Spirit Showdown #10: The Biker

>tier-two summoning completed

>transporting data packets

>analyzing boundary

>analyzing tri-existence quotient

>analyzing

>pondering

>wondering

>thinking

>hoping

Let’s discuss DmC: Devil May Cry (Part 2).

Before we go any further, let me give you a little rundown of the plot -- and with it, the “plan” of our “heroes”.  In this game, Dante is a self-serving slacker who’s no stranger to beer and strippers on a nightly basis.  However, his life gets flip-turned upside down when Kat appears at the doorstep of his trailer -- and after a close encounter with some demons in Limbo, Dante agrees to go with her and join The Order, an Anonymous-style rebel group spearheaded by the white-haired Vergil.

Vergil explains the truth to Dante: that the two of them are brothers -- nephilim, born to a demon father and an angel mother -- and the only ones who can defeat Mundus, the demon king that killed said mother and banished said father.  But that’s not all; Mundus -- while posing as Lex Luthor a human banker -- is leading a secret operation against the human race, using Virility to placate them (probably), the media to scare them, and the power of debt to strangle the president and the world alike.  So -- as is the standard -- it’s up to the rebels to take down the establishment and give the people freedom.

The plan, as such, is a simple one.  Mundus is effectively immortal and invincible as long as he’s in his ridiculously-ornate HQ, because it ALSO contains a Hell Gate that feeds him power -- more specifically, it’s in his office.  So going for a direct attack will do Dante and Vergil no good; they have to lure him out of his HQ so they can deal the finishing blow.  So like good little rebels, they opt for subterfuge; they’ll target the Virility factory, Raptor News (a Fox News pastiche spearheaded by fellow demon Bob Barbas), and hope that it’ll get Mundus riled up enough to make an appearance.

Now, if you’re anything like me you’re probably wondering “So what, does Mundus never leave his office?  How does he meet people?  What happens if he has a meeting abroad, or just wants to go out and eat dinner?”  But trust me, that’s the least of this story’s problems. 

You might want to grab a snack, guys.  (I recommend a nice honey bun.)

WARNING: There are going to be a LOT of spoilers in this post, likely enough to ruin the entire game for you.  If you have any intention of experiencing this game’s story for yourself with a clear mind and no influence, you should NOT read this post.  You have been warned. 

On a related note, I still miss Old Dante.

Let’s discuss DmC: Devil May Cry (Part 1).

Before we begin, I want to make one thing clear: DmC is not a game you should get angry about.

Yeah, that’s right.  I’ll say it again, just to make sure I’m getting my point across.  In spite of everything I’m about to say, and in spite of all the discussion and dissent, DmC is not a game you should get angry about.  Ignoring the fact that it’s just a game (and there are plenty of other things worth raging about in this big blue world of ours), it’s a game that’s already been released.  It’s finished.  The damage has been done, and lines have been drawn.  Eventually, we’re all going to have to get over this thing and move onto something else; it’ll leave scars, no doubt, but even then it’s destined to become something remembered with groans and eye rolls instead of death threats and Metacritic bombings. 

But even with that in mind -- even if the game is justifiably deserving of its hatred (because it’s a ramshackle mess, IMO) -- it’s still not something you can stay mad at for long.  If at all.  Why’s that?  Well, I’ll explain in full before this post is done.  But that’s a ways away.

We have a lot of things to discuss.  A whole lot.

WARNING: Spoilers to follow.  And because this is the internet, I’m required by law to awkwardly cram in a reference to “filling your dark soul with light” somewhere into this post.  So let’s put it here and be done with it.  Also, let’s keep the comparisons to the Devil May Cry games to a minimum.  In fact, let’s just not mention them at all unless absolutely necessary.

…I miss Old Dante.

Spirit Showdown α: The Prince

“Look, I don’t see what you’re so mad about.  Coyote-boy gave us an out, and we got it.  So how about you give the raging a rest?  You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles -- and I don’t think you can afford to look any worse than you already do.”

Beat drove a foot through the virtual platform, digging up a splash of pixels and numbers.  “Well, yeah, but -- wait, what was that about my looks?”

“What?  I didn’t say a word…”  Tony glanced aside, his usual scowl tightening even further.  “Lousy sasquatch wife,” he muttered.

“I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear anything, because that’s the only way your head won’t get smacked right off your neck.”  She folded her arms and groaned, standing her ground in a most-unladylike stance.  “It’s just that that guy -- FX or whatever -- he just pisses me off so much!”

“What doesn’t?”

“Unicorns and rainbows.  Obviously.”  Beat looked around a bit, taking note of the orange-rimmed platforms and tessellated cubes drifting through the air around them.  “So what’re we supposed to do now?”

“Hell if I know.  The way I see it, though, coyote-boy gave us an out so we could go do something.”

“So what, you’re saying that he’s on our side after all?”

“Maybe.  More on our side than blob-boy back there.”

“So he pretty much sacrificed himself to save us?  And with his dying breath, he wants us to put together the pieces to beat that sack of black pixelly gooey bits and save the world, right?”

“Probably…but I’m about ready to blow him off.”

“Wow!  You’re a terrible person!”

Tony looked back at her over his shoulder.  “Good.  You know how I work.”  He went back to his business, crouching low to the ground and running his hands about.  “Crap.  I bet I know how this works; we don’t get to leave until we do something…”  His beady eyes rolled around in his head.  “Heroic.  God, why me?  I just wanted my vacation…”

“Hey, Tony?”

“What?  Can’t you hear me lamenting my life?”

Beat scratched at her temple.  “Is it just me, or does something feel…different?”

“Yeah, it does.  Now gimme a hand here; if we have to dig our way out, it’d be good to have an extra set of hands.”

Let’s discuss The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask (Part 3)

>investigating boundary limits

>scanning for data

>recording found

>uploading

>launching post 269

DmC: A Pre-Discussion

DmC: Devil May Cry is automatically inferior to the other Devil May Cry games, and here’s why: in 2005’s highly-acclaimed, highly-beloved Devil May Cry 3, after defeating a vampiric demoness Dante takes her power as his own, unlocking the Nevan for combat.  Said weapon is a demonic electric guitar that shoots vampire bats and lightning, creates explosive shockwaves with power chords, summons columns of sparks and bats with a fleet-fingered solo, and can shift into a scythe for rapid-swinging combos.  To say nothing of the fact that this is what happens when you first get it.

My brother swears up and down that the Nevan is the worst weapon in the game, but damn it if it’s not the most stylish and crazy -- and in a sense, captures the essence of both DMC3 and the series in general.  The 2013 reboot, DmC, does not.  It doesn’t have that stylish crazy action.  It doesn’t have the trappings of the series, both good and bad.  It doesn’t have the spirit, choosing to substitute its own.

Does that make it inherently bad?  No.  If the game can offer something substantial to latch on to, it doesn’t matter as much (if at all) if it’s something of a sideways evolution; that is, rather than continuing upwards from a certain path, it takes a step to the right and becomes something different.  Potentially, something better.  Something that can prove its merits as a reboot and that the end product has been in competent hands this whole time.  And given reviews, that seems to be the case.  High marks abound across the board; the lowest score I’ve seen is a three out of five. 

So if you’re here expecting me to say “This game is terrible!” then you’re out of luck.  I can’t say it.  I won’t say it.  Saying that means that DmC is objectively awful -- a broken mess of a game that has the risk of melting consoles with incompetence and general badness.  It means that every reviewer who likes the game is wrong.  So no, I won’t say that the game is terrible.

What I can say, however, is that I think the game is terrible.

Final Fantasy 13-2: Good Morning, Kupo! (Part 2)

Okay.  Now let’s talk about character design for a little while.

In my own writing adventures, I’ve found that I prefer to describe characters as thoroughly as I can instead of leaving it up to interpretation.  The downside is that I run the risk of grinding the pace to a halt -- and indeed, I’ll have to learn how to strike a balance -- but the upside is that it gives the reader just the image they need.  As someone who’s deeply entrenched in visual mediums -- and someone who has good old common sense, like many others -- I know how important it is to have good character design.  A lot of information, implicit and explicit, is conveyed by visuals.  Think carefully about a book or movie or comic or game or show you’ve seen, and what a character’s appearance said about them.  What does Barney Stinson’s love of suits say about him?  How about Ryu wearing the same general outfit since his inception more than twenty years ago?  What can you say about Superman’s suit in comparison to Batman’s suit?

Even if I’m removing the audience’s ability to use their imaginations, character design is something that I hold in high esteem -- and as the mastermind of more than a few stories, it’s my job to deliver thoroughly and fiercely on all accounts.  A good character design can draw in an audience -- or if they’re already in deep with a story, they’ll be justly rewarded each time they come across a well-crafted character.  Maybe they’ll be affected by visuals alone.  Maybe I can have their expectations defied.  Maybe they’ll just be eager to make their own characters.  Whatever the case, the idea is to create a positive reaction through visuals; much as we all hate to admit it, appearances count for a lot.

Which brings us to Squeenix and Final Fantasy.

*sigh* Hold on to your butts.

Spirit Showdown μ: The Nobody

>breaching boundary

>accessing terminal

>uploading post number 266

>preparing tier-two summoning procedure

>link established

>beginning upload

>executing reality preservation protocol

>calculating tri-existence quotient

How to Make a Good 50-Foot Woman Movie

…Wait, what?

Is this gonna be a thing?  Really?  Eh, all right.  I’ll allow it.

Okay, let’s back up a little bit.  If you’ve been following my blog for a little while -- or just stuck around on the net long enough for me to leave comments here and there -- you’ll know that it’s my aim to put forth a story starring “a Godzilla-sized wrestling mama.”  That’s still a drive I have to this day, and a recent prototype has proven that it’s a concept that I can pull off with a bit of work.  Even so, I’d feel a lot better if I had something to fall back on.  Inspiration, or resources, or what have you.  The problem, as I suspect, is that there are very few good resources -- least of all the infamous Attack of the 50-Foot Woman.

To be fair, I’m willing to assume that H.G. Wells’ The Food of the Gods may give me something closer to what I’m looking for: a story that investigates the physical, mental, and emotional effects of being really friggin’ huge.  And I’d assume some fantasy stories have done it as well -- though I’d prefer to examine the transformation from human to giant, rather than just starting out as an earth-shaking colossus.   Even so, I can’t help but think back to that movie…or those movies, I should say.

Why, I can’t imagine -- because they’re all kind of crap.

The 1-Year Anniversary Post: Let’s discuss Cross-Up.

Well.  Isn’t this interesting?

One year of blogging, huh?  I’ve gotta say, I didn’t think I’d make it this far.  I’ve made some crazy attempts at projects before -- there was this one time when I tried to make my own toys with Play-Doh, paperclips, and drawn-on sheets of paper.  It didn’t pan out, and it was just another reminder that I’m really, really bad at arts and crafts.  (Though I did make an almost-acceptable dreamcatcher in art class this one time.)

But at the very least, I know where my competency lies.  I’m a writer.  I write stuff.  I like to write.  And as far as I know, people seem to enjoy what I write.  So I figure, “Hey, why not keep writing?”  And “Hey, why not put my stuff out there?”  So here I am, writing.  Hopefully improving my skills, and hopefully reaching out to people.  If nothing else, I’m really friggin’ good at typing now.  So in a nutshell, I’m glad I started this blog, and I hope I can keep it going.  I know I can do better, and I intend to -- because as a writer, it’s my duty to put smiles on people’s faces with the stuff I produce.  It’s the only way I’ll ever become truly worthy of being a writing hero.

And that’s about all there is to it…assuming that you want the short version.  Because now I think it’s time to go all in and do what needs to be done: blow two thousand words nitpicking my own blog!