Its labyrinth level design and the lack of clear indications on a map that seems to be there of decoration and little else are a barrier that not e and the door slides shut.It’s loneliness at its best, and that’s what makes Hyper Light Drifter such a special video game. One that you will love most of the time, becausĮ we talk about a great action adventure halfway between the classic The Legend of Zelda and the popular Souls saga from Software, but that can also get to despair the most painted due to certain decisions of design that really make you feel lost … anĭ not in a good way that at times you do not know what to do or where to go. It is not something that per se seems wrong, rather we like the idea, but not like that. but drifter has too many miles still to go they must not sleep. there is a persistent ache - one that never leaves them, sunken into the flesh of their lungs like shards of glass, whispering things when it thinks they might listen - but they roll their shoulders, and stand again. they tuck the former away, leaving the latter to be taken care of by their still functional bot, and are even more pleased to find a sorely needed medkit.ĭrifter could almost sigh in relief at the feeling of their scrapes knitting closed. another drifter’s corpse as it is, the cloak is almost completely salvageable, and the sprite holds the next encryption key that drifter had been searching for. nothing of too much interest to be found: simply a couple lifetimes of water damage, and a dead body.īut the body contains multitudes. The drifter’s boots as they walk slowly into the room are commas on the tile, a soft sort of punctuation that suits them almost as much as the cloak that falls from their shoulders. there’s a very soft sound as a door opens, accompanied only by the sound of water dripping somewhere. should you be angry? should you be afraid? but now it’s clear your life was never meant to be more than a stepping-stone in someone else’s story, a margin-scribble of a footnote of some other poor bastard’s life.
will serve those who come after you even better. she tilts her face up in the back of your vision, eyes in the void on a backdrop of even more nothing. you thought, at least, you would get farther. all drifters know this there is no currency worth more to your kin than blood. This was the only place any path could have ever taken you, in the end. pressing your palm against the gaping hole in your side, you imagine you can see her. You will, says the Jackal, with not-words. give me another, please- i can’t die here.” you know you need not words to be understood by that which is listening. it comes out as nothing more than a wheeze, collapsed against the wall as you are. water dripping somewhere is the only sound accompanying your haggard breath, and you choke on it: once.
the few gearbits you’d scrounged on the way here are nothing more than trinkets. The two med injectors in your pack would be useless now. you’ve locked the door with the highest encryption setting your sprite was programmed with. there is blood in your mouth and spilled over the tile like the headiest wine and you are dying, finally the only reason you are not dead already is because of the door between you and every enemy beyond it who would wield their teeth and claws against you.
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