GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH: Star Gladiator Episode I: Final Crusade

It’s the year 1997, and I’m playing a fighting game set in the far-flung year of 2348 with wide eyes, unable to take in everything it is showing me. The outrageous characters, the stages with the power for ring-out victories, the zany powers, the futuristic and unique weapons, the way that one alien could grow to three times his size, filling up the majority of the screen like some Super Metroid boss. As a teenager with a ripening imagination, it was some pretty cool stuff. Star Gladiator had the honor of being one of a handful of strange fighting games I owned on the PlayStation at that time, rubbing elbows with Bloody Roar 2, Robo Pit, and X-Men: Mutant Academy.

I read somewhere once that Star Gladiator was originally supposed to be a Star Wars fighting game, and you can see the roadmap clearly in Hayato Kanzaki, the rebellious young bounty hunter who wields a Plasma Sword in battle. Or perhaps you can better see the lines blurring with Gamof Gohgry, a brown-furred alien that looks a bit like a certain non-English-speaking Wookie. If you squint, you might be able to find a few other striking similarities between the two franchises. Though Star Wars: Masters of Teräs Käsi did eventually get made.

The plot is surprisingly convoluted and as follows, which I will openly admit to looking up. In 2348, humans have established contact with various alien civilizations, and life is good. Everyone has healthcare, the government hasn’t shut down, old age kills people, not guns, and so on. Humankind is able emigrate from one planet to another. Unfortunately, there are still some problems with several alien races, forcing the Earth Federation to create Plasma weapons to help protect the Earth from possible outside threats. Nobel Prize-winning physicist Dr. Edward Bilstein uncovers the secret to humanity’s “sixth sense,” a technique for capturing the energy of the human mind, harnessing it as an energy source called Plasma Power. Eventually, the Earth Federation learns that Bilstein experimented on innocent people, immediately arresting and exiling him from Earth, imprisoning the physicist on a satellite orbiting Planet Zeta. Four years after this, an Earth Federation army base was attacked by a small group of rebels calling themselves the “Fourth Empire”; surprise, surprise–Bilstein, who had built himself a powerful cyborg body and escaped from his satellite prison, is their leader. Panicking, the Earth Federation puts out a call for anyone able to utilize Plasma Power and put an end to Bilstein. This project is codenamed…y’know it, Star Gladiator.

Anyways, it’s a fighting game. You select a character, start on the left side of the screen, and you fight. Every character has two attack buttons for their weapon, a kick, and guard defense. You can do combos and special attacks. Battles take place on a limited 3D plane, with ring-out as possibility for victory, something that I’ve loved every since first playing Virtua Fighter in an arcade. The character’s weapons make each fight unique, and I remember enjoying Saturn’s yo-yos, Franco’s rapier, and June’s rings the most. Interestingly enough, depending on how fast you fly through the arcade mode to the final fight with Bilstein, Star Gladiator either ends with a false ending or it continues on with a special battle against an unplayable computer-controlled Ghost Bilstein. Losing to Ghost Bilstein results in both a bad ending and a game over, but defeating him will open up the character’s true ending.

Everyone remembers the cheat code for extra lives in Contra on the NES, but I also took the time to memorize another: Big Heads in Star Gladiator. After you select your character, immediately press and hold Right, Start, Circle, and Square until the match starts. Simple as that, and hilarious every time. Couple this mode with the character Gore that could grow in size, and well…my PlayStation was pushed to its limit, surely. You could also unlock Small Heads, which were not as effective in the humor department.

It’s a weird fighting game, but one I miss genuinely for its weirdness. Capcom dabbles in weirdness elsewhere, for sure, and not even in just fighting games, but Star Gladiator never took itself seriously and felt like a Saturday morning cartoon brought to digital life. Evidently, a sequel called Plasma Sword: Nightmare of Bilstein came out, but I never saw it. According to the Internet, it sounded like merely a minor update to the first game, with additional characters being more or less “mirrors” of the original cast. However, if you can, go with Episode 1, something you’ll never see me write about Star Wars.

—

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH is a regular feature here at Grinding Down where I reminisce about videogames I either sold or traded in when I was young and dumb. To read up on other games I parted with, follow the tag.

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH: Brave Fencer Musashi

In Brave Fencer Musashi, you could purchase action figures from a local store. They came in actual plastic packaging, and you could either leave them in the packaging or take them out and “play” with them, which basically resulted in watching them animate some stilted way. There were special action figures earned for rescuing all 35 palace members, opening every chest, or beating the game at a certain level, but there really wasn’t a point to the action figures. Just things to collect, look at, and store in your collection, boxed or unboxed. Something I clearly should have done with my copy of this game–keep it. Also, if I remember correctly, my copy came with a playable demo of Final Fantasy VII.

The story in Brave Fencer Musashi follows a young, cocky swordsman named Musashi who is summmoned to a parallel world to defend Allucaneet Kingdom from the Thirstquencher Empire and rescue Princess Fillet. His journey is primarily focused on obtaining the Five Scrolls, which enhance the powers hidden within his sword Lumina, as well as interacting with people from Allucanet and a nearby village. It’s a light-hearted coming-of-age tale brimming with puns, most based around food, and so I loved it as a wee one and miss it dearly as an adult regretting all the games he traded in. I mean, really, name me two other videogames rocking this many food-based puns, and I’ll give you the world.

It’s an action RPG, with combat happening in real time. The in-game world also plays about in real time, too, with a day/night cycle in place, which affects the time when stores in the village are open for business. In combat, Musashi has the ability to steal the special attacks from enemies and use them as his own, which is a fun rabbit hole to go down in that I remember going around to every enemy I could find, just to see how he’d use their powers. Naturally, some are better than others. Without those special moves, you are just using simple combos with your sword and the occasional special sword after gaining some of the Five Scrolls. It’s not a terribly difficult game, though I do recall some of the boss fights frustrating to the point of controller-shaking.

For some reason, I remember the village the most. I was so used to stores in my RPGs just always being open, ready to sell me stuff and buy my junk. Not quite so simple in the Allucaneet Kingdom, as the stores are operated by men and women, and they all live lives. They sleep and go for walks and open shop at specific hours, which one will quickly need to learn to stay alive. Such as the Breadshop/Bakery, open from 7 am to 7 pm and closed on Thursday. Or that the Toy Shop is open from 12 pm to 8 pm and closed on Wednesdays. It really felt like, to me, a real, operating village instead of something static and the same every time you visited like in Wild ARMs or Suikoden. As a kid that only barely understood schedules from school, this aspect blew my mind.

Recently, at Tampa Bay Comic Con, a man was selling a bunch of old videogames, and I saw Brave Fencer Musashi on his table for about $40, sitting next to a high-priced copy of Suikoden II. I looked on with a smile, but only that–I couldn’t do the deed. Maybe one day it’ll come to PSN as a digital download, but $40 is probably a bit too steep for me. Until then, I guess. Oh, and don’t bother with Musashi: Samurai Legend; it’s not the follow-up you are looking for.

—

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH is a regular feature here at Grinding Down where I reminisce about videogames I either sold or traded in when I was young and dumb. To read up on other games I parted with, follow the tag.

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH: SaGa Frontier

Much like the Nintendo DS, the original PlayStation played home to a swarm of strange and untraditional RPGS, such as The Legend of Dragoon and Brave Fencer Musashi. As well as SaGa Frontier, today’s topic for Grinding Down‘s games I regret parting with thing that I do from time to time. It was an era of chance and experimentation, and that’s something that I miss, because it’s notably missing from the industry today, seeing that Bravely Default: Flying Fairy has not yet been confirmed for U.S. shores (though, thankfully, Fantasy Life has).

One of the earliest posts on Grinding Down was about a PlayStation 2 game called Unlimited SaGa, which I’m positive I purchased more because it might have a connection, however slight, to SaGa Frontier than it being relatively inexpensive and a pretty looking JRPG. I tried several times to get into it, but it’s a beast of a game, snarling and growling and constantly chasing me away. I mean really–that combat wheel, the way you “navigate” through towns. Pffft. I’m sure I’ll pop it back in yet again some day, just as I will with Breath of Fire: Dragon Quarter, because there will always be a part of me that needs to understand why.

Thankfully, SaGa Frontier was a lot better than Unlimited SaGa, though it definitely had its own unique pitfalls. The aspect I remember the most about it is that you had seven different characters to pick to play, some with interweaving storylines, some all on their own. And you could pick and play them as you choose. Granted, I went with Red first each and every time, as he appeared to have the most action-driven plot of the bunch, given that he basically becomes a secret superhero within minutes of the opening cutscene. The other peeps–Emelia, Blue, Asellus, T260G, Riki, and Lute–could wait.

Coming out in the states a year or so after Final Fantasy VII, the sprites on pre-rendered backgrounds in SaGa Frontier did not look as sharp as polygonal Cloud did (at the time), but they made for interesting visuals. Especially when on the region ship “Cygnus” or in the magically dark and purple Facinaturu with Asellus. There are some really pretty vistas here, and that made exploring each character’s story a joy, as even though saw some overlapping spots, many were self-contained elsewhere. Many boss fights were your tiny sprite characters versus large suckers, which often had an insane number of Health Points.

Combat is probably the oddest part of SaGa Frontier, as a lot of it is based around randomness. Before I get to that, let’s begin with a staple of fantasy-based RPGs: Health Points (MP) and Magic Points (MP). These are bound found here, but instead of just straight MP, you now have three sub-classes of it: Waza Points (WP), which is magic points but only for weapon skills; Life Points (LP), used when a character is knocked unconscious; and Jutsu Points (JP), which is used for actual magic spells not tied to weapon skills. Whew. Got all that? Right, well, battles are turn-based, and many character skills are learned mid-battle, something I remember as being both exhilarating and confusing.

According to this lengthy GameFAQ, the SaGa series uses a rather unique leveling up system, similar to that of Final Fantasy II (Japan) in that you’ll gain what you use during combat instead of a certain amount of experience points. In SaGa Frontier, experience points are in the form of stat boosts and can either gain you a direct stat boost, such as an increase in strength, or a proficiency level. You might gain stats after every fight, but you might gain hardly anything at all. Basically, you just had to try different skills from different characters, and hope that something clicked.

To me, this was genre-shattering, and certainly nothing I had experienced so far in a roleplaying game. It’s certainly not a game for everyone, but it was more than unique, unafraid to try new ideas. Plus, with the freedom to see the game through in a number of ways, with who you wanted and at your own pace, it really felt like your own version of the plot, especially if you started with Riki or T260G. And for all that, SaGa Frontier is a game I deeply regret trading in as a young, dumb teenager.

—

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH is a regular feature here at Grinding Down where I reminisce about videogames I either sold or traded in when I was young and dumb. To read up on other games I parted with, follow the tag.

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH: Castlevania: Symphony of the Night

In today’s GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH, the parting with aspect was not of my doing. I did not choose to remove what is probably going to be known as the greatest Castlevania game in the franchise for all of time so long as there is time from my growing videogames collection. I did not. No way, no how. And this is the exact moment where I began living life via a new rule, one that might seem greedy or childish, but one I feel has kept me–and my gaming collection–safe for many years since: no one gets to borrow my games. Sorry, just ain’t happening.

Anyways, what happened was this, though details are fuzzy for certain as we’re now looking deep into the past, some ten-plus years at least: I let a good high school friend of mine borrow my copy of Castlevania: Symphony of the Night. I was done playing with it at the time, so there was no real reason for me to hoard it goblin-like. That’s the main of it, and some time passed, and then my friend and I drifted away from each other to the point where we last spoke shortly after I graduated college. Certainly a heavy chunk of that is my fault, as I’m too stubborn and sensitive to be alive, but there were other factors at play as well. Regardless, with the friend gone, so was my game I let him borrow. Boo hoo, a thousand tears. No, really. A thousand. Who knew then at the time what kind of legendary status it would come to hold, and who knows where it is today; he probably just sold it on eBay for like a bazillion bucks and is out now on his yacht, drinking spiced wine and watching marathons of Downton Abbey. Actually, wait–that’s my fantasy.

Thankfully, I did get to experience Castlevania: Symphony of the Night to its dang-near fullest before it slipped from my fingers. Yup, I even went through the second castle, which is really an inverted version of the first one. Still, coming upon that was revolutionary, as well as exhilarating to learn that there was still so much more to see and do. I certainly didn’t discover it on my own, but it rocked nonetheless. It was like the second coming of Super Metroid for me, with so much hidden behind the cracks.

Castlevania: Symphony of the Night is both your standard Castlevania gameplay, with platforming and whipping, and not, with a bonus RPG system tossed in that let’s Alucard level up and equip things other than whips. It’s totally non-linear, with plenty of hidden passageways to discover. Various weapons and equipment help keep Alucard alive in combat, as well as sub-weapons, like tossing holy water or mini throwing axes. There were spells, too. A shop. No kitchen sink though. And with friendly familiars that can also gain levels, you really could customize him to be the vampire hunter you wanted. I don’t remember exactly what my build was, but I know I used the faerie familiar for extra healing and used plenty of throwable weapons to keep my distance.

I have not played many Castlevania games since my abbreviated time with Symphony of the Night. Actually, just one–Castlevania: Portrait of Ruin. That was all right. It was for the DS and featured some of the same elements as SotN, as well as new ideas, like switching between Jonathan and Charlotte to solve puzzles. No idea if I ever finished it or not; I remember struggling on some bosses and focused more on completing odd sub-missions…for some reason. Perks? New gear? Ah, who knows. Maybe I’ll go back to it soon just to see and remember. It was an “airplane game” back when I visited my sister in Arizona back in 2008. Just something to distract myself while soaring through the sky on a thing that seems impossible from the outside for soaring through skies. Oh man, if only there was a remake of SotN for the DS/3DS. Yes please.

And I know that it’s a pretty easy game to obtain these days as it’s now available on current services like Xbox Live and the PSP, but that’s not really what I’m after, a port. If only it was that easy to get friends back.

—

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH is a regular feature here at Grinding Down where I reminisce about videogames I either sold or traded in when I was young and dumb. To read up on other games I parted with, follow the tag.

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH: Breath of Fire III

I have a strange, uneven relationship with the already pretty strange and uneven Capcom RPG franchise known as Breath of Fire.

First, for the introductory title and its sequel in the series, games found originally on the SNES, I only got to play them much later in life when I learned all about emulating ROMs on the computer, and even then I never got far with either. They were just something I tried out to see if the tech could actually work. During my PlayStation 1 heydays, I picked up a copy of Breath of Fire III, played a decent bit of it, and then traded it in like an idiot, which should be obvious considering the name of this post. Missed out on Breath of Fire IV completely, and later picked up Breath of Fire: Dragon Quarter for the PS2, which for all intents and purposes in basically the fifth game in the series. That one probably deserves its own post, but let me just say that it is a confusing game, one that encourages death and replaying the same areas over and over again, and one that I’ve tried a good number of times to figure out without much luck.

Nonetheless, each game in the series is sort of the same interchangeable story: a boy named Ryu can turn into a dragon and goes on adventures. A girl named Nina also appears frequently, as well as characters from other games in the franchise. Battles are turn-based, and fusing into different kinds of dragons is often the key to victory. Fishing and bright colors, too.

Well, how dragon Ryu (before becoming a boy) enters the world in Breath of Fire III is probably my favorite part of the game, and a really strong contender to a classic first hour. Here’s an animated GIF, but I’ll use words below it, too:

(EDIT: Okay, I guess I can’t host animated gifs on Grinding Down. Boo. So go here instead to see.)

That open sequence and probably the hour or so after it are probably the reasons why I like this game the most from the whole franchise. It’s endearing and nicely paced, as well as quite colorful. As you can see above, the graphics for the first Breath of Fire on the PlayStation 1 were a mix of hand-drawn sprites and polygons–and dang it, I love the mixture.

Anyways, it all starts with a pair of miners–Gary and Mogu–as they search through a mine, pontificating on the nature of the magical creatures and the valuable ore called chrysm. The two miners find a giant chrysm with a preserved baby dragon locked inside it. They plan to blow the crystal apart with TNT, and when they do, the preserved dragon, to no one’s surprise but the miners’, turns out to be alive, and it attacks them. Just like that, we’re thrown into the game’s first battle, and we’re totally in control of the dragon, not the humans. With ease and shock, we turn the miners to ash. Farewell, Gary and Mogu–we hardly knew ya. The young dragon is not a ruthless monster though, attacking back against miners only when they strike first. It is, in actuality, an innocent boy, and this is conveyed strongly as miners beg for their lives and are let go.

Eventually, a bunch of miners knock the dragon out with a crane, cage it, and put it on a train headed for a bad place. Luckily, Ryu the dragon wakes up during the journey and is able to knock its cage off the train and down a ravine. We then cut to a scene involving a cat-like man stalking a wild boar in the woods. The falling cage ruins his plans, and the man is somewhat surprised to see a naked little boy inside the cave. So is whoever is playing the game, as we last saw a fire-breathing dragon in there. Despite living in complete hunger, the cat-like man decides to bring the boy home, meaning another mouth to feed, and welcomes him into his surrogate family. What follows after that is that Rei, the cat-like man, and another orphan named Teepo teach Ryu how to be a thief as a means of surviving. This character-building and -bonding is important, as the trio eventually gets separated, and a large part of the game involves finding friends and rebuilding homes and generally growing up.

And that’s all I can recall. There’s a big white space after the intro and whatever happened next. Though I do remember getting far enough into Breath of Fire III to unlock the Faerie Village, which allows the player to rebuild an entire village for magical flying critters. Doing so unlocks special benefits like rare weapons for sale, mini-games, and a sound test mode. Can’t really recall how far into this element I got, but it stands out as a charming way to spend time. Another aspect that stands out as pretty neat and something that was also later found in The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion was being able to study under a Master, earning different skills and benefits this way.

I dunno. Games like this and other PS1 classics now long gone do have me seriously considering picking up a VITA–it just recently got announced that the Sony handheld would be receiving PS1 compatibility—one day. Well, them and that updated version of Persona 4. Yeah, I know; I’m losing my mind.

—

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH is a regular feature here at Grinding Down where I reminisce about videogames I either sold or traded in when I was young and dumb. To read up on other games I parted with, follow the tag.

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH: Gex

“So, this is New Jersey.”

It’s a line I’ve never forgotten, and it’s one that still makes me laugh some seventeen years later. Yes, that’s right. Gex came out for the PlayStation in 1995, y’all. I was just a teenybopper by the time I got to play it. Anyways, our titular amphibian hero voiced by comedian Dana Gould slips out the stately jest presented above upon arriving at the final boss level in Rez’s futuristically dystopian city Rezopolis. Even as a boy, I knew that making fun of the Garden State was a thing, and so I cherished this moment.

The game itself was all right. An action platformer starring–what Sony probably wanted to join their mascot team, which included Crash Bandicoot, Spyro the Dragon, and Lara Croft–an anthropomorphic juvenile gecko. The plot is as so and I will give it to you as straight-faced as possible: After Gex’s father dies in a space shuttle accident, Gex becomes a shut-in, spending all his days and nights watching television. His mother, in a fit of desperation, gives the TV away to a bunch of gypsies. Upset, Gex runs away from home. Soon after, there’s another death in the family, and Gex inherits a large sum of moolah, which he uses to move back to Maui, buy a mansion and big-screen TV, and a ridiculous amount of food so he can remain a shut-in again. Unfortunately, the villainous Rez sucks Gex into the TV in hopes of turning him into the mascot for the hellish Media Dimension. Yup. Hey, it was the 90s.

Gameplay-wise, nothing amazing. Typical platforming with colorful character and themed worlds. You jump, you attack enemies with your tail, you collect items, and you complete levels on an overworld map. There’s also a mechanic that maybe is paying homage to Super Mario World, where Gex will attach himself all lizard-like to a wall and crawl up and down it. It’s nifty. And so you go left to right, collecting TV remote controls and listening to Gex slam a bunch of different properties, namely Full House, Ben Franklin, Dick Clark, Rick James, Wendy’s, and much, much more. The lines as I remember them were genuinely funny, and much more effective than the work voicework in games like Bubsy and Blasto.

Other than that quote, what I remember most about Gex is that since it was one of the first games to come out for the Sony PlayStation, it sported one of those giant cases. You know what I’m talking about. They were like the size of a small hardcover book if that book also wore a top hat. Hilarious and definitely a piece of packaging history. Wish I still had my copy if only to figure out how to fit it aesthetically on a shelf with my other videogames.

—

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH is a regular feature here at Grinding Down where I reminisce about videogames I either sold or traded in when I was young and dumb. To read up on other games I parted with, follow the tag.

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH: Robo Pit

In my early high school years, my mom and I would often go to the shopping mall together, splitting up for a little bit after doing whatever it was we were initially there to do. This usually meant her going off to Macy’s or somewhere like it to peruse for jewelry or clothes or smelly stuff, and I headed for the videogame store. Which, for the longest while, was actually Electronics Boutique (EBX to those down with the abbreviations). Or Funcoland. One of those. Definitely no GameStops then.

Either way, she had her time, and I had mine, and we always picked out a specific place to meet up at when we were done, which was usually in front of the Friendly’s; remember, this was before cell phones and such, so planning was key. I generally found what game I was looking for lickety-split and would hurry back to our meeting spot, take a seat next to the escalators, and promptly devour my newest game’s manual page by page, word by word, occasionally glancing at my surroundings. More often than not, she’d surprise me as I’d be so engrossed in learning that I couldn’t both learn and look around at the same time.

That’s kind of what I remember the most about Robo Pit, a “build your own robot from scrap parts” fighting game for the PlayStation. Not playing the game or even enjoying it, but sitting in the mall, reading about it and waiting for my mother. It’s a striking memory, full of white tile, plastic-green foliage, and feet dangling.

Robo Pit was a game about scraps. Each time your little robot would win a fight, you got to take a part of the defeated bot with you, adding it to your inventory of construction parts. When you’re ready to make a robot, you start out with slim pickings, choosing a body type and color. And it’s not all cosmetic–each body type has different stats for Power, Weight, and Defense. Throw on some cartoony eyes, a couple of arms (spears, crossbows, and other weaponry are acceptable substitutions), a pair of legs, and your creation is off to battle in the pit, for glory and growing. And the list of enemies numbers in the hundreds, many with fear-striking names like Taxiderm, Bigmouth, Sorbet, and Pain Bot. Some challengers are labeled as “special robots,” which basically means you get to take a part of their body after they are defeated. And those were the reasons to play, to get crazier arm-based weaponry, like scythes and boomerangs. I’ve always had a penchant for creating beings, as evidenced in my time with Spore Creatures; it certainly did not start with Robo Pit, but it was definitely a footprint along the path of life.

Looking back, Robo Pit‘s not a great game. It’s formulaic and bland, with uninteresting arenas to battle in, button-mashing combat, little-to-no music, and strange, unexplainable happenings, like robots flying straight up into the sky when being killed as if a rocket exploded in their butt. I traded it in, and I can’t imagine what amount of store credit it earned me. Surely less than $5.00. But it’s something I hold as special. It’s a game I held in my hands while I waited for my mom to take me home. It reminds me to keep waiting.

—

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH is a regular feature here at Grinding Down where I reminisce about videogames I either sold or traded in when I was young and dumb. To read up on other games I parted with, follow the tag.

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH: Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain

Kain, the once nobleman from Coorhagen, just beheaded Moebius, and I was on the floor tucked up against my bedside, a PlayStation controller cradled on my lap, a wired phone shoved awkwardly between my head and neck, waiting for my best friend down the road to pick up on his end. When he did, I recounted what happened, going so far as to imitate Kain in his moment of triumph where he proudly–and ironically–stated that he was already dead. There was little time for chit-chat, just straight to the details.

“Oh wow, wish I could’ve seen that!” Willie exclaimed, a hint of disappointment there. The last time he saw Kain in action was earlier on in some dungeon.

“Can you sleep over this weekend?” I asked. “I’ll save my game and wait for you. I don’t know how much further I have to go.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Together, we saw Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain to its end, lapping up all the over-the-top violence, sinister ways, cruel spells, and amazing voicework. At its conclusion, a choice is presented: have Kain sacrifice himself and end the vampire race to save all of Nosgoth or refuse the sacrifice and rule the empire with total power. For us, the decision was easy, though not something I’d make now, some sixteen years later. We gave in to the power, and allowed Kain to slip into the darkness he constantly seemed teased by, ruling with blood-red eyes and unrelenting disdain. I have to believe that we both didn’t want to see Kain go, especially not after all the time we spent with him, helping him on his path of revenge and righting. He was our friend, no matter how silly that seems, and a friend of my friend is my friend and so on.

This connection to Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain later blossomed into some franchise love, as Willie picked up Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver three years later, and we’d go through the same routine, just with the roles reversed. Now it was me riding my bike over as fast as I could on Saturdays before the sun set to see what latest puzzle he was stuck at. I never got to play, but I watched enough, even if the game itself was pretty different.

Today, Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain is remembered as a darker The Legend of Zelda clone, one with terrible loading times. And yes, that all rings true. Though the loading times at that point in videogame history did not seem atrocious, just something to deal with. I think Suikoden had pretty long load times, too. But we all moved a little slower back in the day, and Willie and I just learned to fully explore a place before moving to the next screen to prevent needless backtracking. Reflecting now, it actually added to the overall experience.

But I remember this game differently, as an adventure and triumph shared, one with dramatically gory moments to ooh and ahh over while bouncing on a trampoline in the backyard. I miss it, and I miss what opportunities it used to give me.

—

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH is a regular feature here at Grinding Down where I reminisce about videogames I either sold or traded in when I was young and dumb. To read up on other games I parted with, follow the tag.

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH: Wild 9

Wex Major is out for revenge. Makes sense. His team of ragtag teenage freedom-fighters, known as the Wild 9, was attacked by Lord Karn’s Elite Shock-troopers. Some heavy damage was done, and six members of the crew were captured to be experimented on. Now it’s up to Wex (and his cohorts B’Angus and Pilfer) to save them, as well as kill as many of Lord Karn’s goons as cruelly as possible. Thank goodness he has the RIG, a high-tech weapon that shoots out an energy beam, which Wex can use in multiple ways: grabbing enemies and throwing them into deathtraps, picking up objects, using it as a grapple-swing-thing, and so on.

Wild 9 was an impulse buy. That much I remember. I was looking for something to play, and here was something to play. And from the makers of Earthworm Jim, too. Platformers don’t get kookier than that one. I assumed that their latest offering would be much of the same. I don’t recall getting very far in Wild 9 though. I think the torture aspect lost me, much like it put me off in Bulletstorm. When the RIG hits enemies, they moan and scream loudly, clearly in pain. Not my thing. I don’t want “bonus points” for dangling an enemy over spikes before finally dropping him to his death. I want to save Wex’s friends, and that means killing efficiently, progressing left to right, our destination always ahead. I might’ve stopped playing after the first boss chase sequence.

But Wild 9 has personality, and that’s the main reason it has remained lodged in my brain all these years. Loading screens contained some original artwork of the Wild 9 crew in amusing moments, and the art style and animation is clearly taken from the very same pages of Earthworm Jim. That’s not a bad thing, as they nailed something there and knew it. There’s some decent animation work too, in that Wex reacts to what you’re doing. Use the RIG to grab a crate, but accidentally drop it on your foot? Yup, he’ll hop about in pain. Really evokes that sensation of the Sega Genesis and SNES days where game characters were that–characters. However, his walking animation is trollish and clunky, but don’t tell him I said that.

Like Klonoa and Viewtiful Joe, Wild 9 helped usher us into a new form of platforming, that which is known as 2.5D. Yup. 3D graphics (as in polygonal), but still a side-scrolling action title. The camera angles could get a little jarring at times yet it was still a neat effect, especially when some levels have Wex is way up high with a gorgeous backdrop that seems miles away in the distance. Games like Shadow Complex will use this look to great success many years later.

The above text might seem contradictory–I love the style and personality of the game, but actually did not enjoy playing it. So, why would I regret trading in Wild 9? for some measly space credits that I don’t even remember spending? Well, I’d like to try again. As a youth, I did not have the attention span or devotion that I do now, and if a game didn’t interest me, it was off the list and over to the next. I feel like I gave Wild 9 a small amount of time and moved on to something else, eventually forgetting about it until the day came where I needed to trade in some games, and there it went. I’d just like to give it one more shot, to see if it will always be more unique than fun.

—

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH is a regular feature here at Grinding Down where I reminisce about videogames I either sold or traded in when I was young and dumb. To read up on other games I parted with, follow the tag.

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH: Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest

Sadly, I can only imagine how terrifying RPGs must have seemed when they first came out on gaming consoles years–nay, decades–ago. In contrast to games like Super Mario Bros and Zelda II: The Adventure of Link, here was a gaming genre that moved slowly, told a grandiose tale, reduced combat to a turn-by-turn basis, and asked the player to save frequently because there’s no way you’ll end up finishing this title off on a lazy Saturday afternoon. To ease gamers into this notion of quests of the epic nature and turn-based combat, Squaresoft released Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest for the SNES in 1992, a game that was, for all intents and purposes, a gateway drug to the realm of harder, more satisfying drugs. Drugs here being RPGs, people. Calm down.

Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest‘s plot is guessable. It’s about a young boy named Benjamin who is out to save the world. He’ll accomplish this hefty goal by collecting stolen crystals that affect the world’s four elemental powers. Yup. If that sounds familiar, you’re an attested RPGer. By the way, this unnamed world is divided into four regions: Foresta, Aquaria, Fireburg, and Windia. Go ahead and guess what each one is like, I’ll wait.

Gameplay, for an RPG, was simplified. And this was before Mass Effect II did it. Random battles, equipment customization, save points, and a full party system were abandoned for a streamlined, cleaner presentation that did most of the work for you. Newly acquired armor simply replaces the previously worn. You explored towns and chatted with folk, and you could chop down trees, blow up walls, and use a grappling hook to cross wide gaps. Sounds a bit more like a Zelda game, right? Here’s another instance of Squaresoft making it easier for gamers: the heal spell not only recovered lost HP, but also removed status ailments, eliminating the need for other item types.

I bought a copy of this game for über cheap several years after its release, after it missed the mark of finding lovers in the hardcore Final Fantasy fans, as well as the general mass market. I remember playing it for a bit, but never completing it. My favorite aspect was always how gargantuan the monsters you fought against were in comparison to Ben. Also, the main town in Windia stands out in my mind, but I can’t pinpoint why…maybe there was a band there playing music and I thought that was pretty neat? Maybe. But at some point, this game was bundled up with a bunch of other SNES carts as I traded them all in for my chance at a PlayStation. Strangely, it wouldn’t be until the PlayStation that a Final Fantasy game hit both targets of hardcore RPG fans and those not in the know.

Easy, simple RPGs, such as Costume Quest, can still be awesome, be loved. A part of me wants to believe the same can be said about Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest, but that same part also thinks that new equipment replacing old equipment against my will is extremely obnoxious.

—

GAMES I REGRET PARTING WITH is a regular feature here at Grinding Down where I reminisce about videogames I either sold or traded in when I was young and dumb. To read up on other games I parted with, follow the tag.