technical issues, most notably atrocious framerates that weren’t really justifiable given the relative simplicity of the graphics compared to bigger-budget titles that ran a whole lot better. And, again, from the original game onwards, game balance has been an off-and-on problem: the original game (and the total overhaul Re;Birth1) was inconsistent in its difficulty, erring on the side of “suddenly way too hard” without warning; sequel mk2 and its Re;Birth counterpart was much too easy (and rather short, although it does still have the widest variety of endings in the series); Victory and Re;Birth3, meanwhile, got the closest to nailing the formula, but still had a few elements that could be a bit of a pain, most notably the heavily RNG-based Scout system.

So how does MegaNep counter these original problems? Well, in the case of the technical issues, it seems that Compile Heart is significantly more comfortable developing for PS4 than PS3. MegaNep runs at a pretty consistent 60fps pretty much all of the time; the only time it drops is in particularly busy scenes such as the “sakura”-style dungeons with cherry blossoms everywhere. MegaNep is even an improvement over the company’s last game Omega Quintet, which ran very nicely in battle scenes, but which juddered a little bit in the (admirably large and sprawling) field areas. It’s not going to win any awards for looking amazing, of course, but the graphics are perfectly acceptable and, as is the norm for the series, the character models and animations are very nice indeed.

As for the gameplay balancing, Compile Heart really feel like they’ve nailed it this time around. At no point did I feel like the game was too easy or too difficult, and progression was paced well. It’s not a game that you need to grind to level 99 to be able to beat the last boss, either; my clear party consisted of characters between levels 40-60 (Nepgear being the highest at 60, not that I show her any favouritism, nosirree) and they dispatched the last boss without any difficulty. In other words, it’s a game that you can stumble your way through from start to finish without running into too much trouble, but if you go a little off the beaten track from the linear storyline, there are plenty of ways to challenge yourself — and plenty of things to do in New Game Plus, too.

The game systems, having been significantly revamped from the Victory/Re;Birth formula, work extremely well. Skills don’t feel over- or under-powered, and the basic combo attacks each character can perform are actually useful for things other than building up the EXE Drive meter now, too. Each character feels unique, too, with a variety of different skills, weapon types, combo arrangements and multi-person formation attacks to play with; there are a clearly number of “optimal” party setups that provide you with the most flexibility in terms of formation and partner moves in particular, but the systems are balanced well enough that you can take pretty much any combination you like into battle and have a good time. Oh, and while there are a few recycled dungeons from past games — it’s series tradition by this point — there’s also a ton of brand new, original content, including the wonderfully inventive (and infuriating) Neplunker dungeons as well as the mapless Senmuu Labyrinth.

Now, narrative and characterisation has never really been an issue for the Neptunia series, though my one criticism has been that it tends to have slightly weedy finales, particularly the final boss fights, which have previously been quite underwhelming at times. Pleasingly, MegaNep’s finale (at least in the ending I got) is spectacular, dramatic and even emotional; it really tugs on the heartstrings as you see what these characters — characters who many players have spent many hours with — are going through to resolve the latest crisis.

The story in general is very good; split into three distinct acts, each with their own focus and expanding scale, it’s interesting, enjoyable, varied and clever. It’s not a rehash of the previous games’ stories at all and it has worthwhile things to say, but it’s never forgotten the series’ roots in satire and parody. It’s laugh-out-loud funny in places, tearjerkingly emotional in others. It’s the best script the Neptunia characters have ever had to work with, and, like so much else about this game, feels like such a magnificent step up from the previous games that it’s a delight to see. I’ll talk more about this after I’ve seen the “true” ending and how it resolves things in an alternative manner.

In other words, it’s not just a great Neptunia game, it’s a great RPG, period. The only thing that saddens me is the fact that so many people will write it off without even giving it a shot for themselves; still, I guess that makes it all the more special for those of us in the know who can enjoy and appreciate it, both on its own merits and as, to date, the absolute pinnacle of the series.

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