THE GREATEST LEAP IN HISTORY
Out of all the games across the series I’ve played, Assassin’s Creed II represents one of the most dramatic leaps in quality between entries. The only comparable improvement I can think of is how Yakuza 5 refined and expanded upon Yakuza 4. Nearly everything I criticized in my review of Ubisoft’s original historical open-world experiment has been addressed here—along with several flaws I hadn’t even bothered to articulate.
The first game showed promise, but it felt hollow, repetitive, and undercooked. This sequel, by contrast, is dense with content, varied in its structure, and noticeably more polished. Some mechanical rough edges remain, but the mission design is clever enough to smooth them over. While adding layers of narrative detail and environmental minutiae, the game preserves—and strengthens—the sense of freedom and verticality that defined its predecessor: climbing sheer surfaces to gain a vantage point from which to plan your next move.
The opening revisits the closing moments of the first game in the near future. Desmond Miles is still trapped inside Abstergo, the sleek corporate façade for modern-day Templar operations. Having already exploited Desmond via the Animus to access the memories of his Assassin ancestor, Abstergo now seeks more. But Desmond’s sole ally, Lucy, helps him escape, fighting alongside him and driving him to a hidden Assassin safehouse equipped with their own upgraded machine: the Animus 2.0—a meta-fictional excuse for all the improvements Ubisoft has made.
Through it, Desmond relives the memories of a new ancestor: Ezio Auditore da Firenze, born in mid-15th-century Florence. As a protagonist, Ezio is a massive improvement over the insufferably stoic Altaïr. He begins as a brash, hot-headed youth, but over the course of the game matures into something far more compelling. His arc is cinematic, emotionally grounded, and—crucially—subtitled. It allows room for personality, humor, and genuine growth, while introducing historical figures like Leonardo da Vinci and the Medici family as natural parts of the narrative.
Ezio’s journey leads him across multiple Italian cities, chasing an ever-expanding conspiracy that snakes through politics, religion, and family vendettas. The game escalates steadily until it culminates in a final, utterly unhinged what-the-hell-just-happened moment that still stands as one of the boldest narrative swings in the series. It’s audacious—and frankly brilliant.
Mechanically, Ezio controls much like Altaïr, but feels far more obedient to player intent. Whether due to improved framerate, refined animation, or subtle input tweaks, Ezio rarely misbehaves. The climbing system remains the star, functioning almost as a puzzle mechanic in its own right. Combat still revolves around counters and timing, but when it feels clumsy, it’s usually because you’re meant to flee—into haystacks, rooftop gardens, or bustling crowds.
New tools broaden your options: a concealed firearm for emergencies, poison blades that turn targets into berzerking distractions, and smoke bombs that finally give stealth some breathing room. These additions don’t reinvent combat, but they meaningfully expand your tactical vocabulary.
The game spans years and five major cities, necessitating a home base: Monteriggioni. Upgrading its villa generates income, introduces new shops, and ties economic progression to exploration. It’s a smart system that encourages you to engage with the world beyond the critical path.
One of the standout additions is the Assassin Tombs—hidden platforming gauntlets tucked into city architecture. They feel like a 3D Prince of Persia homage, combining precision movement, environmental awareness, and escalating tension. Their construction is meticulous, often including shortcuts to mitigate failure. Completing them yields the game’s most coveted reward, especially if you have even a passing interest in ornate armor.
My primary complaint lies with the game’s late-stage pacing. Sequences 12 and 13—The Battle of Forlì and The Bonfire of the Vanities—were originally DLC and are now unavoidably integrated into later editions. They interrupt the narrative momentum just as Ezio’s story is reaching its natural conclusion.
The Bonfire of the Vanities is particularly egregious: nine poorly motivated assassinations with no emotional stakes, awkward stealth requirements, brittle AI behavior, and restart-heavy design. Assassin’s Creed II simply isn’t built for strict stealth missions, and these sequences expose every limitation of the engine. If there were a way to skip them, I’d recommend doing so without hesitation.
Thankfully, they don’t overshadow the whole experience. Assassin’s Creed II feels like the moment the modern open-world action template finally snapped into place. Character progression is minimal, but gear upgrades compensate well enough. It’s the game that would have changed my mind about the genre—had I played it at the time.
Instead, it took years and a belated encounter with Red Dead Redemption to soften my stance. But looking back, Assassin’s Creed II was already there, quietly rewriting the rules.
It uses real history not as window dressing, but as a scaffold for personal fiction. Its lore entries—written by Desmond’s sardonic ally Shaun—add texture and context to the world you climb across. Even fictional characters are treated with historical weight, their stories abruptly ending with three blood-red dots once Ezio’s blade finds them.
This is the series at its most confident, human, and ambitious—and one of Ubisoft’s rare, genuine triumphs.
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