HOW I MET YOUR ALL-FATHER
God of War: Ragnarök begins exactly where its predecessor—Santa Monica Studio’s 2018 God of War—left off. The Spartan god of war Kratos and his son Atreus have retreated into the wilds of Midgard, attempting to stay out of the Aesir gods’ sight. Their fragile peace is shattered when an unexpected visitor arrives at their secluded cabin. Thor knocks first. Odin follows. Their thunderous proposal is simple: leave us alone, and we’ll leave you alone.
Kratos doesn’t buy it. Odin’s reputation for deceit precedes him, and the answer is a firm, unyielding “No.”
This is Sony’s AAA craftsmanship in full force: polished to a mirror shine, with limited player agency over the story’s direction. If you haven’t played the first game, you should—Ragnarök is a direct continuation, not a standalone tale. That said, it’s remarkable how much better this sequel is, despite being nearly inseparable from its predecessor in terms of presentation and mechanics.
The difference lies in the narrative structure. The first game made a costly mistake by presenting a clear end goal early on, only to repeatedly delay and undermine it for 30–40 hours. At one point, it even moved the goalposts entirely. The constant detours frustrated me enough to nearly sour the entire experience.
Ragnarök avoids that pitfall. Kratos and Atreus travel back and forth across the realms in a desperate attempt to prevent Ragnarök itself. That is the ultimate goal. When stopping it proves impossible, they turn to recruiting allies for the inevitable war against the Aesir. Unexpectedly, some of the gods they encounter prove more sympathetic than anticipated.
This time, the journey is defined by character motivations and inner conflict rather than a distant destination. The prophecy of Ragnarök looms over everything like a curse. Despite their wisdom, the characters remain shackled to superstition and fate, and that inability to break free pushes the world ever closer to violent collapse.
Mechanically, however, little separates Ragnarök from its predecessor. Exploration, combat systems, and puzzle design are largely unchanged. The environments are just as striking and colorful, many enemy types return, and veteran players will feel immediately at home.
Combat remains satisfying and grows deeper with skill. Kratos’ Leviathan Axe and Blades of Chaos return, joined later by an additional weapon. Their upgrade paths and unlockable movesets feel familiar but dependable. Fighting bare-handed—often overlooked—is surprisingly effective, allowing you to stun weaker enemies and finish them with brutal executions. Combining elemental status effects like fire, frost, and lightning to maximize damage remains immensely gratifying.
Certain sections allow you to play as Atreus, who specializes in agile, ranged combat. He imbues his arrows with magic to stun enemies or amplify elemental damage. His combat encounters feel noticeably easier, suggesting his growth into a capable warrior in his own right. Appropriately, Atreus’ personal development is also the most compelling character arc in the story.
A wide array of equipment—weapon attachments, runes, artifacts, and armor—works in tandem with skill upgrades to support different builds. That said, these systems rarely alter your playstyle in meaningful ways. The most exciting upgrades are the weapon runes, which unlock entirely new attacks. Beyond that, the thrill of stat upgrades is often dampened by the immediate introduction of tougher enemy variants.
The puzzles are consistently clever and engaging, requiring you to carefully survey your surroundings. The logic behind them is unapologetically videogamey—why anyone would construct geyser-powered waterwheels to operate gates is beyond me—but I’ve long accepted that abstraction. The same goes for the genre’s usual nonsense, like waist-high obstacles Kratos could easily vault but stubbornly refuses to.
Outside the narrative, the art direction ranks among the best in the industry. Colossal mythical creatures and richly detailed environments define every realm. From the humid, alien jungles of Vanaheim to the frozen ruins of Helheim, each biome has a distinct identity. While the main path is mostly linear, several larger hub areas—traversable by boat or wolf-drawn sled—are packed with optional content and hidden rewards.
Side activities constantly vie for your attention, and your companions are quick to point them out. Shooting down Odin’s ravens, uncovering artifacts, and deciphering runes are familiar distractions. Mimir, ever the storyteller, enriches these diversions with lore and commentary. Some sidequests are so narratively compelling they feel essential.
One standout task involves freeing a chained beast the size of an island, half-submerged for centuries. Once awakened, you traverse its massive body while Mimir recounts its tragic history. The visual spectacle alone is worth the effort—but it’s the storytelling that makes it unforgettable.
That meticulous attention to detail shines brightest in the main story. For the first time, the full Norse pantheon takes center stage. Exceptional character design, animation, and voice acting bring this cast to life. The gods exude power, but their psychological fractures are impossible to hide. Thor is a towering, volatile alcoholic, crushed by Odin’s relentless disapproval. Odin himself is scrawny, paranoid, and deeply manipulative. Tyr, the god of war turned pacifist, wallows in regret, while Heimdall’s narcissism makes him dangerously unstable.
It’s a story about heroes so flawed you want to shake sense into them—and antagonists so charismatic you can’t help but sympathize. In their own minds, the Aesir are heroes. To everyone else, they’ve lived long enough to become villains.
To fully appreciate these arcs, both games are essential. God of War: Ragnarök only exists as part of a larger whole, inseparable from its predecessor—much like Dune: Part Two (2024) is inseparable from Dune (2021). Still, I vastly prefer this sequel. It’s astonishing what a stronger narrative structure can accomplish. The lingering gameplay irritations fade into insignificance when the story commands your full attention.
Comments
Post a Comment