So here’s the scenario; First we have me. Skinny, lean, skinless and a minor bit decomposed, standing on a small stone precipice holding a tiny rusted sword and a flimsy shield.
Second, gazing up longingly at me, is the Asylum Demon, a huge hulking beast-thing lugging around a frankly preposterous axe/club/whack-a-mole hammer thing and flashing me a somewhat surprisingly well kept set of not-so pearly whites.
Advantage me. I’m out of his range and from here I can uh… Stare at him? Call him names and insult his heritage like a lack-witted schoolchild?
None of those things work. Not even staring intensely into his eyes and whispering words of warning.
Well, at least I can do one of those plunging attacks, where I heroically leap off the edge, sinking my sword into his tender(?) flesh, Shadow of the Colossus style!
Of course, as I’m pondering this, he’s decided he’s bored of staring contests and flies up, smashing me to the ground and doing his best impression of a tap-dance all over my broken bones until the sweet release of re-death.
This game man. Seriously.
The next time around goes much better as I manage to fling myself off my little ledge with all the majestic grace of a spastic duckling with rocks for feathers, succeeding in kind of wobbling my sword at him as I flail to the ground. I may have fractured my everything, but at least I chipped one of his teeth, and it’s the small victories that are the sweetest.
The following fight consists of me narrowly avoiding giant club-death by displaying a gold medal level of gymnastics. A roll backwards, a jump to the left, a step to the right, a club to the head, lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, realise I’m only dodging and not actually hitting him.
Eventually, I get behind him and proceed to hack, stab, slash, poke and prod my way into/at his tail, which nets me some decent damage and a slightly angrier angry Demon. Small victories, remember.
But I digress, after a few more minutes of this, I manage to ballerina the lovable scamp to death, whereupon he explodes into white particles and fizzles out of existence leaving me with a key and a slight feeling of victory, which is quickly replaced with befuddled horror as a giant crow (or possibly a raven) lands on me and flies me away to another land.
"Occasionally there is one who is sent on a pilgrimage to ring a shiny bell and probably save everyone and also there’s a fire." the mis-quoted exposition lady declares.
Presumably that one is me.
God help us all.