You can find this review in full at GBAtemp.net:
https://gbatemp.net/review/mario-party-the-top-100.687/

Originally announced in September during a Nintendo Direct, the idea of Mario Party: The Top 100 took me back to a time when the series was pure. A time before the dreaded car of Mario Party 9, a time where I could spend hours roaming the same paths, yet draw from them a refreshing and unique experience nonetheless. It took me back to the days where Mario Party truly was a game to end friendships, to break controllers. For all the steps and missteps Mario has taken since this golden age, can The Top 100 reignite the flames of this smouldering series?

Games of Gods

The premise of The Top 100 is made clear in its name; a collection of minigames that for so long served as the backbone of the series. To be considered a top 100, these games had to be the best of the best, and yet be balanced in a way so not to leave fans of any single Mario Party game dissatisfied. Be it through intense focus testing or simply the passion of the development team, I felt a connection to the 100 chosen. Far more frequently than I had anticipated, I found myself transported to a state of child-like excitement, recalling moments of my favourite games appeared before me at a critical point of a party. Of course, akin to its predecessors, The Top 100 doesn’t give you access to every one of the games from the start, instead relying on a key game mode as means of progression.

Welcome to the Island

Minigame Island is quite unremarkably home to the game’s mass storage of classic gems. Starting with as few as 55 minigames, it lies on your shoulders to work your way through the challenges of this unforgiving climate, and rise above the rest to reveal the bulk of the game. The nature of the island is really quite simplistic; each space representing a different minigame. Depending on how you fare in said game, you’ll get between one and three stars, as well as the game being added to your collection. While this mode does nothing revolutionary, it provides you with an opportunity to work through the games you perhaps don’t recognise, and may have otherwise overlooked. As well as this, it allows you to set a high score for each game before challenging your friends, giving them something real and competitive to play against; in oppose to the ridiculously low standards set by default. 

Board Games

The evolution of Mario Party is something really quite interesting. From its humble N64 beginnings, it’s seen fancy dress, stamp collecting, dream hopping, even a simple birthday party. Though the theme may have changed, the core gameplay remained a constant and consistent joy. A great number of factors contributed to this end to create something brilliantly unpredictable, where even those who have been behind from the start have a chance right up to the last turn. This chaos is in my opinion the foundation of a successful Mario Party game; and it is in this The Top 100 is flawed.

Minigame Match is a mode where players have the opportunity to traverse a simple board, collecting coins and exchanging them for stars as they go. The formula sounds right; it feels like the basic level required for a Mario Party game to be well received. Where the game falls short is in its modern approach to board games. No longer can a player losing catch up in a twist of fate befitting a lottery draw, nor can a person be knocked from their pedestal should they forge a solid lead. I would compare it to removing the Blue Shell from Mario Kart; it ultimately aims to create an experience far more reliant on skill than luck, and ultimately takes away the very spirit of Mario Party. This isn’t a trait unique to The Top 100, the board design lifted from the previous release Star Rush. Wait, what rush?

A Jaded History

Perhaps the most charming part of this game comes not from the gameplay, but from the menus, and a small series guide nestled away within the collection. For younger players who saw Mario Party 8, or even 9 and 10 as an entry point, a look back at what they missed—to put a face to the owner of the minigames they aren’t familiar with—it’s a fantastic idea. Or at least, it had the potential to be a fantastic idea. 

For reasons beyond my comprehension this series guide remains incomplete, disregarding portable entries into the series. While I can appreciate the minigames of Mario Party Advance being relatively obscure in nature and ill-suited for a game like this, I find myself unable to reason its omission in this context. Mario Party DS I share similar feelings, however struggle to even justify its lack of minigame representation, especially with the 3DS being so well suited to the nature of these games. It would be easy to write it off by saying it simply has no games befitting of a top 100, but when housing such joys as Rail Riders, Camera Shy, and Peek-a-Boo, the argument swiftly weakens. While I fail to recall minigames from the 3DS entries, I echo my disappointment of their absence in the series guide. I understand this isn’t necessarily a big deal for most, but for a game to be celebrating a series, and yet so blatantly ignore a portion of it is something I feel should be brought to attention. 

In Closing

Ultimately, Mario Party: The Top 100 is a fun game. If you’ve been a fan of the series as long as I have (or perhaps even longer), I guarantee there is some joy to be found in reliving the minigames that once tore you from your friends. Of course, this must be balanced with the disappointment of how the games have turned away from the very nature of events that lead to the aforementioned fallings out; perhaps for the better? I think not. While its shortcomings don’t necessarily hold it back as an individual entity, its place in the larger scope of the series puts an unexpected spotlight on them. 

You can find this review in full at GBAtemp.net:
https://gbatemp.net/review/xenoblade-chronicles-2.685/

Released as one of the Wii’s big-hitting JRPG trio, the Xenoblade series has quite rightly found itself a devoted fanbase, eager to see a repeat of its initial success. With Xenoblade Chronicles X proving mediocre for many, both fans and Nintendo alike look to Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (XC2) to be the Switch’s December star. Will it guide the way for future entries, or doom the series to a black hole of irrelevance?

That Which Lies Beyond a Stormy Sky

Upon starting the game, you are greeted with a title screen that, for a lack of simpler term, feels wrong. With no logo for the game, no bright field to draw hope, it feels dark, ominous, as though the world you are about to enter is long-since broken. Contrary to the scenic nature of its Wii predecessor, you are lead into this world expecting a tragedy; in oppose to the scenic nuances of the Bionis. Paired with a remorseful piano melody, XC2 sets a tone largely unfamiliar to the series. While these tones are soon cast aside as you burst through the storm into the light, they are not forgotten as you advance through the game.

As with many a modern JRPG, XC2 starts out slowly, taking time to teach the player many of its interesting features and systems. These are presented in short bursts of interaction with the HUD, casually breaking the fourth wall in a conversational way. I wouldn’t call it particularly entertaining, but it does strike a good balance in presenting features, whilst not being overwhelming to the player. While I appreciate getting through these can feel like a pain initially, their contribution to the slow start does an incredible job in highlighting the shift in pace when it finally hits. It changes what would have been just an interesting event to a rite of passage; it forces upon you an appreciation for the fluid action and tense events that wrap up the introduction so well.

To be Scene and Heard

Large, action-packed cutscenes such as the introduction finale put forward some of the game’s greatest strengths. Demonstrating clean and interestingly choreographed movement, along with engaging dialogue passionately delivered by the cast, I found it difficult to avoid becoming engrossed in the ongoing events. Each swing of the oversized sword, each falling drop of rain, you feel every element of the scene come to life around you. These scenes take the Xenoblade name further than any previous iteration, delivering enjoyable and captivating content. I just wish this content could have remained consistent.

The problems become clear when looking at smaller-scale cutscenes; those that sadly occupy the majority of the game. The root of these stems from a simple issue—lip syncing, or lack thereof. Through my hours of playing, this was never something I truly adapted to. My only fix came from occasionally blurring my vision (not recommended) or simply focusing on the subtitles, instead of the characters themselves. The cutscenes are quite possibly my favourite thing about XC2; and to have them held back by something so glaringly obvious truly saddens me, and all I can really hope for at this point is a day one patch. It is worth noting I was playing with the English audio, so one can assume the Japanese track is synced properly. Or at least one can hope, as I never got a chance to try the JP audio while playing.

Looking past lip syncing, and onto the voice actors themselves, you may find yourself conflicted. I’m sure by this point, the majority of people reading this will have seen a trailer for XC2, and already formed an opinion on how they plan to boycott the English audio track. In my opinion, this would be a mistake. I obviously cannot speak for the quality of the Japanese voice actors, but I can say for certain avoiding the English cast because of an initial impression would be doing yourself a disservice. Initially, the characters feel wrong, the voices and the designs mismatched. First listening to Rex’s voice, I recall comparing him to a hoodlum on the streets of London. It’s bizarre, but as time went on, the dialogue soon felt catered to the voice actor, playing the part quite fantastically. The main cast is an amalgamation of English, Welsh, American, and everything in between; and yet it works.

To back up what I believe to be a fantastic cast, we also have some of the best writing I’ve seen in the series. Playing this, I felt the writers’ passion from small quips and deep conversations alike; XC2 has dialogue from across the spectrum and knows just when to hit you hard, or when to break tension with a clever line of ineptitude. The lines feel as though they were written with both the character and voice actor in mind, and I find myself smiling to myself even as I write this thinking back on what I experienced.

Despite their faults, I couldn’t help but enjoy the cutscenes. While lip syncing issues definitely detract from what could have been something truly spectacular, the fact I still hold them in such high regard should speak volumes on the quality of the content itself.

Ode to a Titan

Supporting the cutscenes from start to end is a masterfully crafted soundtrack. Rarely do I see audio so wonderfully capture the essence of a game; from the whimsical and vast open areas, to the dark, uneasy air of war on the horizon. You hear it in every cutscene, tense or timid; in every environment, every encounter or shift in the tide. It stands out exactly where it needs to, and blends seamlessly into the background as an ambient track to encourage immersion when exploring. It goes beyond what I expect from an experience such as this, despite having no real need to in this context. For such efforts, I find myself excited to listen, eager to engage.

Uncharted Territory

Fans of the original Xenoblade Chronicles will likely feel at home in the living environments we call Titans. Reminiscent of the Bionis, they each harbour their own nation; a small civilisation to which they guide across the Sea of Clouds. Each Titan offers a unique landscape to explore, vast and visually stunning on the screen of the Switch.

These areas provide incentive to explore in the form of treasure troves scattered around the environment. Each trove offers something different, be it money or crystals required to get new Blades, it will almost always be worth the time spent finding if you’re willing to go off the beaten track. For those wanting to follow a map through to the end, XC2 also has interesting means of assisting. Even early on, environments feel interactive, and far more alive than previous games in the series. An example that springs to mind is the floor of an ancient ship. At first glance, it seems weak; as one might expect from a ship so old. What caught me by surprise was falling through the aforementioned floor after stepping on it. It’s a small addition, yet acts as a means of pushing the player in the right direction naturally. Of course, you could still rely on map icons to guide you to where you’re going, but small changes like this go a long way in making you forget to check your map. You soon feel little need to.

That’s not to say the environments are perfect. While the game puts good effort into natural progression through maps, it does little in the way of natural limitation when it comes to exploration. For the truly adventurous amongst us, we may want to see exactly what lies at the end of the map. A secret message? Perhaps a treasure trove? Alas, the possibility of such things is ruled out with a simple dialogue box. “Turn back,” to put it simply. I suppose you could call it a secret message, as dissatisfying as it may be.

Live to Fight Another Day

Combat in XC2 is as it has always been in Xenoblade; simple, but engaging. At its core, you just have to move your character close to an enemy, and you’ll start attacking automatically. Standard, bordering on basic, but not necessarily in a bad way. The simplistic nature of automated attacking allows the player’s focus to shift to Arts; skills charged with each automatic hit. Each art requires a different amount of hits to charge, and different conditions to be met for an optimal attack. This may come down to positioning, or the current state of the opponent. Moving while the enemy is distracted to land perfect hits soon becomes a challenge as more allies and enemies are added to the fray. Add to this powerful specials and the possibility of combos with allied Blades, and you have a deep, immersive system to play with.

New Blades are acquired in a system not dissimilar to the ever-popular loot box that has been running rampant around the games industry as of late. Requiring a Core Crystal, the bonding process randomly gives you a blade of rarity one through five. What I’m sure will be of no surprise, all of this is done in-game, with none of the negative strings attached you usually see associated with loot boxes. I would go so far as to say this system is wholly beneficial to the game. Through its random nature, it offers a unique gameplay experience to each of its players, having them rely on different Blades, and in turn, different skills and combos. It also offers a degree of replayability for those wanting a reason to come back. While the distribution of Core Crystals sometimes felt lacking, I never felt as though I was underequipped for battle. The thought of a unique Blade always kept me looking for more.

Questlife

Quests have always been an integral part of the Xenoblade formula, and as they always have, are distributed across the world to solve a variety of issues. Whether it be a game of hide and seek, or saving a travelling merchant from a horde of enemies, there will always be something to do. The variety in quest types really didn’t disappoint me, and while there were some duplicates in structure, the story and dialogue throughout kept them feeling unique and interesting

The real catch of the quests in XC2 comes in the management of rewards. For each quest, you will get a distribution of Gold, EXP, and SP; and sometimes an item or two for your trouble. While it sounds standard, I came to appreciate how the game distributes the EXP gained. Instead of directly inheriting it, it gets stockpiled as Bonus EXP. Bonus EXP can then be accessed by sleeping at a local Inn, where you get to decide how much of it you want. If you feel the game is too challenging, you can use up all your Bonus EXP to level up your character as much as possible. If you feel the game is fine as it is, you it can be completely ignores until deemed necessary. To me, this system is fantastic. It presents the player with choice of difficulty without forcing their hand; it keeps a struggling player engaged, instead of being too stubborn to change the difficulty to Easy. Perhaps most interestingly to me, it gives completionists a chance to experience a challenge while playing the game, instead of being constantly over-levelled because of the plethora of quests already completed. Such flexibility from a small design choice goes a long way in providing a memorable and player-tailored gameplay experience.

The X-Factor

XC2 recaptures a lot of what made the original game so great to me. It provides a story with unpredictable twists and turns; it provides memorable experience after memorable experience in its landscapes, its dialogue, its humour. It encourages exploration through a lack of punishment in death; it encourages death in giving you the choice to explore areas far beyond your capabilities. Despite being a linear experience, Xenoblade has never felt more open, more alive. Should you journey to the skies of Alrest, you will not come back disappointed.

You can find this review in full at GBAtemp.net:
https://gbatemp.net/review/demon-gaze-ii.674/

In a time long passed, Asteria was a city thriving in music and mischief, dance and dazzle. Bit by bit, the city changed. Warped by the magic of Magnastar, its citizens find themselves spellbound, unable to oppose his ominous rule. It falls to the Revolutionist Party to stand against this absolute rule.

Eyes First Opened

Demon Gaze II (DG2) opens in a surprisingly dissatisfying manner. With nothing in the way of opening cutscene or title sequence, the first impression comes from what feels like a fairly standard menu and a slow music box theme. It’s not to say the menu theme isn’t fitting or enjoyable, but when trailers like this exist, I simply found myself expecting more. Games like Xenoblade Chronicles find themselves memorable for their simplistic, almost iconic title screens. While it might be unfair to compare the two titles, the difference in payoff speaks volumes to me.

After a brief and mysterious introduction to the world of DG2, you are presented with a series of choices to establish your character. The first of these is something I found particularly interesting, asking for your character’s alignment—Good, Neutral, or Evil. This is a permanent decision which ultimately affects the way you play the game, tailoring it for different play styles. Being Good puts a focus on defence, and as such, both your character and demon allies will have a much more defensive skillset. Evil puts you on the opposite end of the scale; a tyrannous Demon Gazer with a heavy focus on offence. And finally, one of Neutral alignment finds a balance between the two, ultimately learning a bit of everything—a jack of all trades. I find this a brilliant idea to mix up the game and add a layer of replayability outside of difficulty alterations. It also allows for a more personal experience, and a greater level of understanding with the main character as they mirror your style of play. It really does make me happy to see games deviate from standard clear-cut role definition. Being forced to think ahead and reflect on your own way of playing the game, before even experiencing gameplay, is mysterious and somewhat exciting to me. The rest of the character creation is what you might expect; pick a look, pick a voice, a name, and a skill to go with your alignment. As far as customisation goes, DG2 doesn’t have much going for it, but it offers enough to make the character feel your own. While it is fairly standard for the most part, it feels in no way lacking.

Amnesiacs Anonymous

Character created, you are thrust into a hazy world where you… Can’t remember who you are. Naturally. Use of generic tropes alone isn’t enough to truly irritate me. Generic tropes can be built upon to great effect, deviating, developing it beyond the scope of what originally made it generic. The joy of such tropes comes in twisting what people expect from them to a satisfying end. While DG2 does make attempts at this, they aren’t made soon enough—and those made feel lacklustre, unable to fully justify our almighty amnesiac. The most obvious use of the protagonist’s forgotten past is to put you on the same level of understanding, allowing the game’s characters to interact with him as they would you; explaining each of the game’s features in an unnatural way without breaking the fourth wall. It ultimately feels lazy, with character development largely revolving around remembering past details, in oppose to actual progress. It’s as if you’re fighting with a book to get to the first page.

Dungeon Depths

Of course, the core of the game lies in its dungeons; and I have to say it does not disappoint in this respect. The areas go a long way in feeling alive and active, far more so than I expected. Parts of the scenery move in the background, steam dances through the passages of a steampunk factory. It feels as though great lengths were gone to ensure immersion. Even with the lower resolutions seen on the PS Vita version, the game feels alive. The battle system is largely standard, with demons being its unique twist. As turns in the battle go by, you build up your Star Gauge. The higher this value, the longer you can demonise your team for. Demonisation transforms each demon in your party to their true form, bringing with them stat boosts and some fantastic new designs—changing them from anime girls to something far more representative of their names. If a team full of moe girls isn’t something you’re particularly fond of, DG2 offers you further customisation in your comrades’ appearance, giving you a choice between the default cutesy style, or a darker fantasy portrait. With the game also presenting you with a chance to date your demons, being able to change the way they look could also make this feel less of a crime with some of the younger-looking demonic entities.

The battles can be either engaging and tactical, or a simple affair depending on what you want out of them. Through difficulty changes and team composition, the game can be made really quite easy, allowing for somebody far more interested in story and exploration to do what they love. On the other hand, for thrill seekers and tacticians, DG2’s battle system provides enough depth and engagement to feel you are actively at the helm, controlling the fates of those in your team. Combine this with an excellent selection of difficulties and random battles throughout a dungeon, and you have everything I really want out of a dungeon crawler. My only real complaint here is that there is no indication of a random battle as it’s about to happen, such as what is seen in Etrian Odyssey, but I feel that more a privilege than something I should be expecting from every similarly styled game.

Textual Traversal

The word of DG2 is built impressively from the get-go, establishing lore and mysteries well to entice you further in. Aside from the trope mentioned earlier, the content comes across in a well written manner, and I found myself really wanting to enjoy it. Even so, I struggled. The content itself was no issue; I can find little fault in it being engaging and interesting. Where the game finds difficulty is presenting it in a way as not to become tiresome. In the first two hours of the game, I found around 60 to 90 minutes occupied with text upon text upon text. I wanted take it all in, I wanted the world to be built around me, but there are limits to just how much I want to sit through at once. The introductory section is broken up using a limited and scripted dungeon which does alleviate this to some extent, but it would be easy to see this putting people off before getting to where this game truly shines. It’s a difficult balance to get right where you have something brilliant to express in a style of game that presents few creative means of doing so.

DG2 does a lot in trying to keep the text interesting. My favourite of these efforts by far is the choice presented to you during dialogue. I question whether these choices have any real effect on the course of the game, but they definitely kept me engaged. They gave me a reason to pay attention, if only to snap back at the NPCs in the sarcastic manner to which I am accustomed. I felt a great deal closer to the protagonist through these choices, and while I don’t believe these alone justify the wall of text early on, they do go a long way in showing what the game has to offer outside of dungeons.

The Voiced and the Unvoiced

To accompany the text, DG2 offers a myriad of fantastic voice actors to further bring the game alive. It feels natural and really does go a long way to further immersion, even voicing minor characters who die only minutes after saying their lines. It gives the impression early on everything will be voiced; but this isn’t the case. I perhaps got my hopes up a little too much, but with how the game presents its voicing, I found it difficult not to. After the first hour or so of voiced lines, the game appears to pick and choose lines to voice seemingly at random; with some unvoiced lines preceded with voice snippets, almost fooling me into thinking what was to follow would be voiced. This is again a difficult issue to address, and one that may simply stem from my wanting of more things to justify the text. The lack of voice acting in areas only becomes more noticeable as I enjoy what voice acting is present more and more; ultimately worsening as the game gets better.

All in all, DG2 reminds me the Vita is not dead. Even considering its slow start and use of tropes, it presents a well-polished, visually appealing, and most of all, fun addition to both the Vita’s unknowingly hefty lineup and the comparatively small array of portable dungeon crawlers. It easily stands aside a game like Etrian Odyssey, sharing some of what makes it great, as well as presenting its own ideas in a unique and appealing manner. Stick with this game, you won’t regret it.

You can find this review in full at GBAtemp.net:
https://gbatemp.net/review/bad-apple-wars.659/

Aksys Games are a publisher I have recently become more and more aware of. Originally in my mind for such gems as the Zero Escape trilogy, they have published hit after hit in the visual novel world; making accessible games I never expected to see come to the west. After reviewing Collar X Malice, I have to say I was suitably excited to take a look at Bad Apple Wars (BAW), but have I bitten into a rotten apple?

It’s a perfectly normal day, as it oft is at the beginning of any grand adventure or grim tale. A hollow soul, our protagonist feeling familiarly empty at the prospect of attending a new school. Everything changes, and yet nothing changes. Aware of her own emptiness, she does nothing to move forwards, and yet has no reason to rebel. Unwillingly thrust into the world of the dead, she stands as a perfectly pure canvas—an apple neither good nor bad.

Enrolment

When I first turned on the game, I left it idle, as I usually do. Sorting out my miscellaneous errands, I was caught somewhat off-guard by what I was hearing. Glancing back at my monitor (as I had decided to play on my Vita TV), my mind started to put the pieces together. It was the game’s opening theme. It’s not unusual for a visual novel to have a solid opening sequence; it’s actually something I’ve come to expect. You want it to introduce the characters in a way that makes you want to play the game, to see what lies beyond their devilishly good looks. You want it to intrigue, to entice. You want it to be backed by something to stimulate excitement. It’s not a difficult formula to get right, but to get it right to this degree brings a smile to my face. This opening theme ticks every box: it shows off the style of character art, it shows off the game’s stylish nature, and most of all, it is backed by a phenomenal song by a recognisable artist. I was excited to begin; more so than any advertising or research had made me previously.

​And then, peace. Calm. As if to drain the excitement, the eagerness built, the game plays a mellow theme more befitting a Professor Layton game. At first this seemed an odd choice. It derailed the tension with such intent, it’s almost unsettling—brilliantly so. In just two minutes, the first two minutes of the game, before any actual gameplay had been presented, here we have the tone, the essence of the game laid out before us. The unsettling calm of the Good Apples, the unhindered chaos and excitement of the Bad Apples; the confusion of you, the protagonist, at their distinct intertwined and contrasting nature. For a simple menu to give such insight into a game’s tone is truly staggering to me. Of course, this is something plenty more appreciated on reflection, however the implications for first-time players shouldn’t be overlooked. The contrast and confusion created by these themes lead into the introductory chapter well, and allow for another level of empathy with the protagonist as she is cast into an unknown world both similar and different to what she has known.

Angelic Inspiration, Demonic Presentation

Just beyond the introduction, a school waits for you. As you might expect, this is no ordinary school. It sits in a world of its own, the students trapped within its grounds. The conditions to graduate? Follow the rules and be a Good Apple. With graduation, so comes a renewed chance at life. Ring any familiar bells? Throughout my time playing BAW, I couldn’t help but draw a comparison to the 2010 series Angel Beats. That too finds its setting in a school afterlife, with similar conditions to graduation and, again, have another chance at life. It’s difficult to avoid the parallels if you’ve seen Angel Beats. It is however equally difficult to avoid the sheer contrast. From my perspective, BAW almost parodies the ideals of Angel Beats, presenting what felt like a dystopian spin on the popular series. I don’t want to dwell on this too much, given the comparison to an entirely different medium, but I did find it interesting how I was constantly being led astray by my knowledge of it. The off-beat familiarity of the situation paired with the masterfully chilling soundtrack built up a surreal experience. It enhanced the game in a way I struggle to believe was intended; and yet it fell together so well.

The sinister vibe extends far beyond the contrast of angels and apples; it is woven into the very fabric of the game. Prominent in the soundtrack, the dialogue, the very nature of graduation, it’s always with you. An unsettling uncertainty. BAW’s way of portraying generic characters ties well into this. It’s often interesting to look away from the main cast, and see how visual novels handle the unnamed masses. Often undrawn, faint figures; to an extent, ghosts. BAW goes above and beyond what I expected. Instead of viewing the generic masses as a nuisance, it toys with their very concept. The lifeless horde is a lifeless horde, the faceless figures donning unnerving masks. They’re used as background noise, an echo chamber ominously repeating the hope-deprived words of their teachers—and they fill this role better than any unique character ever could.

The Drawn and the Undrawn

It’s a shame such thought couldn’t be carried into every character. While BAW handles the generic character wonderfully, it struggles with those who have a place neither here nor there. Those who find themselves not quite in the spotlight of being a main character, but not quite irrelevant enough to be one of the faceless. BAW’s approach? Simply to not draw them. At all. This is a design choice I cannot find reason in. Perhaps a limited budget? I truly find it a shame how any potential these not-quite-main-but-named characters had is thrown away by a lack of visualisation. Even something as small as a portrait window would elevate them. They may not be worthy nor significant enough for a full-body design, but seeing nothing puts them at a level below the masked Good Apples in my eyes, despite their named status.

​Of course, where the characters are drawn, they are spectacular. As with many modern visual novels, your love interests are clearly marked by their colour. These colours are not only used to create a unique and bright identity to these rebels of a bland world, they also provide clear choice when it comes to route diversification. Many of the games’ choices come in the form of a school map, asking you which location you would like to visit. These colours allow for simple association, and tell the player “if you head here, you’ll meet Mr White”. It’s simple, but subtle enough as not to disrupt the flow of the game in choosing a route.

A Soul Untouched

BAW uses one more method of route diversification, albeit sparsely throughout the game. Soul Touch stands as the game’s contribution to the standard visual novel formula, and takes advantage of the PS Vita’s touch screen to interact with characters to better understand them. It’s an interesting idea, I’ll give it that much, however I found its implementation questionable with often arbitrary execution. To break it down, you touch the person in the right place, and you learn a bit about their past. Touch them in the wrong place at the wrong time, you’ll put yourself on the path of a bad ending. It serves as a means of interaction with the main cast, but no part of it ever feels particularly rewarding nor, for the lack of a better word, intimate. This system is supposed to put you closer to understanding a character, it’s supposed to put you in the position of the protagonist, but ultimately it comes down to tapping random parts of their body with no reason nor rhyme. I appreciate the idea of this, but I feel it flawed by design.

​The system itself leaves me a little disappointed, but I struggle to deny the impact of the scenes that follow. Bit by bit, feeding me sad tales of unfulfilled lives, I shared the pain just as the protagonist would. Despite its minor faults, BAW stands out to me. It encourages me to look beyond the mask. It pushes me to understand that which is hidden. It reminds me forbidden fruit should be savoured.

You can find this review in full at GBAtemp.net:
https://gbatemp.net/review/steamworld-dig-2.653/

Welcome to an alternate Earth—an alternate world where humans are all but wiped out, destroyed by the very weapons they created. In their steed, a civilisation of steam and steel has risen. The inhabitants of this alternate land? Industrious robots, powered by steam—Steambots. Stuck on the dawn of the 20th century, these bots live as sheriffs, miners, or as simple citizens. This is the wild west, but not quite how you remember it.

First Impressions

From the very first menu, SteamWorld Dig 2 sets an ironically human tone. Before so much as starting the game, I found myself eager to explore what was available to me, quickly finding an image of the team who had spent so much time, and had put so much passion into this project. It was refreshing, and I couldn’t help but smile when I saw it. I understand this is an incredibly miner addition, but it’s the kind of thing I rarely see attention drawn to; and I feel that’s a shame. Putting this aside, I started the game.

This being my first SteamWorld game, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect; aside from digging and a bit of steam. The introductory segment presents itself well; albeit somewhat slow paced. It ticks every box, introducing the movement, the general feel of the level design, as well as the core aspect of the game: digging. Everything feels fluid, yet lacking. It comes across as though there is a fantastic movement system buried in the game, but just out of reach—stuck behind a rock your pickaxe simply cannot crack.

Obviously, you don’t go into a game expecting it to play all its cards right from the start. A game should tease, tempt, allure you into playing more; show you a string to the heavens and make you want to climb it. While I wouldn’t say SteamWorld Dig 2 necessarily fails in this respect, I struggled to find myself excited to continue. Nothing particularly stands out as a holding it back, yet it has no real driving factor. I would describe the game’s opening as a strange limbo. The end of the opening section is the only part that really strikes me as interesting.

This interest comes in the form of a boss—a strange totem content with zapping deranged cultists. It caught me off guard. A rather out of place, slightly humorous piece of plot; followed by a fun and engaging battle. It gave me hope. The boss battle does everything I look for in an introduction wrap up. It puts to test each of the mechanics and movement techniques the game had previously shown you; adding an air of danger without being overly difficult nor complicated. Despite being a relatively short fight, it provides a satisfying payoff, and acts reasonably well as a check the player knows how to play the game. With this out of the way, players can go into more complex areas, confident of the basics.

Holes

From here, the game begins to open up. You leave the confines of the western temple and head to a small mining town, populated by a quite frankly irritating array of characters. You meet such thrilling Steambots as lobster robot, builder robot, and who can forget beloved old robot. I feel nothing for these characters and as the story progresses, I feel no desire to interact with them. They populate the town as background noise; some serving utility, others not. The problem I feel with them is how the game almost wants you to empathise with their situation, but why should you care? Looking back at my experience with the NPCs as a whole, I realise this irritation created a strange conflict of motive when playing. I would like to see the story come to a resolution; I would like to see Dot find her lost friend. Beyond that however, a desire had emerged to see the townspeople suffer, to make their confusion and hardship last that little bit longer. This in itself offers potential to prolong the gameplay experience and encourage further exploration below the planet’s surface.

Deep below is where you’ll spend the majority of the game—picking and digging, drilling and mining. It’s repetitive, it’s tedious, it’s been done before. Looking from the outside in, you have to ask exactly what this game can add to the formula to keep it fresh. SteamWorld Dig 2’s answer comes in the form of augmentations and upgrades, and such a system plays well to the hand it has dealt itself. So often I find upgrades being forced on the player for the sake of progression and while this is still to some degree true here, it at least finds reasonable justification. It feels natural within the confines of this world—you are a robot finding ancient upgrades deep underground. The idea of these sits incredibly well with the overall feel of the game. The upgrades themselves however leave me conflicted.

Freed from the shackles of introductory sluggishness, SteamWorld Dig 2 takes several different approaches in livening up the underground experience. The upgrades can be broken down into two basic categories: those that make it easier to mine; and those that make it easier to move. Each upgrade falling into these categories serves a purpose; be it to overcome wonderfully crafted environmental blockades, or just to break through a hunk of rock a hit faster. Each new ability you find, each new upgrade you work for, you feel a sense of progress, a sense of satisfaction. There is no doubt in my mind this is a well-structured and heavily rewarding system. Where the game trips itself up is in combining these fun and varied upgrades with the relatively samey environments.

I can find no fault in the way the game controls progression. Truthfully, such well executed environmental blockades are something I find particular joy in seeing. The abilities and upgrades required to pass them are quite often incredibly fun additions to Dot’s movement pool—but a question must be asked here: how often will you be able to use them in the confines of a narrow cave system? I understand they might still make movement easier, even in the winding passages, but playing with the toolbox of extended movement abilities in the open space the town provides makes for an entirely different experience. It drives me to want more from the game, and it simply doesn’t deliver. This isn’t to say it doesn’t try to fill this ever-deepening hole.

Caves are a hidden wonder of SteamWorld Dig 2. Sporadic in placement, dotted around the underground tunnels they hide. Akin to the shrines of The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, they each offer a unique challenge based around a singular theme. Whether it’s a simple movement mechanic, or something not seen anywhere else in the game, you can be certain it will be pushed to the limit to create something fun, creative, and original. Each cave leaves you smiling, sometimes letting out an overdue breath of relief by the end. They leave you eager to find another, eager to enjoy the upgrades the game seems to enjoy giving you. Each of these caves are masterfully crafted; traps lovingly placed, timings meticulously precise. I often had to take a moment to reflect on just how well they come together. I still find sadness in the lack of meaningful open spaces to utilise some of the later upgrades, but to deny Caves their credit for that would be to deny the joy they brought me.

Let’s Talk About Pacing

I’ve mentioned the slow start. It’s a little irritating, but it isn’t unexpected. The natural progression of most games features a degree of escalation often starting as the world begins to widen. This escalation builds ultimately to a climax, where the game peaks. Plenty of games have a number of peaks, and work to rebuild the tension and excitement as you approach the next. Herein lies SteamWorld Dig 2’s failure.

What strikes me as interesting in this case is how one scene ultimately ruined the game’s pacing. Perhaps the more interesting aspect of this is that I view this scene as the most tense, the most interesting and fun part of the game. It put me through dread, joy, it made my heart race. It had everything in place to be a penultimate scene, the climax this game deserved. This climax never happened. The reward? A new ability. A new ability that ties in with none of the previous dread, joy, nothing that made my heart race. I feel an unreserved disappointment the pacing was thrown so heavily off for the sake of something so trivial. The game builds again after that, but what could have been a fun plot twist is exchanged with an “oh, that’s it?” The game sets the bar too high, and simply fails to deliver afterwards. This by no means makes the game unplayable, but it makes me question whether this scene, regardless of how good it might be, would have been better off not being in the game at all.

You can find this review in full at GBAtemp.net:
https://gbatemp.net/review/mario-rabbids-kingdom-battle.644/

Rabbids have always been a mystery to me, held in a similar light to that of Minions; Lemming-like creatures with one-dimensional personalities. The idea of them melding into the Mario universe felt like no more than a cash grab, Ubisoft out to exploit unknowing Nintendo fans such as myself. I truly find it difficult to express how happy I am to be proven wrong.

Welcome to Chaos

The scene is set in a somewhat unexpected and remarkable way, utilising a fully voiced cutscene to introduce you to both the SupaMerge—a key item to the plot, and the chaotic nature of Rabbids—the shining stars of the game. The basic progression of this cutscene comes down to a girl having made an extraordinary piece of technology, capable of merging any two objects into one, maintaining elements of both. While this device has overheating issues, at its core it is fully functional. Tired of trying to solve the aforementioned issue, she leaves the headset for the day, and heads off for a break. The momentary peace soon passes as Rabbids enter the scene with the force of a heavy-duty spin cycle. The room filled with Mario memorabilia, some of the ensemble take the time to enjoy dressing up as the iconic characters. Amidst the chaos, a Rabbid stumbles upon the SupaMerge, and begins its frantic raving antics. Before long, the Rabbids tumble back into the dimension-busting, time-traveling washing machine they arrived in, now headed straight for the Mushroom Kingdom.

It is a lot to take in. In such a short space of time, you are exposed to a significant amount of the game’s core story, as well as the Rabbids as a whole. It’s all rather interesting, and the cutscene itself is really quite striking. Full voice acting was something I found exciting to hear, especially in a franchise more notable for its “yahoos” and grunts. Sadly, it isn’t something that lasts. Entering the Mushroom Kingdom, I found myself greeted with text box upon text box. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing in isolation, but it really does stand out after such a well-crafted, and fantastically voiced introduction.

The New Mushroom Kingdom

The Mushroom Kingdom feels as it has always felt—bright, vibrant, and inviting. Mario + Rabbids captures the essence of this world incredibly faithfully, making any Mario fan feel at home as soon as they touch down in this most familiar of lands. Of course, this isn’t the Mushroom Kingdom you know and love, the new pecking order made evident as you witness Rabbids glue two Goombas together with honey, and roll them off; the stompable shrooms have fallen to a new low.

To match the inviting nature, you are presented with a few introductory battles, aimed at familiarising you with the basics of the game. The starting area is cleverly designed as to explain elements that may not appear intuitive, whilst luring you towards things it assumes you can grasp with very simple puzzles. It feels like a gentle hand-holding experience, but satisfying nonetheless. Regardless of how simple a puzzle may be, or how visible on the map your prize is—the fact remains you solved your puzzle, you found your prize. The game never necessarily goes out of its way to tell you the solutions, preserving what is probably an undeserved sense of accomplishment. It feels like everything you want an introductory area to be. Of course, all hand-holding must come to an end.

While playing, I don’t believe I noticed the point where this happened. The game’s way of easing you out of the tutorials is smooth enough as not to be jarring, whilst balancing the fact a new player would need time to adjust to its battle system. Thinking back, the real turning point for me was the first Rabbid-hybrid miniboss. It was the first map I actively thought to myself “I need to rethink my strategy.” In retrospect, it was an interesting moment. It was the game’s first time really pushing me, giving me a chance to prove I don’t need the hand-holding so prominent in early battles. I’ll admit, my first miniboss took some time. There were moments I felt it completely unfair, there were moments I felt it somewhat impossible, and there were moments I was close to hitting Easy Mode. Even so, I fought on—I felt driven to, and the rush of satisfaction upon the miniboss’ downfall surpassed that of any minor victory prior. I had truly earned the right to progress, and it felt good.

Stunted Progression

Of course, the progression I had earned was linear. Linearity to me is not an issue in and of itself; it allows for a controlled increase in difficulty, as well as a focus on storytelling. Linearity can be fantastic. It’s when the game flashes you a glimmer of choice, and locks it behind arbitrary walls where I find issue.

In the first world, there are blocks littering the green pastures, strewn across bridges and towers alike. What purpose do they serve? Little more than a lazy blockade, an attempt at forcing replayability into each of the game’s worlds. Should you try to move one of these blocks before the game decides you are allowed, you are simply told you are unable. This is something I want to forgive—and honestly, it’s something I could forgive, if the abilities were obtained in a meaningful manner. Again, this isn’t the case. You control a disk that can apparently receive and materialise blasters, and super yo-yos via email; it wouldn’t be out of the realm of feasibility to assume it could acquire the power to move heavy blocks by defeating a physically strong enemy. There could have been some short event sequence of our lovable disk BEEP-0 absorbing some of the power that disappears as the Rabbids are defeated; anything to justify such meaningless powers. Even something as small as having these powers emailed to BEEP-0 would have at least held some significance. Instead, we find ourselves left with a miscellaneous message upon beating the world’s boss, saying we can now use this skill. No reason nor rhyme, it is something handed to you, and you are expected to be grateful for it.

Although my irritation towards the handling of overworld skills is evident, I struggle to find fault in the bonus content itself. Herein lies some of the game’s best puzzles, and most interesting battles. It takes everything you’ve learned thus far and throws it on its head, using variations of battle formats you thought you were familiar with. The most prominent of these come in the form of one turn battles. Whether it asks you to knock out every enemy, or just get to a certain area, the stakes are increased when you only have a turn. It changes the dynamic of the battle to know there is probably a very simple solution to your stressful endeavour, and the moment of breakthrough that comes from finally finding it is amongst the most satisfying the game has to offer. The bonus challenges, as well as the ‘hidden’ chapters are definitely worth going back for. Despite their unimaginative implementation, it’s difficult to deny they are areas the game truly shines.

A Beautiful World

Looking past the lazy attempt at replayability, the world stands out as both interesting and visibly appealing. The distinct difference in zone design is something noticeable as you begin to progress through the second area of the game—Sherbet Desert. To go from the straight line of road that was Ancient Gardens, to the twisting, winding, somewhat confusing desert path—it gets your mind racing, especially towards the end of the zone. You can see how the zone complexity develops as the game continues, and it becomes exciting to think what they have in store for you next.

The only thing holding it back for me isn’t actually something regarding the world design itself, rather the camera, and its associated limitations. It can be quite frustrating to have the camera lock at seemingly random times, disallowing your ability to rotate it and view the world from a different angle. To some extent, I can understand why this is in place. I see how the game might want to direct your eye to a certain focal point. I see how it sometimes uses the camera’s limitations to hide things in plain sight, and I find that choice neither good nor bad. Where I find fault is in its inconsistency. The worst case of this comes just after beating a battle. In battles, you have camera rotation—regardless of which area you’re in, you have rotation. This obviously makes sense; enemies can hide behind things, a lack of camera rotation would make battles unnecessarily difficult. I find it odd that upon completion, some of these areas then lock the camera. To reiterate, moments like this don’t hold the game back; they aren’t a major inconvenience. I would however be lying to say they aren’t noticeable.

While I certainly did find it irritating at times for its inconsistency, the camera does serve you well for the most part, especially in showing you the Rabbids’ mayhem and antics. In Mario + Rabbids, you can tell a lot of effort went into making sure one element didn’t overpower the other; both Mario and the Rabbids feel interwoven into the world, in a similar vein to how Kirby: Planet Robobot embraced its mechanical overtones. It truly feels as though the SupaMerge pulled together these two worlds, embracing all that makes each of them fantastic. Everything is in place to remind you you’re playing a Mario game, however the somewhat strange and childish Rabbid humour stands in place, nudging you as if to say “this is like no Mario game you’ve ever played.”

A Raving Reception

This humour takes a great number of forms, from punchy one liners regarding a Rabbid’s questionable actions, to witnessing mischief already managed, to watching a short skit of Rabbids being Rabbids. It’s enthralling, really it is quite possibly the most unexpected and enjoyable aspect of the game for me. Through this humour, the skits in particularly, I’ve come to see the Rabbids in a new light. They’re painted as individuals, united in their chaotic and somewhat simple tendencies. Some of them just want to lie about, others enjoy a game of tag. It shines a light of innocence and childhood that never failed to bring a smile to my face. After a short time playing the game, they captivated me, and I found myself screenshotting every encounter, as if to wish it lasting longer.

As you play, you come to realise how the overarching story acts as a facilitator to this end. The actual plot advancement is somewhat weak, but when you look at the bigger picture, it does everything it needs to. I can sum up the story as simply as this: Rabbids steal the SupaMerge, hijinks ensue, and oh yeah, there’s a big vortex thing in the sky. It may seem as though I oversimplify the story a little, but this is how it presents itself. It is a vessel to keep the game moving forwards, and that’s all it really needs to be.

Trial by Battle

Battles in Mario + Rabbids are a new experience to me. I have often heard the comparison to XCOM, but having never played an XCOM game, I went in fresh-faced. Combat takes placed on grid-based maps, with you controlling three characters in a turn-based manner. Players must effectively string together movement, melee combat, and ranged attacks, with advantages provided from the terrain. While you can get away with a more brazen approach in early battles, the map complexity soon increases to the point where you have to start planning ahead. The game presents an interesting balance between pushing the player to advance, and conservatively moving forwards.

Half of this balance comes in the form of breakable blocks on the map. These blocks provide cover, allowing you to hide after attacking, and reduce the chance of taking damage when under attack. Their breakable nature forces you to move onward from one place to the next, pushing towards the enemy before they have a chance to fully destroy your hiding place and leave you exposed. While there is indestructible cover also, it is usually comes with a trade-off of leaving you partially exposed, or is present to serve a purpose—a means of avoiding a shock wave that would otherwise encompass the map, for example.

The flipside to this push on the aggressive is the retention of health between battles of a chapter. Like other aspects of the game, this is broken in gently during the first few tutorial battles, where it holds no real significance, and the stakes are low. As the difficulty steadily increases, it becomes more noticeable, and more evident battles should be handled cautiously. This adds a certain air of difficulty to the game, but not so much as to hinder accessibility to the less strategically minded. For those who find more fun in head on battles, and cherish their reckless abandon, Easy Mode offers what is probably a welcomed handout—restoring all HP, and giving each character 50% more max HP to work with for the length of the battle. It exists almost as a way to break the careful balance crafted for combat.

The fun variety of battle types also assist in making the game accessible, whilst also assuring the battle system doesn’t grow tiresome or stale. Of these types, I quite surprisingly found myself enjoying the escort missions most. Given previous experiences with strategy games and escort AI, I was somewhat disheartened to see the objective appear on-screen for the first time. If you’ve played Fire Emblem, or any similar game, you’ll know your escorts are always beyond stupid, to the point of being fearless in their unarmed madness. Mario + Rabbids remedies this problem in such a simple way; you can control your escort. It is such a simple, such a minor thing, but it really does leave a lasting impression. It pays off in allowing for proper planning, it allows me to blame myself if something goes wrong. I can’t be annoyed at some suicidal AI’s desire to ruin my perfect score, and I quite frankly find that brilliant. Put this next to the slow addition of new enemies and map hazards, and you find yourself with an engaging range of battles, constantly shifting. Every time you think you’ve worked out a definitive formula for victory, the game decides you should be pushed further. It decides; “hey, try a Chain Chomp this battle!” While it can come across as a little frustrating if too much is introduced too quickly, Mario + Rabbids does well in developing the battles only as they start to grow monotonous. Because of this, no battle type feels particularly neglected, nor stale, as the game progresses.

Overall, the battles feel hard-fought, victories well deserved and satisfying. On top of its already diverse formula, the game allows you to switch up battles further in its team customisation options. If you feel a map is perhaps too difficult, or too easy, with your current roster, you can switch out team members at any point before a battle starts. There are a lot of ways this system could have fallen flat. A particular worry of mine was only using a certain team throughout the story, and neglecting the other options available to me; to the point of them being unusable should I desire to pull them from the bench. Mario + Rabbids alleviates these worries in a number of ways, but most notably in its lack of experience points, and levelling as a whole. Instead, the game puts focus on weapon upgrades, paid for using the spoils of battle. This system works, but I sometimes found myself questioning just how well. Quite possibly its only flaw lies in its very core—weapon upgrades. Naturally, they cost money, and I found the game’s cash flow questionable at times. It always felt as though the times I needed money, I never had enough; while the times I had everything I needed, I was rolling in the stuff. I don’t know whether to put it down to unusual spending habits on my part, or an unbalanced distribution of money, but I never felt I could have the full team available to fight at any one time. Somebody would always be lagging behind.

Even if I did manage to pull together, and get everybody to the same standard, I still wouldn’t have complete control over my team. Although the game gives you the choice to build a team of three out of your allies, it also made the dubious decision of forcing at least one Rabbid on your team. Speaking from a strategic standpoint, this isn’t a problem in the slightest. The Rabbids are incredibly strong allies; Rabbid Mario having a consistent slot on my team. I can completely understand why this is the case; after all, this is Mario + Rabbids. You are expected to enjoy aspects of both games. Even so, limiting the player’s choice in this way feels largely unnecessary.⁠

Let’s Talk Amiibo

Love them or hate them, Amiibo are quite the interesting tool in the games development process. To effectively utilise them, one must maintain a careful balance of useful and meaningful content, whilst not being too useful, nor too meaningful. They must sit at a strange equilibrium to avoid the curse of being dubbed ‘on-cart DLC’, whilst satisfying fans eager to use them. A little to my disappointment, Mario + Rabbids neither does enough to satisfy, nor enrage. Each of the compatible Amiibo serves to unlock two weapons; one for the Amiibo character, and one for their Rabbid counterpart. These weapons are amongst the most well designed in the game, to that I will accredit them. Sadly, that’s about all they’re good for. Each of the weapon stats find themselves suitable only for when you first unlock the character in question; quickly outmatched by better firepower. It feels like a safe bet; as if to shout to the kids just how hip they are to be including the latest craze. Perhaps the most saddening part of this is the potential Amiibo could have had. Alternate costumes would have been just as safe a choice, offering no actual benefit in-game. The difference is an alternate costume would be useful for more than five minutes of gameplay; or even less should you scan the Amiibo late in the game. They feel like nothing but an afterthought.

In Closing

Mario + Rabbids Kingdom Battle is an unexpectedly phenomenal game I wholeheartedly recommend to any lover of Mario, of strategy, or of simple lighthearted humour. While it has its frustrating moments, the vast majority feel necessary in providing a satisfying payoff for working around them. It is by no means a game without fault, however the level in which they are outshined is truly staggering.

You can find this review in full at GBAtemp.net:
https://gbatemp.net/review/severed.634/

Fragmented Fear

Sasha finds herself in a world most familiar—but not the same. With the remnants of her house before her, and nowhere to turn back to, she steps into what remains of her reality. Ruins; charred, burned and broken. A solitary mirror stands amidst the chaos, and in it, a similarly solitary figure. A pitiful glance escapes her tired eyes, soon forcing her to recall the events leading to where she now resided. A terrible calamity had occurred—a creature slaying her family, and taking her arm. She had wandered into this world to take back what remained of her family—and a shadowy denizen would give her the tool to do so. A sword made not of metal, nor any material Sasha found herself familiar with. It was alive—an eye ever-present in its chappe—watching, observing. Into the wilds she runs, into the dangers of this world.

Into the Wilds

​From the first step into wilds, everything starts to feel bigger and more impressive. As the player, it’s easy to feel assaulted by the entourage of vibrant, yet dusky colours, almost intimidated by the claustrophobic nature of the foliage surrounding you. This plays to the game’s advantage, creating tones of initial captivity, paired with a sense of grandeur to suggest there is more to the world than you first see—more paths than may first appear. As the game progresses, you find the world opening up to varying degrees, primarily dependent on whether you decide to tackle optional puzzles. Should you leave these aside, the world still opens up to the point where you feel your progress is substantial, whilst retaining the captive tones previously mentioned.

Optional Adventure

Should you desire to shed the shackles of captivity, Severed offers what felt to me like a treasure trove of optional content; it is in this area the game truly shines. During each portion of the game, you are presented with a new ability. Each ability has a use in combat, explained shortly after obtaining them. While these abilities certainly prove useful, their potential to extend what is quite frankly a limited gameplay experience eclipses any form of battle usage.

The game is clever in forcing you to use these out of combat abilities to progress to the next zone, hiding them behind giant stone doors with the symbol of the required skill. If the player was yet to catch onto how Severed presents additional content, these checkpoints would serve as a push, whispering to the player that more paths may open up if they are willing to explore.

This additional content varies from hidden paths, to unique puzzles, to optional battles much more difficult than any other element of the game. Each offers its own reward, usually one of a brain piece, or heart piece—used to increase your mana and health respectively. I feel these work incredibly well as rewards, if for no other reason than the lack of immediate payoff. To have worked through a puzzle, or have gone back to find an additional route, gives you as the player a slight sense of accomplishment, almost drip feeding it to you. The genius of a reward in five parts is that it actively pushes you towards experiencing more of what the game has to offer, if only to complete the heart or brain, and finally cash in your efforts. This is further supported by the game handing you a free heart piece with no puzzle attached before entering the first domain from the wilds, and teasing you at the start of most puzzles, letting you see what you could have should you take the time to stop—showing you what reward lies just beyond a broken wall.

Optional battles offer perhaps the greatest test of skill, forcing the player to employ strategy simply not required in any other area in the game. Such a sudden spike in difficulty first shook me, but it soon made me realise just how fairly Severed treats the player.

As Fair as it Gets

The game’s very core enforces the idea of fairness, and maintains this ideal through various means. The most obvious of these is the map, and how difficult it makes it to miss something. Through the use of clear symbols, the player is made aware of otherwise easily overlooked secrets, no matter how small. A good example of this would be a single glowing brick in a room, which when pressed, unlocks a hidden path. Were the map not so generous in its information, it would be incredibly easy to simply continue onward none the wiser. Even if you miss it, or couldn’t figure out what to do in that room, the point remains that something can be done, and that you’re more than likely to be rewarded should you return later. While the range of symbols is never directly explained to the player, you intuitively grow accustom to them.

Even without the map, Severed falls back on its fantastic design choices to show the player exactly what is ahead, and what will be needed of them. This comes in the form of stunning landscape shots, as well as the previously mentioned broken walls. Add to this the non-random battles, with fights shown clearly in advance, and you’ll find it hard to debate the clear and consistent nature of the game. It could be argued the game is too forgiving in places, and that ultimately it is to the game’s detriment. This becomes more prominent in the lack of hard mode. With how much the player is catered to, I feel the developers had more than enough leverage to come up with some sort of heightened difficulty setting. This could have been in the form of more difficult battles, additional enemy encounters, or even a change as simple as showing less map information. Severed’s fairness is by no means a bad thing, and allows the player a great deal of trust with it—but it felt like a waste of potential to only offer the player a casual or standard difficulty.

Additional Adventure

My main concern regarding Severed is the lack of content to bring the player back upon completion. It stands almost as a work of art in its stunning graphics and intricately designed puzzles—that much I can’t deny. But once the artwork is seen, once the puzzles are solved, and the battles done—what is left to do? There is little satisfaction in revisiting an area no longer secret, and little joy in redoing a strategy that took 20 deaths to perfect. Once the game is seen, it is seen.

Severed falls flat in its lack of additional modes to keep the same game fresh. Compare it to a game such as Titan Souls.Titan Souls is quite probably a much shorter experience for most players, but keeps players invested with additional modes and limitations. Sure, you’re fighting the same fight, you know how each boss moves, but the freshly imposed restrictions make you rethink your approach. I understand these are very different styles of games, but Severed definitely felt as though it had untapped potential.

Systematic Failure

Overall, the game is flawed not by design, but by the limitations of the systems it finds itself available on. The fast swiping on the Switch version left me with a fairly sore case of friction burn, and while I would like to say it has a home on a stylus-centric system, such as the 3DS or Wii U, I would worry for the fragile state of the touch screen after each frantic session. I dare say it would have found a place on the Wii, with a focus on motion controls akin to The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, but that era has long since passed, leaving me with an ever-irritating “what if” in the back of my mind. It would be easy to suggest I simply slow down, but when the game does such a good job in setting up tense and engaging battles, I soon find myself once again swiping up an inferno.

You can find this review in full at GBAtemp.net:
https://gbatemp.net/review/collar-x-malice.629/

Collar X Malice begins by introducing you to the X-Day Incidents – a string of horrific murders woven together by the group Adonis, and their warped sense of justice. Promising to purge the land of corruption and bring about a new Japan, this series of events began with a broadcast of four missing police officers, bound and blindfolded, to the people of Shinjuku. Despite it being a matter of urgency for the police, a month had soon passed with little to show for their efforts. Come May, a second video was uploaded, similar to the first. Again depicting the four missing officers, it proclaimed the time for judgement was at hand, and one by one, the officers’ body fell limp – each executed. June, July, August, these crimes continued to claim victims at an alarming rate. Shinjuku was in a state of panic, and on September 1st, the government put into action extreme measures; the Shunjuku Quarantine Act, and the repeal of the Swords and Firearms Control Law – leaving citizens of Shinjuku trapped and capable of defending themselves. In order to deal with the public’s unease and reports regarding X-Day, the special police department SRCPO was established – their job to listen to and assist with the ever-rising worries of the citizens.

As a member of the SRCPO, Ichika Hoshino (note her first name is changeable) – the protagonist of the story – is called out to a scene in Shinjuku Park. Waiting for her partner to arrive, she finds herself knocked unconscious and taken away to an unknown location. Unable to move, a cold voice echoes from the metallic collar now around her neck. Its message is simple, and its rules absolute. You are a test subject. You are to be monitored. The collar around your neck contains a lethal poison. Tell the police of your collar, and you will die. And its closing words – “Show us what justice means to you.” Still crippled from the poison, Ichika feels its grip on her – slowly but surely finding it more difficult to breathe. With hope of survival all but gone, her vision fades. “You there!” A flurry of footsteps approach. Unable to do any more, she lay still as three unknown individuals run to her aid – pulling her from the clutches of despair.

The Detective Agency

On the fifth floor of a rundown building lies a detective agency – or so it would seem. In reality, it houses a small collection of individuals, unified in their desire to solve the X-Day Incidents. These people serve as Ichika’s allies throughout the story, with a decision to be made as to who she will work with. The decision of who you work with isn’t necessarily presented to you as an obvious choice, but is ascertained through your choices and interactions with each character – as well as how your goals align with other characters. If you show a particular interest in the August case, you’ll probably find yourself with Sasazuka for the majority of the game. If you think looking for a possible mole in the police force is more important, you might find yourself partnered with the police force’s profiler – Shiraishi.

I find myself quite fond of this approach to route selection. In my previous experience with route-based visual novels, the choice is often presented as a clear cut selection – and more often than not, I find myself siding with the character I find the cutest, in oppose to whose ideals align with my own. This different approach allows for a deeper sense of empathy with the character Ichika spends most of the game with, and a genuine desire to see the game through to a positive resolution.

Bad End Night

Before you have so much as a chance to pick a route, the game presents you with a choice – your first choice in fact. After walking away from her own kidnapping intact, Ichika returns to Shinjuku Park to rendezvous with her partner. Obviously concerned with her disappearance, he asks what happened – and here lies a dubious decision. Do you heed the collar’s warning and lie, or do you call its bluff and explain what just happened? Allow me to inform you, it is no bluff. After explicitly being told not to talk about the collar, I found the choice somewhat amusing. Such an obvious way to score an early game over served only to whet the appetite of my ever-hungry curiosity. It was instantaneous, and it served to send several clear messages to me as the player. The decisions I make should not be taken lightly; Adonis is willing to kill Ichika; and perhaps most interestingly of all – bad ends are not necessarily a bad thing. It became clear to me they served a purpose in feeding the player information not available to Ichika, as minor as it may seem.

This idea amplifies as the game progresses and the actions leading to these bad ends become less apparent. Something as innocent as walking through a park at night could be all it takes to put you face to face with a killer. To be constantly on a knife’s edge, to know each decision is crucial, no matter how trivial it may appear – it provides a satisfying combination of dread and excitement whenever you’re made to choose. As much as this is a game where you’re driven to find the correct solution, it often nudges you towards an incorrect answer, and it’s difficult not to appreciate it.

Happily Ever Afters

While Collar X Malice finds strength in its bad ends, there is obvious satisfaction to be found at the completion of a well-written narrative. This is true for both individual routes, and for the story as a whole. For the individual routes, I feel the true payoff lies in seeing Ichika grow close to her partner – breaking down emotional walls to come to a deeper understanding of them, and what drives them to move forward. Couple this with a gripping and constantly-teasing investigation – providing only a partial truth in its conclusion, and you have both the overwhelming sense of satisfaction mentioned earlier, and a deep-rooted desire to play more.

Scripted Freedom

​Of course, no game stands in the light of perfection. Collar X Malice, while primarily following the standard visual novel formula, does try to mix it up. It does so by extending a certain arm of freedom to the player, in the form of investigative point and click scenes Phoenix Wright fans would feel familiar with, as well as allowing the player to choose where to go next if Ichika needs to visit more than one area of Shinjuku Police Station. These scenes definitely do break up what some may see as a significant wall of text, but they do so in a way that feels so scripted and mundane, I question why they bothered.

​It might seem like a minor irritation, but it’s something that really became apparent to me as I found myself replaying a chapter. There was no benefit, no interesting quirk or quip from visiting one area first over another. Given how well thought out the choices given to you in the game feel, these non-choices almost seemed insulting. Similarly with the investigation scenes, the game highlights all possible interactions for you – and to progress, you simply have to look at each of them in turn. I can appreciate why this is the case in this example – streamlining the process to allow the player to progress onto the important information after – but again it comes across as lackluster.

Whilst discussing additional features on the standard visual novel formula, it should definitely be noted Collar X Malice provides its own positive contribution. This comes in the form of the life-or-death moments that rely on you properly timing a gunshot. To me, the gunshot minigame shows itself to be an interesting and unique way of presenting choice to the player. It’s fairly clear which is the “correct” choice in such a case – obviously you want to land the shot to move on with the story as intended. To simply do so however, would be an injustice to treasure trove of bad ends that lay just beyond bad reaction times. To experience all this game has to offer, it should become reflex to hit quick save whenever a gunfight is imminent. It is something I guarantee you will not regret.

Audio and Atmosphere

​The audio, while feeling fairly generic and forgettable in isolation, plays a key part in building atmosphere where required. The music feels as though it was crafted in such a way to blend into the background and almost become unnoticeable for a vast majority of the game – where a casual and ambient atmosphere rules. Where it truly shines is in moments of crisis, or sorrow. The moments where your mind pauses for a moment, and takes in everything happening. In those moments, I found myself drawn into the world, flurried into a panic right where it wanted me to, waiting with bated breath on the next line. The soundtrack itself wasn’t what stood out to me, rather how it was used in the context of the game.

Lost in Translation

Script errors are commonplace when a game of this scale goes through localisation. With such a bulk of text, it is of no surprise if one or two spelling mistakes, or grammatical errors slip through the cracks. I wish I could say that was all there is for Collar X Malice. Somewhat to my dismay, the errors cannot be contained to the bounds of “one or two” – they infest the game to the point where I have to question whether the game was play tested at all. Such issues range from relatively minor unnatural-sounding sentences that make you look twice at what you just read, to characters calling the protagonist by her default name, to glossary entries being completely different to what is highlighted. To be clear, none of these affect the game to the point of it being unplayable, or illegible. That I still hold the game in such high regard can only speak for its strengths elsewhere – but the fact remains these issues should not be present. It feels as though you’re being pulled out of immersive world it so beautifully crafts around you, and I truly feel it a shame.