It’s a twenty-plus hour game in which the objective is very simply to honour someone’s preferred funeral rites- nothing more, nothing less. And that’s what he does, with son- Atreus- in tow. Now he just wants to cremate the remains of the woman he loved and carry her ashes to the tallest peak in the nine realms so he can scatter her in accordance with her final wishes. ‘Sad’ isn’t a completely new emotion for Kratos, but, up until this point, he was usually sad in a way that resulted in five hundred people getting their spines broken in a very colourful manner. He’s just sad because his missus has passed away, leaving him and their young, impressionable son alone in a big, scary world full of trolls and ginger psychopaths. In contrast, God of War 4 picks up many, many years later with Kratos hiding out in Midgard of the Norse mythos and, for once, he hasn’t got a nark on and he’s not trying to stick his cock in someone with cartoonishly huge knockers. That, in a nutshell, was the core identity of the original God of War: a gleefully unrestrained and immature approach to sex and violence coupled with a grouchy willingness to make unsuspecting players feel like fucking idiots for no reason whatsoever. Then you toddle outside again and, head cleared, solve an incredibly complex and cerebral puzzle involving non-Euclidean geometry and perspective manipulation that takes bloody ages. If I recall the sequence of events correctly, you kill your way through an ocean of expendable goons and critters who are just trying to defend their home on Mount Olympus, dripping with blood and screaming furiously, then wander into the bedroom of one of ancient Greece’s sauciest goddesses and play a sex minigame that you win by fucking her so well that her handmaids orgasm too. There was a moment in that game which, to me, typified what was so great about the series. The last time we saw Kratos- the world’s angriest mythical being- he was finishing his battle with the Greek gods in God of War 3.
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