There can never be another Dark Souls. From Software's Magnum opus required years of King's Field and dry run in Demon's Souls before visions of Dark Souls were made a reality. A sequel owes an allegiance to its ascendant, and it's doubly-hard trying to improve upon a game many feel was born perfect. Dark Souls II, as its blessing and its curse, is not another Dark Souls. It is, however, more Dark Souls - and it makes good on its hallowed name.
The creative energy fueling Sunset Overdrive is an agent of change for a genre in creative decline. Its jubilant deluge of light and color, meaningful revisions to control and combat, and the sweeping diversity of skill-based missions push the open-world paradigm harder and faster than any of its peers. With Sunset Overdrive, freely accessible content isn't a passive and plodding support structure, but rather a demanding and attractive call for constant engagement.
Luftrausers' success is its addictive duel between confidence and doubt; what's the best option when every choice is conceivably the best option? Providing the player with heaps of ways tackle problems is nothing new, but creating a large number of choices and making each one uniquely viable? That's special, and it's Luftrausers' specialty.
Expressed in modest trappings, Nidhogg quietly aims to recast the mold of a competitive fighting game. A deliberate lo-fi aesthetic and input limited to the absolute basics cleverly mask engagement as hardcore and contemplative as any of its peers. By opening its boundaries past the usual static fighting arena, Nidhogg transforms from another one-on-one fighter into something more akin to a goal-oriented sport. It's a fighting game simplified without feeling dumb, a multi-staged combat arena with no particular advantages, and as much a battle of wits as an all-out brawler. Nidhogg is an almost-perfect competitive game.
Most sports would probably be better if human participants were replaced with cars. While this thesis is typically reserved for late night conversations with close friends, Psyonix accepted it as a genuine assignment and produced Rocket League. It's soccer with cars—and the execution of this idea has no business being as good as the fantasy.
Bayonetta 2 expresses a meticulous devotion to excessive elaborateness of style and action. It's a calculated brawler that not only minds its rules with painstaking diligence, but trusts its operator with how to best interpret them. The delicate engineering of merciless destruction has long been Platinum Games' modus operandi, and Bayonetta 2 is the purest and most potent declaration of their intentions.
The Last Guardian is a meditation of trust and patience. The eight year wait after its 2009 unveiling is a conspicuous illustration of this thesis, but a clearer picture develops by persisting through its meticulous operation. A lingering touch of melancholy and deep suspicions of malevolence—both synonymous with ICO and Shadow of the Colossus—are now complimented by enduring senses of companionship and devotion. In these moments, and The Last Guardian has many, it's hard not to feel captured and taken by its ability.
Uncharted 4: A Thief's End is a performance of power. Naughty Dog realizes their profound technical ability, showcases a relationship between gorgeous locales and engaging level design, and executes a progressive yet agile and animated narrative. The viability of Uncharted's action—safe but nimble platforming and brisk cover-based shooting parallel to limitless coincidences and explosions—can feel out of sync with 2016, but A Thief's End is easily the best it has ever been.
Persona 5 will be beautiful forever. Meticulous thought and consideration has been applied to Shin Megami Tensei's durable model of dungeon crawling and Persona's paragon of social simulation, creating a brilliant pulse visible through (almost) every aspect of its performance. Keeping this pace across a formidable length is Persona 5's most impressive trick, ensuring it will steal your heart without wasting your time.
Xenoblade Chronicles X is a boundless exhibition of the relationship between scale and structure, and its myriad of frenzied ideas are willed into cohesion only by the congruence of its supporting systems. Xenoblade Chronicles X may be obsessed with scale (and proudly so), but it doesn't leave the player feeling consumed by it.
Through its characters, its designer, and its player, Gorogoa keeps an outsider's perspective in a present state of mind. Straightforward action—shifting panels and considering different points of view—doesn't preclude logical twists or emotional complexity. In only a couple hours, Gorogoa creates a window into a daydream and a companion to despair.
Galak-Z pushes the freewheeling buoyancy of 80's anime against a hostile ecosystem of evil empires, insane pirates, and skeevy space bugs. Beneath this veneer of chaos is a shifting alliance of applied skill and honest luck, and muscling toward the former forces the player to fight every fight like it's their last. As roguelikes go, Galak-Z's tireless air of optimism makes a case for its own dimension.
Oxenfree is here to tell a story, and it doesn't lose sight of what contributes to making that story feel relatable and consequential. Alex and her friends are in a time when every move is called into examination from a jury of ruthless peers. Oxenfree responds not by accepting or escaping from resolution, but accurately relating the tension of a time when every answer is on one side of zero. Whether the context is supernatural or merely personal, Oxenfree makes it feel powerful.
While Valkyria Chronicles always had presence of a seminal classic, its latest remaster on PlayStation 4 sets it up for a wider embrace. This is the advantage of being favorably advanced or, at least, distant from genre contemporaries; no matter when or where Valkyria Chronicles is found, it can create personal definition on its own beautiful terms.
Furi becomes essential by identifying and removing what it declares expendable. There are no exotic mechanics, insatiable combo chains, or compulsory battles against waves of time-eating sycophants. Instead, Furi trusts the player to process a tiny allowance of raw actions into a dazzling exhibition of refined skill. With a Murderer's Row of bosses perfectly apt to oblige this exercise, Furi helps define a new aesthetic of rarefied action.
Every pixel of Owlboy's composition imparts a soaring level of care. Its impression upon 2D platforming parallels the comfort of a handmade blanket or the pleasure of devouring made-from-scratch cookies. Owlboy's sympathetic characters and gorgeous construction devours any suspected immunities to the charms of handcrafted artistry. It's a one-off rarity that somehow escaped the assembly line.
Even after a dozen years and seven (or eleven) games, Yakuza 0 is an impressive and easy invitation to its namesake’s adrenalized world.
The Zodiac Age eases Final Fantasy XII's progressive engine into a modern chassis. Some of Final Fantasy XII's problems were addressed some never will be, and that's OK. It's a one-of-a-kind model with tasteful upgrades and efficient tuning, and it leaves little doubt that The Zodiac Age is the best Final Fantasy XII has ever performed.
Pyre understands the primal thrill behind executing a dangerous slam dunk and the dueling probabilities of luck and dexterity necessary to make it happen. With Pyre, Supergiant Games' passion for systems-driven trials of skill and fondness for vibrant, wistful fantasy converge in the Mutant League NBA Jam daydream role-playing game I never knew I always wanted.
Imagine a Western where scouring the American frontier is as urgent as calculating the severity of a hat. This balance sustains West of Loathing's mixture of zealous role-playing and profuse outpouring of absurdity. It's proof that capable writing can not only texture eccentric maneuvers in design and presentation, but also prevail as a primary attraction. West of Loathing celebrates Western ambience and revels in disciplined goofiness.