This is when it hits me: I’m playing a puzzle game.

So, again, why the hell do I do this to myself? That question is my last thought as I respawn and try again. And I’m still walking into its trap, still failing to kill the damn thing. I’ve been stuck in this dance, with this particularly deadly eyesore, since yesterday. I’m frustrated, and I’m pissed off at myself. It’s the classic reaction of a fool, which means I’m handling this whole situation wrong. But that’s pure emotion, entitlement born of unadulterated frustration. I die, and my first reaction is to call horseshit. It spears me, and flings me across the arena like I’m the gross one here. It’s choking the breath out of me while also draining my life, one peck and squeeze at a time.

My distraction and confidence prove to be my weakness, which is how I find myself wrapped like a meal for a boa constrictor by this 20-foot-long abomination. I don’t hear its howl, and I miss the red-and-black-and-gray smoke that envelops its twirling body, the telltale signs of its deadliest attack. And while I’m watching my twirling blade, hoping for a killing blow, I’m forgetting to watch the monster. I’m too excited, too aggressive, too myopic in my approach, obsessed with ruthless aggression. Oh, and a hummingbird was definitely involved in whatever demonic orgy yielded this crime against nature, because that’s the only damned thing that could explain the yard-long beak that’s possibly made of metal.īut the sickle isn’t enough. It’s part snake, for sure - I consider the pair of toothy vipers acting as makeshift arms when making this call - but I see slug DNA, as well. This particular opponent is … kind of a mess, actually. I may be a half-human, half- yokai demon ninja, a force for good cleansing Sengoku-era Japan from a supernatural outbreak of evil creatures, but I feel like I need all of the power I can muster if I’m ever going to defeat the specific monstrosity that’s currently standing in my way. I’ve gone full scythe because I’m getting desperate. This is the Seething Dragon switchglaive in its most powerful (and slowest) form. I hold the R1 button down, tap the triangle button on my PlayStation 4 controller, and my Nioh 2 weapon transforms from a blade on a pole into a sickle so large and ornate that the Grim Reaper would blush. One nagging question invades my mind as I play Nioh 2, the third-person, brutally difficult action role-playing game from Team Ninja: Why do I do this to myself?

Nioh dragon of the north review