Final Fantasy XIV, Rules, and Playful Design

I’ve been playing a lot of Final Fantasy XIV! Yes, I’m one of those! Blame my friends, they got to me at last. I had an interesting thought, the other day. If you haven’t played Final Fantasy XIV, hereafter frequently referred to as FFXIV, then you might not understand that its combat feels very different from the likes of more “standard” MMOs of the years’ past like World of Warcraft. There’s a number of certain somethings in the nuances of its design that piqued my interest, made me question what makes them tick. What’s more, the more I thought about these little nuances the more I found surprising parallels in other games that you might not expect. So, if only to satisfy my own curiosity, I’d like to try and break down what about FFXIV’s combat sets it apart, in my estimation, and what can be learned from how XIV does things.

Now, if I describe aspects of Final Fantasy XIV that come from different expansions that were released years apart, please do not be dissuaded. The entire development history of the game is characterized by slow and highly iterative adaptation to its changing goals and aspirations. Even the game’s own narrative reflects this, but all that’s a story for another day. Suffice to say, even though FFXIV took about a decade to come out, in a drip feed, it is presently very much a complete and cohesive product worth investigating on the whole of its merits, in addition to the individual merits of its expansions.

The Core Mechanics

First, to understand how Final Fantasy XIV becomes ‘playful’, as the title up there indicates, we need to understand, like all newbie players, the baseline that the game expects of you during combat. To start, each player has a combat job, who fills some sort of role. The primary roles are tank, who absorbs most of the damage and the enemies’ ire, the healers, who provide healing support, and the damage dealers, whose specialty is obvious, and are further divided into ranged, melee, and magic damage dealers. Each of these jobs need to maximize their effectiveness to get through the most difficult encounters. Managing their resources correctly, pressing the right buttons and casting the right spells in the right order, is all essential.

There is an optimal way to do this. There is not room for much personal expression through play in the combat of Final Fantasy XIV. I think that’s fine, as this MMO concentrates much of its avenues of personal expression elsewhere. The playfulness of its combat lies elsewhere than in the individual players, as well. But back to the subject, if a player is experienced, their performance will more and more approach this optimal sequence of player actions, that deal the maximum damage, absorb damage most efficiently, or heal most efficiently. This is their ‘rotation’. Players are expected to constantly be tending their rotations in combat for maximum efficiency.

However, the enemies in this game have special attacks that can hit multiple players, and not just the tanks. These are called Area of Effect attacks, or AoEs. These are (almost) always indicated by bright orange volumes on the flat 2D surface of the ground. Some players might humorously say “there are lines on the floor” when ribbing each other’s performance. And indeed, to dodge an AoE, one must step out of the bright orange shape, before it resolves. The orange AoEs are a rather ingenious way of injecting some more engaging movement to the otherwise rather static tradition of “tanking and spanking” enemies as was often said in World of Warcraft. The AoE markers are calculated server-side, meaning their mechanics must be communicated to the greater online sphere before they resolve on an individual player’s client, as AoEs are by definition meant to affect multiple players. If an enemy were to just swing his arm without such a warning in real-time, the differential between client and server could make for a rather inaccurately timed and unpleasant experience. So instead, the developers opted to essentially slow down the process of dodging attacks a lot.

A muscular lizard man with brass knuckles strikes an intimidating pose. A bright orange rectangle appears on the ground in front of him. After a moment, he strikes at the air, sending a shockwave over the highlighted area.

These bright orange “danger” volumes become go-to shorthand in combat.

This, obviously, makes FFXIV a whole lot easier than, say, a real-time game like monster hunter (at least at first, but we’ll get there), and itself not quite an action game. The developers were aware of this too, of course, so instead of relying on players’ reactive abilities, they test players’ predictive abilities. AoE attacks come out slowly. Usually. And they have very clear indicated boundaries. They always resolve a static amount of time after appearing. So what happens if there’s a large AoE, leaving only a small safe zone… but then, another AoE appears, a couple seconds later but before the first resolves, and covers that safe zone? Now you are tracking two timers, splitting your attention.

Remember this is all happening while players continue to triage their rotations. FFXIV is a game that demands multitasking as a core skill. You might have heard this, but the human brain is actually exceptionally bad at engaging in several activities at once. When you ‘multitask’, what you’re really doing is rapidly shifting attention from one activity to the next, and back, ensuring no one activity becomes too neglected, like spinning plates. In the example I provided, you must manage your rotation, but also be aware of the first AoE’s timer, and not be distracted by the fact that a second AoE is overlapping your safe zone. Because as soon as that timer goes off, you must concern yourself with the second, delayed AoE’s timer, and vacate from the initial safe zone. Oh, and don’t forget to keep up with that rotation. Don’t want to fall behind on damage.

So from what at first seems like a rather basic combat design basis, we get some versatility with basically… messing with player cognition to a great degree. Imagine barrages of AoEs, all different sizes and shapes, all slightly offset from each other in space and time. Maybe some AoEs that respond to player movement, and some that depend on player facing direction. Pretty quickly the demands of multitasking become quite frantic. I don’t have to imagine it, I’ve lived it. It doesn’t end there, though. With these basic rules in place, Final Fantasy XIV, instead of only intensifying the existing mechanics, constantly introduces entirely new ones, with their own demands of the player’s time and attention. So how can they keep the constant barrage of new information from overwhelming the player? If the rules are constantly changing, how does the encounter design stay intuitive?

“Intuitive”

To figure that out, we need to decide what’s “intuitive.” using or based on what one feels to be true even without conscious reasoning; instinctive. Thanks Oxford, but, hm. Okay, that doesn’t help us much. How do we know what our players will feel to be true “even without conscious reasoning”? Let’s hone in on that last word – instinctive. We can start by using signifiers that relate to general knowledge the average player in our demographic would bring with them into the game. This often translates to relying on real world “common knowledge” as a basis for gameplay mechanics. If there are two towers, one taller than the other, and lightning is about to strike, which tower should you stand under?

An army of adventurers pelt a giant flying centaur with weapon strikes and bolts of magic. The centaur throws two spears into the air, which land on either side of a large platform. One spear is much taller than the other, and this one is struck by lightning.

As you can see, in the chaos, following simple instructions can be challenging.

FFXIV is, once you’ve acclimated to the basis of its combat system, rather consistently good at this. Most of the time, it is possible, perhaps even feasible, to discern most of what an enemy might be capable of based on this sort of “common knowledge” intuition. When an enemy raises their right hand, it is likely unwise to stand on their right flank. A dragon will probably breathe fire in a cone in front of itself. If a boss is charging a massive attack, with tons of energized particle effects to accentuate, and a rock that is roughly the size of play character falls onto the ground, then it is probably advisable to put the rock between yourself and the enemy boss.

That last one is intuitive on a “common knowledge” basis, but it also overlaps with another kind of gameplay intuition, which is pattern recognition. Generally, human brains are very very good at recognizing patterns. When FFXIV introduces a new mechanic, it can be considered to be establishing a paradigm. As that mechanic may appear again, sometimes very frequently! In addition to the “core” mechanics of FFXIV combat discussed earlier, the game deploys additional mechanics with a particular kind of consistency of logic. For example, eventually a player working their way through the main story of FFXIV will find themselves fighting an ancient dragon. This dragon will use an ability called ‘Akh Morn.’ Prior to its activation, this ability is foreshadowed by the standard ‘stack’ mechanic indicator, meaning players must huddle together to split the damage. Akh Morn, however, hits multiple times – so if players scatter after the first hit as they’re used to, they must react to reconvene, if they’re to survive. Later, they will fight a dragon again, and Akh Morn will once again occur, and work the very same way. At this point, it will become clear that Akh Morn is an ability specifically associated with dragons, and players will be prepared for it any time they see one, even before the ability is used. This is also a kind of intuition, based upon a sense for the shape of the gameplay’s design and intentions, in recognition of established patterns. One might even call it gamesense.

FFXIV overlapping its mechanics makes players more predictive than reactive.

That’s all well and good, but this is all kind of fuzzy, isn’t it? Indefinite terms like “common knowledge”, and even pattern recognition will not be consistent across all players – each individual learns at a different pace. So how can you tell what is intuitive? There’s no real definite approach outside of using best judgment, and then playtesting. Playtesting playtesting playtesting. You’ll never really know how players will react to certain gameplay decisions until you see players react to those gameplay decisions. Seeing your players engage with your systems will inform your approach. This can be seen in how enemies and combat mechanics in FFXIV change gradually, but significantly over the course of its story quest – through many iterations across several expansions that came out over the course of a decade.

Final Fantasy XIV and Undertale Are The Same Game

I am especially fond of how FFXIV uses that “common knowledge intuition” to introduce its new combat mechanics. I have a history of playing MMORPGs, like World of Warcraft. I was even a rather hardcore raider – or in other words, a participant in high-end end-game content, the most challenging stuff saved for the most dedicated players. The way WoW designed its encounters was interesting, chaotic, engaging, and often quite complicated. However, I rarely felt the sense of intuitive sensibility I feel playing Final Fantasy XIV. The narrative and aesthetic building blocks of combat in Final Fantasy are all abstractions of actions one can make some sense of in the context of the fiction. WoW, at least when I played it, had some of that, but its more difficult encounters leaned much further into abstraction, with status conditions upon gameplay modifiers upon unique interactions disconnecting, at least for me, the experience of engaging with those systems from the experience of being in the fantasy world.

I have been playing quite a bit of Undertale and Undertale-adjacent content, lately. Such as Toby Fox’s other brilliant game Deltarune, and the charming fan-made Undertale prequel, Undertale Yellow. While dodging bullets shaped like flexing muscles, representing a monster’s outgoing personality, it occurred to me how starkly similar these two games – Final Fantasy XIV and Undertale actually are, at least in terms of their combat systems.

Okay hear me out, I’m not insane, I swear.

Both games are RPGs that represent enemy offensive actions with abstract shapes that denote areas on a 2D plane of danger, and safety. Entering a “danger zone” causes the player damage. The shapes these danger zones take abstractly denote the kind of action the enemy is taking. In Undertale, these danger zones are called bullets, and if they’re shaped like water droplets, they might denote the enemy crying, or causing it to rain. In FFXIV, these danger zones are called AoEs, and if it’s a cone extended from a monster’s front, it might denote the monster breathing fire.

I can see you’re not sold. Alright, consider this; both games feature two prominent methods by which tension, challenge, and surprise is weaved into gameplay. In Undertale you might run into a monster who cries tears down on you from above that you have to avoid. Then, you might run into a monster who sends a fly to slowly follow you, which you must constantly move away from. Neither bullet pattern is especially difficult to dodge. But then, you may run into both monsters simultaneously! Suddenly, you must multitask and interweave devoting attention to both bullet patterns at once. In Final Fantasy XIV, boss mechanics are deployed in a very specific way. Every boss will start by using one of its signature abilities – perhaps a simple barrage of AoE attacks at random locations around the players. Then, they’ll introduce a new mechanic, maybe forcing the players to a certain quadrant of the arena while looking in a certain direction. Neither pattern is especially difficult to dodge. But then, the boss will begin using both moves simultaneously! Suddenly, you must multitask and interweave devoting attention to both patterns at once.

The undertale character Asgore, a large horned furred monster in a warrior king's outfit shoots many bullets of flame out at areas indicated with a "!". He then swings a blue, then an orange trident.

Oh HMMM sure looks *exactly* like AoE markers and color-coded attacks with special rules, HMMM!

That is not where the similarities end, though. The other prominent method by which both games influence their interest curves is through the introduction of new rules, as previously mentioned. Think about it; The first time Undertale deploys the “blue heart” mechanic, the player is shocked, possibly confused, as their schmup-style 2D grid of bullet dodging suddenly becomes a 2D platformer complete with gravity and jumping controls. It completely upends the paradigm of how one must think of the spatial relationships of all entities in play. I really think the “blue heart” moment is undersold in how instantly it establishes Undertale’s playful nature, and the breadth of unique variety it is willing to explore. Meanwhile, in FFXIV, the first I remember of an equivalent “blue heart” moment is when I was introduced to the “ice floor” mechanic in the story content leading up to FFXIV’s first expansion. The ice floor forces the player to move a set, (large) minimum distance, if moving at all, most often coinciding with other, damaging mechanics that need to be dodged. This, and other mechanics like, “forced march”, which, as the name implies, forces your character to march in a straight line, changes the paradigm of how you relate your character’s spatial relationship to all other entities in play.

A decaying giant robot puppet spins like she is dancing, in an opera hall. A much smaller android in a black dress dexterously bounds over and around a stream of energy orbs unleashed from the puppet, then strikes her with a sword.

But perhaps I give Undertale too much credit. I am not, after all, extremely familiar with the shoot ’em ups and bullet hells which inspired it. In fact, it feels as though bullet hell-like mechanics have been infiltrating other genres for a while now, much like RPG mechanics started to do some years ago. I’m always in favor of that sort of diffusion, as it leads to a lot of cool new ideas that couldn’t exist otherwise. It reminds me of Returnal, or its inspirations like Nier and Nier: Automota. I do, however, think there is a certain something to how FFXIV and Undertale/Deltarune play with their rules, that *does* set them apart from other similar games. I just can’t shake the feeling that these two seemingly disparate experiences have a strong link between them.

Rules

A rather flamboyant character with shoulder-length hair and an official-looking uniform. He is "roulx kaard" from the game Deltarune. He is lying down, propped up on one elbow, rocking his foot and a finger-gun gesture back and forth in rhythm. His hair is sparkling.

Image unrelated.

These “paradigm shifting” moments are essentially the introduction of supplementary rules to the basis upon each respective game is built. Games are made of rules, so when you add rules, you change the game. Both Undertale and Final Fantasy XIV do this with some regularity, to the point that adapting to the addition of new rules is a prominent part of both games’ core skillset and identity. A combination of pattern recognition, rote memorization, and intuitive anticipation replaces the twitch-reactive mindset you might find in an action game. This settles both games into a certain mood, where anything can happen, because any new rule can simply be dropped in the player’s lap.

By utilizing intuitive design, presumably through extensive testing, FFXIV dodges the obvious pitfall of such an approach in most cases. That being, if a player settles into the loop of a comfortable and reliable ruleset, a sudden disruption can feel jarring and unfair – a new rule kind of implies that the player hasn’t been prepared for it, yeah? So that’s why it’s so essential to this sort of playful design that things always be intuitive. FFXIV has several vectors to achieve this – not just in its flashing indicators, AoE warning shapes, monster designs, and monster animations, but also through the text displayed on enemy UI when they use a special attack. “Forced March” sort of implies what it does, and those words are visible to you before you have to react. All these things form the language by which FFXIV communicates information and teaches you each new rule without teaching it to you. Undertale’s language for communicating new rules is through shapes. When the player’s heart turns green, the game becomes a bit of a rhythm-adjacent directional timing game. This is indicated by all the enemy bullets becoming arrows, and moving in regular intervals with the music.

A floormap with large, complicated orange "AoE" markers layered overtop. The entire map rotates counterclockwise, and two quadrants of the map are highlighted in red.

As you can see, once this stuff starts to stack up, it can really get quite taxing. Gif from here.

In both cases, if players are ever confused, they are never confused for long, and even may discern the nuances of a new rule before it’s engaged! Understanding game rules becomes a skill in itself, and experienced players are encouraged to discern the shape of the design through intuition. I find something so fascinating and appealing about this because it goes in the opposite direction of the typical wisdom that the hand of the designer needs to be invisible. The players play along as the designer plays – it creates a sort of Calvinball mentality, where the game can be anything you imagine, and every encounter can feel fresh. So many other RPGs I’ve played get so wrapped up in what the design of their encounters must be that they feel stifling.

I think this is what makes me distinguish Undertale and Final Fantasy XIV so closely in my mind, even compared to similar games in the MMO or Shoot ‘Em Ups genres. It’s the playfulness, the bending and manipulating of the very fabric of the game by bending, reimagining, or supplementing the very building blocks, the rules. This allows the designers so much freedom in what they can convey simply through combat mechanics, and if you’ve read anything of mine or spoken to me for five minutes, you may know that I love when gameplay and narrative synergize or better yet supplement one another. Undertale uses shapes to communicate gameplay obstacles, but also the shape of the opposing monsters’ emotions. The blue heart mechanic only appears while fighting the skeleton brothers, two fights that happen worlds apart but are connected by this, emphasizing their relationship to each other. When a character repeats the use of a forbidden power in Final Fantasy you hadn’t seen for a very long time, you understand their desperation. And so on.

A closeup of an elderly elf man. He looks contentedly into a blazing light that grows to encompass him and then the entire image.

All that aside, you’ll still find me looking like this standing in a basic-ass AoE

What Was I Talking About?

Anyway, I think I’m finally satisfied with what was causing an itch at the back of my brain while playing Undertale Yellow. It’s that the exact same parts of that brain, the same reflexes, pattern recognition skills, and adaptability I had trained in Final Fantasy were carrying over. And I think I’ve been able to suss out what about the two games feels so familiar to me. Playfulness in design, the willinging to recontextualize and reorient the ruleset has been employed often in games, but rarely is it such a central pillar as it is in Undertale and FFXIV. Wario Ware and Mario Party are games about playing smaller, bite sized game experiences, and I’ve heard FFXIV players joke that they’re essentially the same as their favorite MMO. I can remember a number of arena battles in Ratchet and Clank that randomly swap out your weapon, or give the enemies some absurd advantage, rotating rules in and out over time. I think I’ve found a lot to take away from this exercise, and it’s given me a deeper appreciation for the very different approaches there are to making combat in games both fun and engaging. Not everything has to be about fast and snappy reactions. There are a myriad of reasons a person might enjoy a game and a thousand avenues to accentuate that. So experiment with your design and your rules, and see what speaks to you.

Ifrit the fiery god from final fantasy XIV is shown in closeup, a horned burning lizard-like beast with skeletal claws and stony scales.

So – let us be about it, hero.

Playing Final Fantasy I, II, and III For The First Time

I try to play a lot of games. I find exposing oneself to a wide variety of ideas and precedent helps one form a better understanding of the craft. I especially am fond of tracing the development of certain ideas and precedents over long stretches of time. In a moment of hubris that could be perhaps, generously, described as “insane”, some friends and I decided to undergo the herculean task of playing through the entirety of the Final Fantasy canon. The Roman numeral numbered ones, anyway. There are scant few games with such a distinct and traceable lineage. This is but the first leg of a long journey. Perhaps by the end you dear reader, and I, will have learned… something.

A man in red and black armor wielding a black sword with a red crack in it in one hand. His other hand is spiky and demonic with an orange glow over black armor.

He stands before an ashy gray castle in the background. A fiery phoenix and wolflike beast growl at each other from the corners of the screen.

Promotional image of the game Final Fantasy XVI

…We’ll get there.

As this is a retrospective, expect at least some spoilers for these games.

Final Fantasy I – Setting a Precedent

This is not going to be a narrative retrospective, at least not primarily, but story is an important part of this franchise’s identity, so I will touch on it briefly where I have something to comment about. Final Fantasy I‘s initial setup is about as simple as it gets. Four Warriors of Light set out on a quest to save a princess from an evil knight, then quickly discover they are heroes foretold in legend, destined to defeat Four Fiends, collect four magic crystals, and restore the balance of light and dark in the world. Still, even from humble beginnings, someone somewhere wanted to make this tale stand out a bit, with inspirations likely from Japanese mythology, manga, and anime, all of which tend to deal with rather esoteric concepts. The evil knight from the beginning of the game, Garland, reveals that he has enacted a complex time loop by sending the Four Fiends back in time. The result of this is that Garland becomes the immortal demon Chaos. Once defeated, all of our heroes’ adventures are undone, along with the evil of Chaos, though the memory of those adventures remains etched in the Warrior’s hearts. There are elements of Final Fantasy‘s heart here already. The esoterica, the high-minded fantasy concepts, the slight twinge of melancholy at the end of a long journey, all feelings that pervade the Final Fantasy games and their derivatives that I have played.

A man in full platemail, helmet decorated with bull-like horns and glowing yellow eyes. He wields a giant greatsword, and has a woman in a dress slung over his shoulder. A castle looms very small in the background. An image of the evil knight Garland.

Yeah man, this guy…

At the outset, the player chooses a lineup of four heroes from a roster of possible character classes with different abilities. Notably, you can loadout your team any way you like. Use four white mages, aka healers if you so like. Use four glass cannon black mages. This level of customization sets a nice precedent going forward for what the gameplay of Final Fantasy is, I think. The game followed the release of Dragon Quest about a year earlier, and follows similar conventions of its contemporaries. Turn-based combat with simple rules, spells, attacks, and the ability to run from battle.

Often I judge my enjoyment of turn-based gameplay by how much leeway I am given for strategic thinking. There’s… not a whole lot of that in Final Fantasy I. Boss and enemy designs tend to be straightforward. One throws fire at you. One throws ice at you. Sometimes enemies are stronger than you, though, and figuring out how to maximize your heroes’ damage while keeping them alive can be a bit of an entertaining problem.

A skeletal mage labeled 'Lich' fights against a mage in a blue robe with a face shrouded in shadow, all on a plain black background. The menus surrounding the fight are labeled 'Lich' 'Fight' 'Magic' 'Drink' 'Item' 'Run' 'BkM 'Fhtr' 'Thef' 'RedM'

The game’s visuals are simplistic, but refreshingly uncluttered.

My friends and I did arrive at a rather interesting strategy. It’s pretty apparent that it wasn’t the primary method of play, that it was a strategy unique to us, so that’s pretty cool. We had a part of one strong physical attacker, the warrior, one potent offensive mage, the black mage, one healing support, the white mage, and one jack-of-all-trades red mage. Our go-to method is thus: The white mage casts a strength-enhancing spell on our warrior, and the red mage casts a speed-enhancing speed spell on our warrior. Our black mage continues to blast offensive spells away, not needed enhancements to do decent damage, especially against several enemies at once. Meanwhile, our warriors becomes a lawnmower, shredding through bosses and other monsters like dry grass.

So while our decision making process never really changed, we did make some interesting decisions that allowed us to clear the game, so that’s good. On the other hand, the presence of a certain mechanic I dread really accentuates the repetitiveness – that being random encounter system. In the overworld, the player character moves across terrain divided into tiles on a grid. Each time they pass a tile, there is a chance they will be forced into a monster encounter. I think I’ve decided by now I pretty much detest random encounters, for a number of reasons. They introduce a level of abstraction that is irritating to me, bringing me out of the fantasy of the world. Where are all these monsters coming from? Where are they hiding? Why are they not dangerous until they are on top of me? Worse than that it bring an unjustified level of agency away from the player. The use of random encounters in early RPGs almost certainly was partially a tech consideration. The NES can only render so many items on screen, and a consistent supply of enemies to fight was needed. Still, from a purely ludic standpoint it’s annoying as hell. Crossing a continent in this game could take two minutes, or two hours, depending on your real-world luck stat. Mine is very very low.

I always find myself comparing old RPGs with random encounters to one of my favorite RPG – Chrono Trigger which, contrary to many of its contemporaries, had no random encounters. Enemies were consistently visible in the overworld. Sure, there were surprise encounters, and required encounters. Enemies often leap out of bushes to ambush the heroes. The added context and predictability of these encounters make them far more tolerable, especially when backtracking through areas, as is often required in RPGs. When one can mentally prepare for exactly how long a task it’s going to take, it’s a lot more pleasant than getting surprised with a lot of meaningless activity that does little but waste time. Any advantages you could gain by having random encounters can be achieved with more bespoke, designed encounters, with none of the frustration. But, this is Final Fantasy I of 16, so I’d better get used to them. Just wanted to throw out the random encounters rant early on here.

There’s one more thing I’ve got to say about this first game. Final Fantasy I sprang forth about a year after the release of watershed title Dragon Quest, itself inspired by similar role-playing-type games like Ultima. Ultima, in turn was inspired by Dungeons & Dragons, itself inspired by other tabletop war games and major fantasy works like The Lord of The Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien’s Legendarium, which includes The Lord of The Rings, represents a sort of fictive mythologized history of the real world – a legend for the modern age. My point is, Final Fantasy represents a lineage of people exploring the nature of the world as they understand it through imagination. There’s something poetic, I think, about how the heroes of the story embark on a journey that brings them across the world, and to the edge of history, only to rid the world of evil, at the cost of forever leaving those fantastical events behind, as nothing more than a fantasy. They don’t get to stay in that world, but the memory of it stays forever with them. Final Fantasy I is a humble game, with systems, gameplay, and storytelling that are primitive by today’s standards, but it’s also impossible to divorce it from all this context of its creation. There’s a lot of beauty, in this humble little adventure.

A message saying; 'The Warrior who broke the 2000 year Time-Loop is truly a LIGHT WARRIOR.... That warrior was YOU!' is imposed over a backdrop of peaceful waters and forests of pine trees under a blue sky.

Final Fantasy II – Experiments Are Educational, But Not Always Fun

The early Final Fantasy series was notoriously mislabeled in the west under its English releases, with Final Fantasy IV being erroneously christened Final Fantasy II to English speakers because the actual second and third entries to the franchise were simply not released outside of Japan. You know, I believe in the dissemination and availability of media across cultural boundaries. Translations and localization with easy availability are not only good, but necessary for a thriving and robust culture. That said… I think I could see how The Powers That Be found that, in the project of bringing Final Fantasy to the western market… I understand why they decided, “eh, think we can skip this one” (this is a joke). I mean… It’s bad, guys. I did not thoroughly enjoy my time playing Final Fantasy II.

The story of this game is alarmingly Star Wars. I know that’s an easy criticism to levy at a lot of fantasy media, but it’s really true in this case, I think. Everything from a rebellion lead by a princess fighting an evil empire, to a secretive emperor with a flying super weapon that razes civilizations, accompanied by a right-hand man dressed in black who is a secret lost family member that eventually turns good again at the last minute. The biggest major departure is the journey’s terminus taking place in a bright technicolor version of hell, which was a pretty delightful surprise, though somewhat harsh on my eyeballs.

A portrait of a man in an armored hat next to a text box reading "Guy: Guy speak beaver."

Below the text, four people stand near a beaver in the snow.

Okay, never mind this story is Kino.

Once upon a time, the coolest, hypest, most exciting RPG on the horizon was the as yet unreleased Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. We were dazzled with its cutting edge graphics in one-thousand-and-eighty-whole-p, 1080p! We were told about many of its new, innovative, never-before-seen gameplay systems that would upend what we thought an RPG could be! For example, the traditional RPG character level system? Out the window! Replaced, with this shiny novel skill system where your hero would improve specifically at the tasks they performed the most. How fresh! How new! Except, of course, this system predates Skyrim by more than two decades. It exists, in near identical fashion, in Final Fantasy II, which also forgoes its predecessor’s level system in favor of an adaptive skill system. Suffice to say, it leads to many of the same problems that plagued Skyrim in its day, though in some cases to a far greater degree.

Against a black background, four cerulean blue knights on horseback fight against a four heroic warriors. The menu at the bottom of the screen reads hp and mp, as well as the heroes' names in Japanese.

Oh featureless black void in which all fights take place, we’re really in it now…

Your heroes’ efficacy with a sword, with a shield, even with their ability to sustain damage is all determined by individual numeric values that only increase when engaged in their associated property. For your Warriors of Light to have a decent health pool, they have to be smacked in the face, repeatedly, and at length. Because you are able to target allies with offensive commands in battle, the best way to train hp is to have your heroes smack each other. The adaptive skill system introduces all kinds of bizarre and irritating behaviors like this. Whenever you get a new spell, you are not enthralled by the exciting new possibilities, but debilitated by the crushing knowledge that you’ll have to spend hours mindlessly blasting weaker monsters to get this new spell to even reach the point of being partially usable.

You will consistently feel pigeon-holed by the choices in character building presented in this game. Make no mistake, Final Fantasy II offers a bevy of options when building your heroes for battle. There are lots of different swords with different properties, from swords, to axes, to polearms. You can even dual wield! You can carry a shield. You can practice black magic and white magic as you please! You can customize your spell loadout. And yet. It takes so much time, and so much effort, to get any of those aforementioned options up to a level of usefulness with the adaptive skill system, that if you don’t choose your course for each hero early on, and stick with it, you’ll find your jacks-of-all-trades to be rather useless in combat by the end. In this way, Final Fantasy II rather lacks the adaptability in hero roster customization that even Final Fantasy I had.

This is not to say that such a level of adaptability is necessary to even complete this slog of a game. And I don’t use that word lightly. A lot of RPGs are very long, and very repetitive, but engaging with II‘s content is so consistently irritating, with more random encounters than ever before, that I eventually found myself engaging in… the Teleport spam. You see, Teleport is one of those spells – the kind that remove enemies entirely from battle. Usually, the tradeoff for that in most RPGs is that enemies will not drop loot, or provide experience points to level up. However, my hero’s skill at successfully casting Teleport did improve every time they used it, making this spell an infinite feedback loop of instantly killing everything, and becoming more likely to instantly kill everything. Including bosses! Including the last boss, save for his… very very super last, final form. Even then, we moved on to employing some other similarly cheesy strategy to dispatch him. ‘Cheesy’ in the case meaning, that it does not feel as though the strategy meaningfully engages with the mechanics of the game. The win against the boss at the end rang kind of hollow for me.

So Final Fantasy II was extremely experimental. It tried a totally new way to conceptualize character building. Even its Star Wars-ass story feels like a test bed for what these games could be capable of narratively. I mean certainly a lot of things happen in this game. It’s turn of event after turn of event, even if they all feel very familiar. Gameplay seems to have become even more simplified since the first game, but that may also be a byproduct of experimentation, with new spells and skills and whatnot. Experimentation isn’t a bad thing though, even if it seems to have thoroughly ruined this particular outing. Based on what I know of Final Fantasy now, it’s almost certain that the developers learned a lot about what worked and what didn’t while making this game, and that’ll serve them well in future titles.

Final Fantasy III – Why This Game And Not Any Other?

Final Fantasy III starts introducing more of those bizarre, esoteric concepts that require some serious thinking to really keep straight it your head. There’s no time travel, as far as I can tell, but there are larger than life mythological wizards, with special gifts of immortality, or dream walking, etc. There is global time stoppage, though. There’s a giant floating continent that the heroes were born on, not knowing it was a small part of the larger world. To the game’s credit, I also experienced that same emotional journey – and I’m sure that was the intent, a surprise reveal for players of the smaller Final Fantasy games that came before. Surprise! The game’s world is actually way larger than you thought. Pretty cool. The Warriors of (The) Light are still mostly hollow player-inserts, the quest is still to collect a bunch of magic rocks, and most characters present are not terribly deep or engrossing. The villain is once again preoccupied with immortality, and entangles themselves with dark forces beyond them for their hubris. The series is establishing its pattern of repeating narrative motifs – which is not necessarily a bad thing!

Final Fantasy III introduces the Jobs system. The seeds of this system will germ and survive long into Final Fantasy‘s future, up to present day. It is, in essence, the ability to swap your Warrior of Light’s class and associated abilities or on the fly, or under certain circumstances. In III, this circumstance is any time outside of battle. Your choice of jobs to pick from expands as you progress through the game, with more powerful ones coming later. This is pretty exciting, and does enhance the possibilities of team building from the first game. You don’t have to commit to a team right away. There are a couple problems with this first run at the system, though. For some reason, swapping jobs makes the swapped hero weakened for several battles. I say ‘for some reason’, but it’s likely to make committing to specific jobs per hero attractive, so heroes build more of a gameplay identity, rather than faceless fighters who can do all things at all times. I suspect this, because future such jobs systems will be designed toward that end, but usually in a more clever and less frictional way.

A grid view of the same drawing of a girl five times, with the girl in a different outfit for each drawing, and then again in those respective outfits seen from behind.

All that said though, yeah, the jobs system is cool.

Boss and enemy design of Final Fantasy III is once again fairly simplistic, but there was a moment that came late in the game. I think what I saw in Final Fantasy III was a spark, a flicker, a momentary glimmer in the night that reminds me of the reason that I actively seek out games with turn-based combat. I’m not talking about why I play JRPGS, a vague collection of aesthetic and ludic conventions that form a genre. I’m talking about why I enjoy the play of commanding a team and managing resources in a turn-oriented fashion the way Final Fantasy does it, divorced from all aesthetic and narrative trappings. Within the optional dungeon of Eureka, I saw the essence of what makes turn-based RPGs worth the effort.

The bosses of Eureka are tough. They threaten the Warriors of The Light with devastating attacks and powerful spells. Instant death for individual heroes is a very real possibility. To defeat these bosses, my own team of heroes – us nerds playing the game, had to put our heads together and reason out a strategy. A lot of games require this kind of creative thinking – where your initial approach is brick-walled by an impassible obstacle, and a different approach is required to progress. However, given the strictly governed rules of a turn-based game, the player’s ability to think laterally and solve abstract problems is something unique to this kind of play. It’s the same sort of thing that’s made activities like Chess and Go among the most enduring of all designed games. In hundreds of hours across three games of mowing down group of monsters, after group of monsters, boss after boss, villain after villain, mostly just by spamming our most powerful moves over and over again or… gods save me… spamming the Teleport spell, Final Fantasy III, in it’s final hours, at last forced us to think. It wasn’t just that we could think creatively to solve a problem, but that the game responded to this, and rewarded this. When creative application of game mechanics leads to interesting and rewarding, designed scenarios, that, to me, is strategic liberty, the very reason turn-based games are compelling to me.

Four purple wasps on a black background fight against four heroic warriors. The warriors names, as well as the options for combat are listed in Japanese on blue menus.

You kill an awful lot of wildlife in RPGs, I’m realizing…

It’s so important for a game to recognize its own worth. Why play this game, and not any other? I play action games to feel a sense of dexterity in my hands and tension in my heart that isn’t possible or quite the same in other formats. I play rhythm games because my sense of music aligns with my sense of play, and the two complement each other. I play platform games because the ease of traversal they entail appeals to a sense of exploration and adventure. I think often games will replicate certain mechanics or conventions based on precedent, without stopping to recognize why those things are precedent in the first place. This is the kind of thing I was hoping to see, playing Final Fantasy as a retrospective – these important core principles to the turn-based RPG and JRPG traditions develop before my eyes in real-time.

It occurred to me that the strategic liberty I so value in turn-based RPGs is much like the solving of a very elaborate and very particular kind of puzzle. It isn’t just that we had to think creatively with the tools we were given, but that the tools we were given operated in tandem to produce new possibilities. For example, the Warrior of Light Refia was our dragoon hero, or spearman. She was also our greatest damage dealer. We were fighting a boss whose physical attacks devastated the heroes. We could counter this with the Protect spell, but that Protect spell could only target one hero per turn, and only two of our heroes were capable of casting it. Moreover, each of our four heroes served an essential role in the party. Refia brought the damage, the dark knight Ingus was the only one who could take a hit, the red mage Luneth was our go-to spell caster, including caster of Protect, and the white mage Arc was needed for healing duty. Losing even one would debilitate us for the rest of the fight.

While our mages were busy casting Protect on people and not healing, one or more of our heroes might straight up die, so raising a full defense was just too slow a prospect. It occurred to us, after some experimentation, that Refia’s Jump ability – in which she jumps off screen and becomes immune to damage for one turn, then crashes back down to deal bonus damage – was maxing out the damage count at ‘9999’. Five of those jumps alone would bring the enemy down. So instead of insuring every hero could survive incoming damage, one of my friend’s suggested, let’s ensure Refia can, so she can constantly jump to safety, while busting the enemy down over the course of ten turns. Instead of Protecting the party, our mages would Protect themselves, while Refia used the guard action to survive. Then, we would buff her with Haste to ensure she’d always Jump before the enemy could act. If ever she was caught with some damage as she landed, we would repeat the process of setup, then sent her on her way to continue the attack. After a couple of tries, it worked! The enemy was defeated, and all of us players cheered.

The sense of satisfaction that washed over us was fantastic. Our friend expressed that they felt like a genius – a familiar sensation for anyone who’s played a particularly challenging RPG. It’s just a shame that this sort of thing had to take several dozens of hours of gameplay to get to. That’s a bit unfair, though, there was some strategizing that took place in the earlier levels of Final Fantasy III. However, it never reached near this level of depth. Knowledge of the game’s rules or how its various mechanics interacted was never really necessary. It was more a continuous process of experimentation – seeing what the various hero jobs did, though a feeling of utilizing them to some greater end was disappointingly infrequent.

That said, the presence of this strategic liberty, even at the eleventh hour, kind of redeemed Final Fantasy III a bit in my eyes. Like Final Fantasy I, I think it’s very commendable for its time, and it’s scratching at the surface of some of the things that I think makes this kind of game great, which is a good sign! I’m optimistic going into Final Fantasy IV, another game I’ve never played! Final Fantasy will be entering a transitional period, I predict, as it undergoes a transformation from its simple NES days to the robust cutting edge graphical and storytelling experiences of the SNES and PS1 eras, and beyond, that the series is famous for.

A man in blue dragon-like armor with glowing yellow eyes repeatedly pumps his fist in the air on a grassy background.

With the memory of their struggle buried deep in their hearts…

Final Fantasy 7 Remake: Active Time Battle Finally Comes Home

There was a lot that impressed me about the Final Fantasy VII Remake, released 2020. For me, it set the standard for the full revitalization of an old game. Or rather, it would be if it weren’t only part one, a game that covers a fraction of the story of the original. Repackaging the story of one game into several full-sized, full-priced games, re-imagining the combat systems completely, expanding and rewriting the story. These are all controversial decisions, though they are assuaged somewhat by the existence of Ever Crisis, another full remake of Final Fantasy VII that is a more traditional, more faithful remake using updated assets. Indeed, there are so many interesting questions surrounding this game one could discuss. For now, let’s talk about the changes to Remake‘s combat systems, what experience they’re trying to accomplish, and why they are the way they are.

A girl in a plush animal-shaped hood and a stoic man with a staff team up to beat the ever-loving-stuffing out of an ostrich-like carnivorous bird. — ATB: The gentleman’s method of abstracting physical altercations with wildlife

One feature of Remake‘s combat that I find most interesting is the presence of the ATB bar. For those unfamiliar, Final Fantasy has employed at various points since its fourth installment the Active Time Battle system, or ATB for short. For the folks who may have been riled by Square Enix’s recent efforts to bring Final Fantasy more into the realm of action games, and deployment of increasingly arcane systems combining action with turn-based combat, rest assured that this is not a new trend. They have been trying to do this since the 90s. In its traditional use, the ATB bar is a timer that counts down to when a player character can act in battle. The faster that character’s speed stat, the more often they can act. When action is not possible, characters stand idle. So essentially, it’s a traditional turn-based combat, but with the wrinkle of an active timer.

At the heart of the ATB system’s ambitions, successes, and failures, I think is this tension a lot of combat-oriented games experience between their action elements and strategic elements. There advantages in verisimilitude, theoretically, as a real-time element brings with it less abstraction, but also a loss of many of the advantages that turn-based represents.

Turn-based games are inherently strategic in their foundation. The benefit of having combat play out over an indefinite amount of time is giving the player the space to make informed and meaningful decisions to gain an advantage over the opposition, which is where the challenge in turn-based combat comes from. Enemies need to be powerful enough to require critical thinking and problem solving in order to be engaging. Problem solving and critical thinking requires time to think. On the other hand, action combat is often all about twitch reaction, muscle memory, and being present in the moment as developments unfold around you. This is why you often finding me describing real-time game systems as ‘action’ ones. Now, action games can and often do have strategic depth as well, but the strategy of a game like soccer exists on a different state of mind than a game like chess.

There is an inherent friction between these ideas that can crop up in any system that aims to combine the two experiences. If action is meant to be all about the pressure of events happening in real-time, when do you get the time to develop your strategy? If that space for critical thought and puzzle-solving is needed for a turn-based game to have its strategic depth, how do you provide that space without disrupting the flow and rhythm of an action game?

In the ATB system’s early uses, the main advantage I can see is its ability to offer variable turn frequency through the speed state. It’s an interest dimension to scale character power, not one that is super frequently employed in turn-based games. Usually enemies and players only get one turn each, in even ratio to one another. Allowing that ratio to change can create some very interesting scenarios. There are disadvantages though. Personally, I love taking my time to formulate the perfect strategy and course of action in any given situation in a turn-based game. It’s a big part of the draw for me. The ATB system, which allows enemies to continue acting in spite of the player, demands that one keep taking actions or quickly become overwhelmed. Older Final Fantasy games would often have a mode to address this, but the wait mode of of old Final Fantasy is effective the same as regular old turn-based, kind of defeating the purpose. I believe Final Fantasy VII Remake has an optional mode akin to this, though I would argue Remake’s combat is a fuller realization of ATB’s design goals regardless. The argument that the wait mode represents a lack of confidence in the ATB systems early on is stronger I think, when one examines Final Fantasy X, a game in which the speed stat still exists in the form of agility, but represents the frequency of turns for an actor within a non-real-time system. Static turns are simply queued up in an ordered list, with faster characters getting more turns. The real time element here, was unnecessary, and therefor not included.

A girl in a plush animal-shaped hood teams up with a stoic man wielding a staff to pummel a leopard-like monster. Time stops after a moment while a UI element is navigated, after which both characters unleash powerful flashy moves. — In *FFVIIR*, real-time actions fuel strategic resources, which fuel combat advantages

What are those design goals then? Well going by the nomenclature it seems the Active Time Battle systems was meant to make turn-based combat more actively engage the player with its time-sensitive elements. Final Fantasy, like Dragon Quest before it, utilize turn-based combat akin to the tabletop games that inspired them. Turn-based combat was developed as a way to create an abstract representation of combat for the safe environment of a game. There aren’t a lot of practical ways to really play out hitting each other with swords while gathered around a table, without this layer of abstraction. Nowadays, I think there’s a lot of appreciation for the unique experiences possible only through a sophisticated turn-based system. I get the sense that even in the 90s, all the way up to now, some at Square Enix felt as though the turn-based system imposes limitations on what the combat can be, and imposes a barrier between the player and being immersed in the game’s world.

I think that last point is debatable, but what isn’t, so it seems to me, is that the ATB system wants the player to feel more pressured, with a more present sense of danger and action playing out in real-time. The problem for me, is that the simplicity of the ATB system feels like somewhat of a half measure. It’s a little at odds with the strategic systems of Final Fantasy combat, but also doesn’t fully create a sense of urgency or action for me. It’s kind of just a turn-based combat systems where you jump through a few extra hoops. The first real exception to this for me… is… not Final Fantasy VII Remake, which would come a lot later. Chrono Trigger is a vary notable instance of a game taking the ATB system and pushing it in an interesting direction.

A red-haired swordsman is accosted by a pair of blue goblins. One kicks him. The swordsman then spins his blade around in a cyclone, hitting and dispatching both goblins at once. — Wait for the opportune time to use the right move, and this real-time element makes a lot of sense

The key for what makes the ATB system work for me in Chrono Trigger is the importance of player and enemy positioning. Some of the Final Fantasy games had shades of this, but it was very digital and binary. IE: If you’ve ambushed enemies you have an advantage, if they’ve ambushed you, they have the advantage. In Chrono Trigger though, the relative position of enemies is analogue, constantly changing, and an ever-present strategic element. This element is often just a small, simple detail. For example, when several enemies are close together, you may be able to hit all of them at once with a single special attack, but not if they’re spread apart. If an enemy is too close to the player character when attacked, they may immediately respond with a counterattack. That sort of thing.

This simple extra dimension was like a missing link for me. Real-time is only one element of what makes action games engaging. In a traditional turn-based game. Things such as multi-hit attacks and counters are often very static and abstract. A multi-hit attack might always hit three enemies, or always hit enemies adjacent to one another, though they never move. In Chrono Trigger, and games influence by it, enemy positions are organic and ever-shifting, a natural and intuitive extension of the world. This ingredient alone makes the ATB bar make sense, as the dynamics of battle change in real-time along with the turn order. As I’ve often said elsewhere, relative position and spacing management on the part of the player is also an essential element. Chrono Trigger had a great commitment to holistic nature of its world. There are no random encounters. There are no battle transitions – the combat takes place in the same physical space it is initiated in. And, of course, battles occur in real-time. The game works to minimize abstraction in the broad strokes to make the game as seamless and cohesive as possible. Chrono Trigger brings these elements together in the context of a turn-based game, and was the last real evolution of the ATB system, in my opinion… until…

A red-haired young swordsman teams up with a blonde young woman with a crossbow to fight a large red robot in a festival courtyard. The swordsman strikes, but is immediately countered by the robot, who unleashes a spring-loaded boxing glove fist from a compartment in his chest. — Disadvantaged Positioning

A red-haired young swordsman teams up with a blonde young woman with a crossbow to fight a large red robot in a festival courtyard. After a moment, the robot wanders a little ways away from its opponents. The swordsman runs up to strike, then jumps back to his starting position, and the game's UI reads "Too far away to counterattack." at the top of the display. — Disadvantaged Positioning

Well okay, there are a couple of other Square Enix games I want to talk about that finally lead us to where we are today with Final Fantasy VII Remake, but first I’ll finally talk about Remake. Remake‘s primary conceit in its combat is that you can run your player characters around a 3D space and directly command them to attack in real-time, taking after the likes of a Kingdom Hearts or Devil May Cry. While not as robust a system as those, Remake‘s action makes for an effective stopgap of realism to reinforce what is being represented by the more abstract strategic decision making that takes place between – the action forms an important bedrock of context. Kingdom Hearts is another series that initially attempted to marry turn-based combat’s strategic elements to an action system, but ultimately fell head-first into the symbolic dream-ocean of full-on action game by its first sequel. The wrinkle for Remake, though, is the player’s ability to pause the action at any time to assess the situation and execute specific commands for the party members, commands which are invariably a lot more powerful than the standard real-time attacks.

A lot of games have tried this ‘stop and go’ sort of combat. Most prominently I think of old CRPGs like Baldur’s Gate, Planescape: Torment, or Dragon Age for a more recent example. These games take direct inspiration from Dungeons and Dragons or are indeed, even licensed games tied to the property. Weirdly though they’d often not employ turn-based combat at all, unlike the actual tabletop game they’re based on, almost as if turn-based is this inherent limitation to be overcome. I wonder if the developers at Square Enix ever played these games, or were inspired by their indifference to turn-based combat, haha. Suffice to say I think turn-based combat has almost always been underappreciated for its merits in many spheres of video game development. What made combat for a game like Dragon Age a little dull for me, was in how the real-time segments and paused segments, the player characters’ capabilities are exactly the same. So ultimately, I just felt like I was disrupting whenever I needed to pause the game to line up a spell, and since all characters are only indirectly controlled through commands, I never felt fully engaged during real-time either.

A girl in a hood shaped like a plush animal summons mystic runes around her to launch magic attacks at a soldier. Her partner, a stoic man with a staff, dashes up alongside the soldier at the same time she does, to do a combination attack. — Satisfying action, satisfying strategy, but most importantly the two modes **support one another**

This is where Final Fantasy VII Remake really accels, I think. It’s built on the solid foundation of an action game, with a full suite of direct control for the player, from blocking to dodging to parrying. And you’ll need those options, as the enemies take full advantage of their freedom of movement while the game is un-paused. Engaging with this action system builds up your ATB gauge, no longer a mere function of time, it is a function of engagement with the core systems. At certain thresholds of ATB, you can command a party member to unleash a powerful attack, and are given the ability to pause the action to carefully consider how and where to employ these ATB abilities. This pausing never disrupted the flow of the game for me, because they’re always big moments I was building to – rewards for effectively playing the game. The barrier between what can be done during real-time, and what cannot be, also very effectively delineates the two modes, so I never felt as if one is intruding on the other. I have to pause the game to heal a party member, or to unleash a skull-cracking dive kick. These actions are not something I can just do on the fly. They require strategy and consideration, so their presence within a pause sub-mode of the game feels natural. The ability to pause is a godsend too, as the player characters each have very intricate combat mechanics unique to them that, when used in tandem with careful consideration, can have some devastatingly powerful results.

Cloud, Tifa, and Barret from Final Fantasy 7, beat the stuffing out of a soldier in a sci-fi wearhouse. The action pauses mid-fight, in dramatic slow-mo fashion, then the beatdown resumes. — It’s also all very pretty to look at.

Another key to this is the stagger system, which is also an ongoing iterative system featured in many Square Enix games. It creates a long-term goal in any given combat encounter that the player can build up to. By using the right moves at the right times, enemies can be staggered, opening them up for massive damage. A balance of micro-goals and long-term goals is essential to a compelling combat system. From not getting hit, to setting up an enormous combo. It’s these interlaced interest curves, build ups and releases, that keeps combat from getting stale.

This makes for a sophisticated system of setups and payoffs, where every party member is instrumental in stringing together combination maneuvers. Cloud can easily set up a stagger on an enemy with his powerful counter attacks in real time and big sword strikes from the command menu. Meanwhile, Tifa can empower her abilities by stringing together a series of strikes. At the same time, Barret, who can take a lot of punishment, is safe to set up some buffs like haste to increase the party’s speed. Once the target is staggered, Tifa can unleash her built up power to fully exploit in the enemy’s weakness, and Cloud can finish them off once they’re low on health. The fantasy that Remake really delivers on for me is twofold; One, it creates this delightful scenario of being able to pause and survey a complex battlefield, almost like stepping into a freeze-frame of an action movie, owed to how well the real-time segments of the game operate in isolation to create impressive spectacle and compelling scenarios. I can survey these wild combat engagements with a strategic, discerning eye without fear of reprisal. Secondly, the way all of the character’s complex mechanics mesh together creates for me the sense that they are a real, team, working together to accomplish incredible things they could not do alone.

Cloud, Barret, and Tifa team up against soldiers in a futuristic warehouse. Barret, a man with a gun for an arm, casts a spell empowering Tifa, a woman who then punches a soldier dozens of times in a second, before the action pauses again, then resumes as Tifa knocks him over with a dropkick. — Buff up, wear down the target, knock em down. Just as planned!

This schema didn’t appear fully formed in Remake from thin air or divine inspiration, though. Many might not realize Final Fantasy has been trying to achieve this awakening of the ATB system’s dream for years. I can think of three major stepping stones of this journey: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII: Lightning Returns, and Final Fantasy XV. All three of these games have bits and pieces of the puzzle that would make up the combat system of VII Remake, each containing the germ of an idea that you can see grow into what we have today.

XIII established party-wide strategic command overlaid upon action that exists in a different mode from that strategy. There’s been a lot of criticism over the lack of player engagement for this in-between mode, but the basis of VII Remake started as far back as this game. It became an example how combing two modes of play without disrupting pacing could work, although the quality of the pacing of XIII‘s combat is debatable. The later sequel Lightning Returns did away party dynamics, but intimately explored the stagger system, and how indirectly controlling player characters in real-time could work.

XV was an interesting beast. The result of an overlong development time, branched off from a very different design concept that leaned more on action gameplay. XV shows signs of its troubled development, but I think none is more prominent than the combat system. It isn’t bad, per say, but it feels very underdeveloped. A lot of the ideas that shine in VII Remake exist here in a sort of primordial form. Optional wait modes exist alongside a limit-action systems that puts emphasis of enemies positioning, and party-wide combination attacks. Everything is just a little off. A lot of those micro-goals I mentioned don’t feel as though they are totally in-sync, and long-term goals within combat aren’t totally clear. Nothing quite meshes like it feels as though it should, but all the ideas are there. Whether you actually like these games or not, the long and short of this is that Final Fantasies XIII, XIII: Lightning Returns, and XV walked so VII Remake could run.

The old lessons from Chrono Trigger live at the heart of Final Fantasy VII Remake as well, with the relative positions of enemies and party members in 3D space determining how actions resolve. A big sword swing might hit a dozen enemies at once if you’re careful about positioning! This is taken further than Chrono Trigger even, with the ability to finely control exactly where each party member is standing, and a third dimension to play around with. It’s an intricate dance of set ups, payoffs, and strategic positioning wrapped in a solid-as-stone action game bedrock crafted by old hands when it comes to hack-and-slash ARPG gameplay.

A girl in a plush animal-shaped hood, wielding a giant ninja star, runs up to a group of giant ratlike monsters. The action pauses for a moment, then resumes as she places a magic rune on the ground, which sucks in all the rat monsters, dispatching them all at once. — Real-time danger is the risk one can weight against the reward of advantageous positioning

So Final Fantasy VII Remake does not have turn-based combat, and that is an understandably big loss for some people. What it is not, however, is a turn-based combat system trying to masquerade as a hybrid of action and strategy. Rather, it is the realization of that decades long dream to create an engaging hybridization of strategy and action RPGs. It is at last, finally, the ATB system come home. It is the design goals set way back then finally pushed to their apex, at least so far. Fully realized, the ATB can shine in accomplishing what it’s struggled to do for years. I’m also pretty impressed, and thankful, that a second completely differently imagined remake of Final Fantasy VII is due in the form of Ever Crisis, which seems to retain the old combat system, as a companion piece to Remake. Remake‘s redone combat aims to capture its predecessor’s strengths in a heightened form. It’s a brilliant system to build off of in that regard, and has become one of the biggest reasons I remain very excited for the future installments of Final Fantasy VII Remake.

A blonde young man with a huge sword, an unarmed, long-haired woman, and a large man with a gun for an arm team up to battle soldiers in a futuristic warehouse. Time slows to a crawl as a menu of options is manipulated in a game UI. When time resumes, the party teams up to unleash devastating attacks on the soldiers.

Attack while its tail is up! It’s gonna counterattack with its laser…

Kingdom Hearts ‘Floatiness’ and Gamefeel

Alternatively: “What The Heck is ‘Floatiness’ and Is It Ruining Kingdom Hearts? I Settle it Forever“

‘Floatiness’ is the extremely scientific term that parts of the Kingdom Hearts fan community have adopted to refer to a sort of shift in how some of the more modern and spin-off Kingdom Hearts games feel to play, as opposed to their predecessors. I’ve seen this term come in and out of vogue when it comes to in-depth and armchair analysis of Kingdom Hearts‘s combat, but it’s always fascinated me. I’m going to try to define what this somewhat nebulous term is specifically referring to, and how it’s been supposedly creeping its way into one of my favorite action RPG franchises. What causes floatiness in particular? What is the greater context of design which is causing whatever this ‘floatiness’ is to happen? Perhaps this exercise can help us explore the often imprecise art of ascertaining gamefeel in general. I certainly hope so.

Sora, spiky-haired protagonist of Kingdom Hearts III spins his key-shaped sword around quickly, then slashes with an uppercut at the air in the dimly lit streets of San Fransokyo. He then jumps and does the same motion elevated about 15 feet in the air before falling back to the ground. — Pictured: Floatiness?

First off, we’ve got to define it, this floatiness. Informally, it is reported as the sensation that the Kingdom Hearts player character lacks weight, impact, and to my interpretation, immediacy, or some combination thereof. For those unaware, Kingdom Hearts is a series of action games with a particular emphasis on exaggerated, superhuman feats of acrobatic melee combat, favoring style, spectacle, and emotive action, akin to combat-heavy anime and manga. All that while immersed in a fantasy world full of Disney characters, Final Fantasy characters, and a unique dream-like fictional mythology of its own. Trying to define this term will be much of what this article is seeking to accomplish.

With combatants consisting primarily of magical swordsman and dark wizards, while borrowing aesthetically from classic Disney animation, Kingdom Hearts offered its players a combat system increasingly free of the bounds of gravity, allowing its player characters to bound meters into the air at a time, maintaining that airtime through continued swinging of their sword, with a cartoonish sort of physical logic.

So, all this in mind, I set out to compare the gamefeel of several Kingdom Hearts games in my own experience to try and get a better idea. To make this process somewhat more precise, I investigated what is by my estimation one of the key metrics in determining the gamefeel of an action combat system – the timing of the primary attacks. Every action in a game as visually rich as Kingdom Hearts and its sequels has a startup time and ending lag. The former is the real-time between the player’s button input and the resolution of the action they’ve input, the latter is the real-time between the resolution of the action, and when the player’s next input can be resolved. For example, if a player character is to swing a big hammer, they’ll push the swing hammer button. As their avatar lifts the hammer with a grunt and struggle to convey its weight, we have our startup time, and as he pulls the hammer back to his side after the big swing, we have our ending lag, with the avatar unable to run or jump while resetting the hammer, in this example.

Sora from Kingdom Hearts II swings his keyblade at a volleyball in elaborate spinning arcs, launching the ball further into the air with each strike, and Sora continues after it, ascending higher and higher before falling back down. — Trust me it… it does feel very responsive.

Now imagine the hammer is a comically oversized key and you have a pretty good idea of what we’ll be measuring. Floatiness became an almost absurdly hot-button topic among Kingdom Hearts diehards due to its relationship with the much anticipated Kingdom Hearts 3. As the successor to the beloved Kingdom Hearts 2, and first numbered entry in the series for a period of thirteen years (though by no means the only Kingdom Hearts game to release in that period), a lot of anticipation was placed upon what the game would feel like to play. Its gamefeel, so to speak. Kingdom Hearts 2 has stayed in many people’s hearts as an all-time favorite action game due to the smoothness of its combat system, as any fan would tell you. So comparisons were inevitable. The stakes were high.

Kingdom Hearts 3, despite being the best selling entry in the series, gained a healthy amount of criticism from long-time fans in regards to its gamefeel. Floatiness was oft invoked. The developers seemed to take feedback from hardcore fans seriously, as the game would be later patched in key ways to increase speed and fluidity of the gameplay. More on that later. So what’s the truth? Has floatiness ruined Kingdom Hearts forever? Are we doomed to forever circle the drain of game design discourse without knowing what on earth we’re actually talking about? I’ve spoken to friends who know how to use a computer and they allege that numbers are involved here, believe it or not. So I’m afraid I have no choice but to deploy the diagram.

Data World

First let’s define some terms. All footage I used for this analysis is from the Final Mix, 60fps versions of the games, captured on a Playstation 5. All values are measured in animation frames. For the sake of consistency, in each game I tested the animations of main player character Sora or his closest equivalent (In Birth By Sleep the resident Sora-like character is named Ventus, but he’s close enough and for our purposes we’ll consider him a “Sora”). The games I will be looking at are as follows:

Kingdom Hearts

Kingdom Hearts 2

Kingdom Hearts 3 pre-“Remind” patch

Kingdom Hearts 3 post-“Remind” patch

Kingdom Hearts: Birth By Sleep

Kingdom Hearts: Dream Drop Distance

“Startup” here is defined as the time between Sora beginning an attack and that attack “resolving”, here defined as the moment his weapon crosses in front of his body. “Ending lag” is the time between an attack resolving and when Sora can move again, no longer committed to the attack. “Cancel Time” is the time it takes before Sora’s first attack can be interrupted to perform his second combo attack. “Gravity Hang Time” is the amount of time between an aerial attack beginning and when Sora reaches his maximum falling speed. More on that later. “Engage” here means the time between inputting an attack and when sora can strike a distant enemy from a neutral position.

So these results are pretty much in line with what I expected going into this project. KH2 is the fastest game, KH1 is second fastest. BBS and DDD are dead-last, KH3 is about in the middle, while KH3 with its post-launch patch just a little bit faster than that.

Some surprises:

Every KH game seems to have the exact same startup time for the first most basic attack of a combo. Seems like they’ve been pretty happy with this one from the word ‘go’ and consistently on from there.

KH1’s movement lag from a grounded attack is insanely long, as long as DDD’s. KH2’s is way faster, and nearly the same as KH3’s.

KH1, KH2, and KH3 all cancel their first attack into an attack combo incredibly fast at just four frames, another astonishing level of consistency, although BBS and DDD combos take twice as long or more to come out.

KH2’s biggest advantages in speed are its gravity hang time, and time to engage enemies. KH3’s gravity hang time actually got worse with its post-launch patch, though not noticeably, and this has to do with a new attack added in the patch that has a longer animation in general.

BBS and DDD don’t do too badly in the enemy engagement department, better than KH1 and KH3 pre-patch, even. KH2 is still the champ here, but this fast engage time might be a saving grace for BBS and DDD.

There is a lot to talk about, so I’ll drop the chart here again real quick, just because I know you all wanted to look at it again.

Okay, So What Is It?

What’s what? Oh! Floatiness. What is ‘floatiness’? My hypothesis going into this was that it’s tied up with the aforementioned startup and ending lag statistics, which would have a huge impact on the speed of the game. Kingdom Hearts: Birth By Sleep, Kingdom Hearts: Dream Drop Distance, and to a lesser extent Kingdom Hearts 3 are somewhat known among hardcore fans as the ‘floatier’ games, the former two by far the most guilty. I had presumed that in gathering my data, it would bear out that those two games would have the higher numbers when recording the delays, lag, and hang time. Kingdom Hearts 2 would be the fastest game, only slightly faster than Kingdom Hearts, and Kingdom Hearts 3 would fall somewhere in the middle. Indeed this was the result. So. Case closed? Shorter periods of loss of character control equals better combat? Probably a little more nuanced than that.

Golden calf Kingdom Hearts 2 absolutely has the advantage over its successors and predecessor when it comes to attack commitment. Its startup times, ending lag, and combo speed are universally faster across the board. But… they’re not that different from KH1 and KH3, even pre-patch. Almost immediately when I started this experiment, replaying each of the games side-by-side I came to realize the nuances of how gravity works in each game.

The Gravity Situation

As the Kingdom Hearts series progressed, aerial combat became more prominent. I always imagined in my head that the first Kingdom Hearts game was “the more grounded one”. And it kind of is. In the first game, attacking launches Sora high in the air toward aerial targets, and repeated attacks can keep him airborn somewhat. Kingdom Hearts 2 pushed this much further, with far more automated and accurate tracking on enemies, pushing Sora high into the air with each attack. I was kind of shocked to find that in Kingdom Hearts 2, the game I associate most with air combat, gravity is much more powerful than it is in any other game. With a delay of only 16 frames in KH2, compared to KH1’s 20, and double that at 32 frames in BBS, KH2 by far is the most beholden to gravity when the player is not attacking. This makes gravity a function of the player’s inaction. Never are they airborne without making it a conscious decision. In BBS and DDD, being strung up in the air against your will is almost the norm. There is a huge delay between aerial attacking and being affected by gravity.

Sora from Kingdom Hearts 1 jumps into the air and slashes at the three headed Cerberus from Disney's Hercules, before quickly falling back to the ground and dodging out of the way of a shadowy breath attack. — Gravity

Ventus from Kingdom Hearts Birth by Sleep (who resembles Sora) swings at an airborn enemy shaped like a pot. Several attacks miss, and Ventus is left hanging in the air for a moment before falling, after each attack. — Gravity

I think this is a major piece of the floatiness puzzle too. Being on the ground in these games naturally gives you a lot more options. You have access to your dodge roll. You are able to more precisely place yourself for things like blocking, or jumping out of the way, or lining up the right attack. Simply, being in the air is advantageous in some ways, but also a lot more risky. In the less ‘floaty’ games it feels as though being airborne is always a conscious choice, whereas the others place you there in spite of the player, and leave Sora hanging in a risky position for far longer than a player might intend. The ability to get back to the ground quickly gives finer control over the player’s risk vs. reward, and the game forms a more solid and consistent relationship with that risk vs. reward.

Gamefeel Good

The title of this article mentions gamefeel, so I’m going to take a moment to discuss that. Like ‘floatiness’ this term is a little hard to pin down, so, uh, how about wikipedia. They seem to know everything.

“Game feel (sometimes referred to as “game juice“) is the intangible, tactile sensation experienced when interacting with video games. The term was popularized by the book Game Feel: A Game Designer’s Guide to Virtual Sensation^[1] written by Steve Swink. The term has no formal definition”
Wikipedia Article on Game Feel

Well that was absolutely no help whatsoever. Wikipedia cites input, response, context, aesthetic, metaphor, and rules as the features a game can change to influence gamefeel, and this seemingly comes from Mr. Swink as well. It’s as good a place as any to start, so let’s see how this applies to our floatiness dilemma.

I don’t want to get too into the weeds with these, so I’ll limit my observations to response, metaphor, and rules. Suffice to say I think KH does pretty universally well in the input and aesthetics department. Context is a bit more nuanced, but again, trying to limit our scope here.

Let’s be a little contrarian and try to make at least a very small part of this gamefeel equation tangible. We’ve already broken down that there seems to be a correlation between the delay between action and reaction in Kingdom Hearts, and the popular perception of how well the games feel to play. KH1 and KH2 are beloved with their snappy reaction times, KH3 is well liked but garnered a lot of fan feedback. BBS and DDD are liked but not necessarily for the fluidity of their combat, and I rarely see gamefeel cited among their strengths. The data easily illustrates the importance of response time as a variable.

The metaphor at play here is how the timing of attacks translates to what the game is trying to convey. The main thing the mechanics of KH is trying to convey is melee combat. All these varying measures of time and attack resolution and ending lag etc. is all metaphor for the physicality of swinging a sword at a guy. A real person cannot instantaneously move their arms, the sword has startup time and ending lag in real life. That’s why these time gaps are there in the first place. It wouldn’t be a very fun game if you pressed the attack button and just instantly won. So as in a real, actual battle, you have to consider how your various actions leave you open to counterattack. On the other hand, one can go overboard with this, as in real life you’re also trying to minimize your vulnerabilities, and a swordsman is not going to be flashy at the cost of leaving himself open to a hail of enemy attacks. These are things people intuitively understand, and so players bring with them preconceived notions of how entities should behave in these situations.

Sora from Kingdom Hearts 1 blocks an attack from a dark ball with a mouth. Immediately, he counters with a series of fast strikes in the air. He loses altitude with each strikes, and ends his combo standing on the ground. — Pictured: Gamefeel??

Drill even further down and you get to the rules of the game itself. Enemies are attacking you, while you’re trying to attack them. If you are locked into an animation you are unable to deploy any defense to stop them, and so we have a game. Risk, and reward. However, if the player’s control feels disconnected from how these rules operate gamefeel is thrown off. In Birth By Sleep and Dream Drop Distance, attacking creates great gaps of no-player time, where inputs on your controller mean nothing. You are vulnerable to attack, and a passive observer in the world. This disconnect throws off both the player’s relationship to response and to the rules of the game, as overly long and committed attacks can become more of a liability than an asset. In KH1 and KH2 throwing out attacks is almost always fun and satisfying, and usually rewarding. It’s often a lot more burdensome to do so BBS and DDD. BBS and DDD have other methods of dealing damage besides the basic attack, but since the basic attack is so pivotal in the main series, a lot of players are thrown off by how minimized it is in these spin off titles, which primarily utilize the command deck instead.

The Command Deck

So why is Birth by Sleep and Dream Drop Distance so damn slow compared to their peers? Well these two games share two very important elements in common. First, they were each developed for a handheld family of systems. Second, they share the game design system known as the command deck. These two points of similarity are very much entwined.

Kingdom Hearts and its two numbered sequels utilized the ‘command menu’, a little persistent menu in the corner of the screen that can be navigated in real time to select whether you want Sora to attack, use an item, or cast a magic spell, essentially. 90% of the time you will be spamming the attack button. The command menu was meant to evoke the strategic decision making of a turn-based Final Fantasy game, but re-tuned for an action combat context. Ultimately contextual combo modifiers became a much greater source of player expression in gameplay, and the strategic applications of the command menu are limited. However, it remains an elegant way to give the player a lot of options without bogging the game down with too many buttons.

When Kingdom Hearts went handheld it rethought its combat. Suddenly, we’re dealing with a much smaller screen, and the camera had to be pulled in on the player character to compensate. As a result, enemies can much more easily hit you from off-screen or sneak up behind you. Consideration was clearly given to a system that better fit playing on the go, where deep concentration on twitch-reaction may not be as viable or palatable. The command deck was the answer, a cooldown-based system where actions are selected from a rotating list and can be used at any time. Now the flow of combat is dictated by these ability cooldowns, and the regular attack combo was made to be more slow-paced, flashy, less freeform, and yes, more floaty so as act more like a stopgap to using the command deck, rather than the main form of attack itself. The command deck has a lot of advantages such as the ability to customize your attack loadout in a much more granular way, but it also has its own host of problems, which I won’t get into here.

Ventus from KH BBS slashes at green impish enemies on the ground. In the bottom left corner, the command deck can be seen. — In each game the command deck is present in the bottom-left

Sora from Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance slashes at the air while standing on the ground in a mailroom, then does in the same after jumping. The command deck can be seen in the bottom-left. — In each game the command deck is present in the bottom-left

The point is, Birth by Sleep and Dream Drop Distance are deliberately slower games made so because they were designed to be played on the go, and utilize entirely new systems that weren’t designed with KH1 or KH2’s speed and flow in mind. Because KH3, BBS, and DDD share a lot of development talent though, it seems like a lot of the design philosophy of these handheld games bled over into KH3’s headliner console game, which was jarring for a lot of people.

Okay So… Is This Bad?

In my opinion, one of Kingdom Hearts‘ greatest strengths is the immediacy and responsiveness of its gameplay. A fine degree of control gives the player a much wider spectrum of possibilities in any given scenario, and this is what leads to a creative space within gameplay for players to express themselves through the gameplay. This fluidity also allows disparate gameplay mechanics such as movement and sword attacks to blend. Kingdom Hearts 2 always feels as though its many, many mechanics are in a harmonious conversation with one another. Engaging a ground enemy can be converted into an aerial assault, which can flow into a strategic repositioning, etc.

So yes, I think it weakens Kingdom Hearts‘ identity somewhat when some of the more experimental entries in the series have dabbled with slowing down the combat and making its pieces more discrete. The particulars are a bit beyond this already enormous article, but I did want you to understand my motivations for trying to understand how and why Kingdom Hearts 2 feels so different to play than a game like Kingdom Hearts: Birth By Sleep.

Sora from Kingdom Hearts 2 slashes at a volleyball, sending it bouncing into the air. — Up… and Down

Kingdom Hearts is a series about ridiculous anime battles between magical wizards wielding baseball bat-sized keys as weapons. People fling themselves through the air to attack one another. It’s not realistic, but it exists within the heightened reality realm of animation. Its primary inspirations are, after all, some of the animation greats, including Disney of all things. Animation works to heighten reality because it has an understanding of its underpinnings. Even if people can jump twenty feet in the air, there still has to be a since of presence and weight. It has to give the impression that some sort of underlying laws of physics are at play even if they aren’t one-to-one to our own laws of physics.

Despite appearances, it wasn’t a magic genie spell that made KH2 so satisfying to play. It was hard work, clever planning, likely some very precise number tuning, and likely a whole lot of playtesting. I want to know the nitty gritty of what made Kingdom Hearts one of the smoothest action games in existence, what distanced it from that, and what brought it closer to that esteem once again. Because you see, there are still those Kingdom Hearts 3: Remind post-launch changes to talk about.

Kingdom Hearts III And The Combo Modifier

In Kingdom Hearts, Sora has a very basic attack combo, with little by way of alternate options for the player, at first blush. You press the attack button, and sorry does the next hit of the combo. Rinse, repeat. The wrinkle though, is that Sora can gain abilities which cause his attack combo to behave differently depending on where Sora is standing relative to his target.

Kingdom Hearts 2 pushed this contextual combo modifier idea much further, with hosts of new options that allowed the player to flex mastery over the system through mastery of manipulating these contextual attacks. They did things like make engaging enemies faster, extending the combo, increasing the power and range of combo finishers, among other things.

Kingdom Hearts 3 launched with its share of combo modifiers, but they lacked the breadth and applicability of KH2’s abilities, and they did little to speed up combat overall. That is, until it was patched in anticipation of the Kingdom Hearts 3: Remind DLC. Numerous combo modifiers were added which increased the overall speed of Sora’s basic combo attack and made the game feel overall more responsive. I don’t think the Remind DLC gets enough credit for just how much it improved, and it’s kind of refreshing how in tune it is with popular feedback. Real people playing your game can tell you a lot about that mystifying, all-important yet elusive gamefeel.

Sora from Kingdom Hearts 3 showcases an attack combo with a flashy series of slashes accentuated with powerful light energy, these attacks come out rather rapidly. — Combo Modifiers

Sora from Kingdom Hearts 3 showcases an attack combo with a series of slashes. These attacks come out noticeably slower than the other image in this gallery. — Combo Modifiers

Airstep is Literally a Game-Changer

Kingdom Hearts as a series has done a decent job with teaching players about its systems and how they work. Some of the more advanced mechanics that deepen higher-level play are a bit more obscure, but usually reaching a baseline level of competency at core systems is pretty straightforward. Kingdom Hearts 3, however, I found stumbled at instilling the importance of oce of its most important new mechanics, the airstep. The airstep allows the player to manually aim the camera toward a distant foe, and fling Sora at them at high speed for a relatively quick engage across a huge battlefield. This was obviously done to compensate for the much larger environments featured in KH3 as compared to older games, but utilizing this move frequently and often, even in close quarters, really does change the way the game is played.

Airstep can cancel out of nearly any other action, you see. In terms of making the game more fluid, or moreover in terms of giving the player fine control over their actions, the airstep affords an enormous amount of power and precision to determine the pace of fights in Kingdom Hearts 3. This along with the ability to cancel combo finisher attacks, which was added in the Remind DLC update, makes the whole combat a lot more cohesive and much more fluid than you might initially expect based on the raw frame data. Speaking of which, the frame data was improved in that update as well! The fact is that this latest iteration evolved the combat in a lot of interesting ways that I don’t want to see abandoned in favor of just making the series going forward exactly like everything that came before.

Sora from Kingdom Hearts 3 blocks an attack, before the camera zooms in on his enemy, Sora then zooms to their location in a flash of light. — Here Sora is sent at the boss straight out of a guard, exploiting an opening in an exciting way

Kingdom Hearts Is Doing Fine, Actually (But It Can Do Better)

So yeah, when people say Kingdom Hearts 3 feels ‘floaty’ as compared to Kingdom Hearts and Kingdom Hearts 2 the evidence is there. Attacks are less responsive and more of a commitment, generally, and gravity is turned off more liberally. You will literally find Sora floating more without direct player intervention. However, the frame data differences, discounting the gravity aspect, are minor at best. It’s really that gravity delay that accentuates the small differences to give a pretty stark impression. Birth by Sleep and Dream Drop Distance are so far afield of the gamefeel of the main series games that it’s clear there was no intention of recreating those mobile games for KH3’s release. The developers have further made it clear their intention to deliver an experience their longtime fans can enjoy with the changes made to the Remind DLC.

In fairness, it had been 13 years since a main Kingdom Hearts game had been made when KH3 was released in 2019. With just a few tweaks I feel they were able to bring it up to parity with KH and KH2 in terms of fluidity. It’s not the tightly wound, exceptionally blisteringly fast experience of KH2 precisely, but do remember that KH2 was developed only three years after the original, so the developers were coming right off the back of designing an already exceptional combat system. The experience was fresh. From where I stand I don’t think the future of KH is in any danger. Three years on from KH3 as of the time of writing this in 2022, and KH4 seems to be around the corner, poised to improve in ways reminiscent of how KH2 improved.

The Kingdom Hearts 4 reveal trailer doesn’t actually show any basic attacking in favor of mostly displaying the new movement options, and any gameplay it does showcase is subject to a lot of change to begin with, but what it does show looks pretty snappy and responsive to me. I’ll let you be the judge. The KH team learns quickly, and their intentions for this series’ gameplay have been made clear vis a vis the Remind DLC update. They understand the data I’ve so painstakingly gone to lengths to describe and how it affects gameplay, clearly. The KH3 update was so precision built for improvement it’s kind of astonishing. And, with KH4’s refocus on ‘reality’ as an aesthetic, I would not be surprised if a little more gravity came back to the party to polish the combat system even further into something really special.

Sora from Kingdom Hearts stands on a floating platform with a shield-wielding enemy, and rapidly dashes at and through them, holding out his keyblade.

Whatever you’re talking about, I don’t care…

Smash-ifying Kingdom Hearts

What’s that, an excuse to talk about Kingdom Hearts again? Yeah so you may have heard that Super Smash Bros. Ultimate is receiving its final playable character for the foreseeable future. I’ve long had a huge admiration for the way the Smash team is able to adapt characters from their home franchises while retaining the charm and feel of that source material. It’s why your Mega Mans (added 2014) in Smash feel more like they stepped right out of the game Mega Man than Sonic (added 2008) feels right out of Sonic. Especially in more recent years, a prominent design goal of new Smash fighters seems to be matching the experience and feel of playing the game that fighter first appeared in. In this case, KINGDOM HEARTS! Yeah, I’m a bit of a fan, so I’m just gonna gush for a minute about how Sora’s been ported from an action RPG into this platform fighting game, and analyze some of the choices that were made to do it.

Sora is the protagonist of Kingdom Hearts, a 2002 3D action RPG in which he fights using magical abilities and an enormous key. Super Smash Bros. Ultimate is a platform fighting game, a genre essentially invented by Smash Bros. itself, in which multiple fighters compete in a 2D fighting arena with lots of platforms and aerial space. Naturally, the 3D spaces of Kingdom Hearts, such as Sora’s attack swings, had to be mapped onto a 2D plane, and you can see that was done pretty much one-to-one. Sora’s attacks feel familiar in terms of reach and timing to his original game. So immediately, you can tell somebody is a huge fan of the first Kingdom Hearts game. Although other entries in the franchise are represented through costumes, and a couple of Sora’s attacks, the lion’s share of his moves are evocative of the debut in Kingdom Hearts specifically.

The three hit combo is one of the most fundamental aspects of Kingdom Hearts. It’s a game filled with disney characters, and as such was initially marketed to a younger audience, so one of Kingdom Hearts‘s chief design goals is the ease of accessibility to its combat. Sora’s combo attacks home in on and reliably stun enemies in his original game. Lots of action games have very complicated series of specific button inputs necessary to make your player character do cool stuff and feel really powerful. 90% of attacks in Kingdom Hearts will be triggered by one, maybe two buttons simply pushed in succession, the idea being that the minimum knowledge and prowess necessary to make Sora feel cool and powerful should be very easy to achieve, so players of all skill levels can, at least, feel cool and powerful even if they aren’t ready for the game’s toughest challenges yet. This is a design philosophy Smash and Kingdom Hearts share in common. Several of the newest fighters added to Smash have felt a bit more complicated than earlier entrants, especially as guest fighters from more traditional fighting games were added. I think it’s significant that the decision was made to make Sora notably simple to pick up and play, without any of the complicated inputs or resource management of other new Smash fighters.

Oh boy you’re gonna be seeing a lot of this online… >:)

The Super Smash Bros. attention to detail really comes through in each of these new fighters. I think my favorite detail in Sora’s moveset is the aerial 3 hit combo. Stringing several attacks together from just one move like this is not something Smash fighters are normally able to do, at least not in this particular way, it’s unique to Sora. Aerial combat in Kingdom Hearts is essential. Square Enix had never really moved into the 3D space before the way they did with Kingdom Hearts, incorporating a full range of movement both horizontally and vertically. Kingdom Hearts goes out of its way to fully utilize these dimensions by giving Sora a powerful jump, and the ability to attack anywhere in the air. Gravity is just a gentle suggestion, in Kingdom Hearts. With access to the 3D space around a target, this would let the player jump into a variety of attack angles to really push what was possible in this combat system. This is true of all fighters in Smash Bros., probably to accomplish the same thing. In Kingdom Hearts 1 in particular, as opposed to its sequels, short-hop combos, in which the player would jump the minimum height and quickly hit an enemy with aerial attacks, would result in a much faster combo that can sneak through in more situations. It was a powerful and common technique you could use to push your skills in the game further, so I was absolutely delighted to see an adaptation of this highlighted in the Smash presentation, used in the exact same way.

Sora’s smash attacks borrow from various attacks he’s used throughout the series. His down smash is the finishing leap from Kingdom Hearts 2, which would replace your combo finisher on command, and propel enemies into the air for further combos. Sora’s up smash is the Ripple Drive from Kingdom Hearts 1, albeit without its magical effects. Sora lifts his keyblade above him to damage an area of foes around him. The Smash version actually retains this ability to hit multiple enemies at once.

Sora’s specials are all direct references to attacks from Kingdom Hearts 1. The magic available, firstly, all behaves as it does in that debut game. Firaga is a repeatable, spammable, almost rapid-fire series of small projectiles. Thundaga is a vertically-oriented series of lighting strikes that can clear out a wide area. Blizzaga is a shotgun-pattern spray of particles, although it curiously did not freeze enemies in the original. The notable thing about Sora’s magic in Smash Bros. is the way it rotates, which was not a feature of the original game. This rotation does, however, reflect the way that Kingdom Hearts is menu controlled. Yeah. Kind of odd for an action game, but all of Sora’s actions outside of running and jumping are operated by selecting them from a menu in the corner of the screen. Yes, even attack is a menu item, and so was magic. Each spell could be chosen from an expanding sub-menu, which is what this rotation of spells in Smash represents. A few of the other DLC smash fighters do this, using a similar but not quite the same mechanic to represent something from the original game when it was not feasible to lift it directly to Smash, like with the Persona fighter Joker, whose rage meter does not feature in his home title. It does, however, somewhat reflect the themes of Persona 5 – rebellion and defiance.

The Sonic Blade (actually a move Sora learned from Cloud Strife of Final Fantasy VII, fun fact.) allowed Sora to dash across the battlefield repeatedly, piercing enemy defenses and clearing out crowds of enemies. In Smash, this move has been given an aerial component, probably for a couple of reasons. First off, the original Sonic Blade was notable mainly for how it would zigzag across enemies, hitting them at multiple angles in a row. On a 2D plane, you can’t really convey this without, well using both of the two dimensions, so Sonic Blade has to go up now. The second reason reinforces the overall design of Sora in Smash, which is the archetype of an air fighter. Smash, along with many other fighting games, utilizes certain models for its fighters, or archetypes, such as fighters that are heavy and difficult to move, fighters that can quickly close distance, or fighters that are dangerous to cross with in the air. Sora falls into the latter category, and this too is a reflection of his original game, which included a lot of fighting mid-air, where Sora was able to home in on enemies like a bird of prey. In addition to reasons I’ve mentioned such as the full utilization of 3D space, there are also segments in which Sora can literally fly, and all the fighting takes place in the air! So making Sora a huge aerial threat fits perfectly. Sonic Blade in Super Smash Bros. can be directed manually by the player, which is technically possible in Kingdom Hearts, just not with the control stick – You’d have to change your lock-on target mid-attack to change Sonic Blade’s trajectory, but they thought of that! Smash Bros. features the blue lock-on indicator from the original game when chasing down a fighter! See what I mean about that attention to detail?

Speaking of air fighting, Aerial Sweep and Hurricane Blast are among the tools in Sora’s toolbox from his debut game that made air fighting so powerful. Sora’s attack combo is set and invariant until he levels up through experience. Once he does, he can unlock new abilities that extend or modify his attack combo. Arial Sweep and Hurricane Blast are both such modifiers. The Kingdom Hearts modifiers operate in an interesting way, where they may only activate when Sora and his target are in certain positions relative to each other. For example, Hurricane Blast, an attack in which Sora spins his keyblade vertically like a pinwheel around his body, activates if Sora attacks an enemy at a lower elevation than him, while midair. Aerial Sweep activates if Sora is grounded, and attempts to attack an enemy at a significantly higher elevation, without jumping. Kingdom Hearts combo modifiers were so compelling because, while they tended to deal more damage with more advantageous hitboxes than regular attacks, they needed to be set up with careful positioning, making the player change the way that they play as they level up, and think more critically about the game space. Super Smash Bros. is a game almost entirely about critically engaging with the game space, so both Hurricane Blast and Aerial Sweep are situated appropriately in Sora’s moveset to reflect their uses in Kingdom Hearts. Hurricane Blast can close distance with foes beneath sora, and Aerial Sweep does the same for foes above.

Finally Sora’s got his counter. He takes a defensive stance, and if an enemy hits him during that short window of time, Sora retaliates with an attack of his own. It’s a common mechanic in Smash, but I can see why it’s so oft used. Fighting games are inherently games of prediction, and some of their most exciting interactions are between players pulling one over on each other by anticipating an attack and turning it against the attacker. It just makes sense to include a mechanic specific to that sort of interaction, even if it is perhaps somewhat overused for various fighters. This kind of had to be in Sora’s kit, though, as it’s one of the primary methods for defeating the more difficult foes of Kingdom Hearts. Sora even had an ability specific to it that would increase his attack speed and restore magic points when he successfully countered. Countering is so integral to Kingdom Hearts that Sora can even convert a blocked attack of his own into a counter in his original game through the clash system, although Smash has its own system for handling clashing attacks between two fighters, so it wouldn’t make sense to give Sora the advantage over everyone else on that front.

Counters: destroying the darkness and ending friendships since 2002

So yeah I couldn’t be more chuffed. One of my favorite video game heroes from one of my favorite games is now.. in another of my favorite games, a celebration of all things video game. I pretty much just wanted to geek out over how incredible the translation to Smash fighter has been for Sora, and hopefully I pointed out something or other that you didn’t notice before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some labbing to do…

Colors weave into a spire of flame…

Boss Breakdown: Dark Riku at Hollow Bastion

Kingdom Hearts does something interesting with Riku. He’s set up at the beginning of the game as the player and the player character, sora’s, rival through gameplay and narrative alike. His initial early-game boss fight establishes Riku as the primary barometer for the player’s capabilities within the game’s systems. That’s the set up. The punch line, coiled and poised to outstretch and clothesline the player at mach 2, is Riku’s final boss fight – Dark Riku, awaiting at the ominous castle of Hollow Bastion. Regular Riku is difficult, way more difficult than might be reasonable at the very start of a game. However, he’s optional and therefor more of a story beat for both the game’s narrative and the emotional experience the player is being primed for. Dark Riku is not optional, and Dark Riku is levels above his predecessor. This boss also represents a notable difficulty spike and more or less fulfills the role of narrative climax to Kingdom Hearts, and that aforementioned emotional experience for the player themselves. People remember this boss fight. There’s something about it that sticks with you. It leaves an impact.

Growing up is finding Dark Riku impossibly cool, cringe, and then unironically cool again, in that order.

Dark Riku is a fight divided roughly into three phases. Dark Riku, as with the Destiny Islands Riku, has a pretty modest repertoire of actions to use against the player character, Sora. Riku fought defensively and passively on the Destiny Islands, almost always awaiting the player to approach or take some action. His voice lines were goading and taunting, meant to lull the player into making hasty mistakes. Dark Riku doesn’t wait. He may pace around for a few seconds before attacking, but will go on the offensive on a hair-trigger. At this point in the game, the player will have access to new defensive options compare to the Destiny Islands encounter; the block and dodge roll. They will also be able to heal themselves with cure magic.

Like clashing, in which Sora negates an oncoming attack by timing one of his own attacks to hit at the same time, the block negates incoming damage and sets Sora up to counterattack. The timing on a block is much more forgiving. However, if a block is whiffed, that is, if the block is used when there’s nothing to block, Sora has to spend a lot more time returning to a neutral stance than if he had just attacked, so there’s an interesting tradeoff between using attacks as defense and using a block as defense. One is more reliable, but more risky in the event of a failure. Using cure magic to restore Sora’s health will also have become a core mechanic by this part of the game. Sora takes a lot of damage and his health is not expected to hold out over an entire battle. The player is expected to keep on eye on their MP resource, which determines how often they can use magic. The MP bar is also another design tool for encouraging the kind of aggressive action that Kingdom Hearts is going for, as the primary way to restore MP is by attacking. Playing defensively will only get you so far. Using cure at an inopportune time can also mean getting interrupted, so the player must be aware of their surroundings and situation to heal. Riku is constantly prepared to counterattack, meaning the player will have to be more aware of how Riku will respond to certain actions, predicatively.

Magic is fueled by the power of VIOLENCE

For example, one of Dark Riku’s attacks is a medium-ranged overhead swing. The attack can be easily blocked or clashed and then followed up on with a counterattack for a pretty safe way to deal damage to Riku. Riku likes to use this overhead after dodging or blocking Sora, so the fight will reward consciously keeping track of Sora’s actions. Being able to switch from attacking to defending and back to attacking is the surest way to deal damage without being hit. One can goad Riku into dodging, which will likely trigger this overhead attack, which can then be countered. That kind of forethought is what’s being encouraged here. For a player, being able to successfully predict and counter enemy moves is a huge signifier of personal prowess, so it’s advantageous to a combat system to be predictable to a degree, if making your player feel powerful is a goal.

This attack-counterattack pattern Kingdom Hearts settles into creates fight scenarios that are both mechanically and visually dynamic

Another of his basic attacks is a two-hit combo that can close the distance between himself and Sora. It comes out fairly quickly, but it’s most often used when there’s some distance already, so the first hit will rarely make contact. It’s more of a tool for Riku to discourage simply running from him, but like with the overhead it can be blocked or clashed, then countered, meaning it’s also another tool for the player to direct the fight and indirectly control Riku’s actions to making openings. That’s the gist of it, really. If you want to make a really challenging boss fight and trust in the fun of your combat system, focusing on fundamentals makes for a solid foundation. In phase one Riku is just a very aggressive, very damaging, and responsive sword fighter. Understanding of the various defensive and offensive options available to Sora will carry the player far through this fight, but Riku still has a few tricks left.

Like Destiny Islands Riku, Dark Riku may take a defensive stance and taunt Sora, though this time with his more villainous tone. This time getting behind him won’t work, as Riku will always turn to face Sora, so taking his taunt with an attack is the only option outside of waiting. Fortunately, Riku almost always responds to this with an attack that can be easily countered with a block. If Sora gets too close to Riku, he’ll do a fast spin attack to help maintain his optimal distance. This helps keep the player in danger, so to speak, which helps keep the fight exciting. This quick attack is blockable, but not easily counterable.

Riku’s third attack in this phase is the helm splitter, where he jumps high into the air and comes down with a magical shockwave on the ground. This attack is unblockable and deals significant damage, so dodging out of the way with a roll or out-ranging the attacking are the only options. Dark Riku has a few of these unblockable attacks, most likely intended to encourage the player engaging with a fuller breadth of the combat mechanics, such as the dodge roll, blocking, jumping, and clashing. Unblockable attacks don’t have a universal signifier in Kingdom Hearts, but it does a pretty good job of making them intuitive. Riku’s helm splitter is quite a bit more exaggerated than his other attacks in animation, with him jumping very high into the air before coming down. It’s obvious straightaway that it’s more powerful than his other moves. The energy his shockwave creates is given a lot of pure white in its color profile, and any attack he or his derivatives use from here on out with similar visual details are likewise unblockable.

The big jump both warns of the impending danger, and gives ample time to dodge out of the way, which I… fail to do, here

Once Dark Riku has taken a bit of damage, the warm up is over. This is phase 2. From here on out, he’ll occasionally empower his weapon with a dark aura, adding some nasty new effects to his attacks. The art and design assets of this empowered state are really just overlays on the basic behaviors he already has. It’s very efficient design, that wouldn’t have demanded too much production overhead, and yet expands the fight in very interesting ways. Every time he does his two-hit gap closer while empowered, he’ll launch an energy disc ahead of himself, which can damage Sora, or even set him up to be combo’d by followup attacks from Riku. Riku’s overhead will now also launch some unblockable energy, in two lines out to either side of him. The way these two attacks in particular are designed utilize a common trick in action games with a dodge mechanic like Kingdom Hearts. By extending out the danger area of these attacks in lines, they require a greater degree of fine control from the player while dodging. Usually, dodging just vaguely away from danger is sufficient, but if you dodge to Riku’s side during an overhead, or directly away from him during a gap-closer, you’ll get hit. Closing off specific vectors around the enemy during their attacks like this tests the player’s ability to dodge in specific ways, a straightforward step up from what is usually expected of a dodge.

The game is funneling Sora to certain positions with attacks like this, keeping Riku front and center.

During his empowered state, Riku is extremely aggressive, moreso even than before, and will barely give the player a moment to breathe. During this state, healing is very risky, as is going on the offensive, so the challenge becomes figuring out what the player can accomplish that won’t lead to their own defeat. Riku’s gap closer is still blockable, as are the projectiles he creates from it. So essentially, Riku’s empowered state has an unblockable attack that is most effectively dodged, and an attack that is most effectively blocked, so that pattern of encouraging the player to utilize a variety of their tools and maneuvers is reinforced. Riku is much less likely to flinch during his empowered state, but it can still happen, so the player must keep an extremely sharp eye out for their opportunity to deal some damage. The longer the fight goes on, the narrower this opportunity becomes, requiring the player to take greater and greater risks to deal damage, naturally elevating the tension as it reaches its crescendo. The narrative in this fight is meant to be an underdog overcoming his greatest rival consorting with pure darkness – a symbol of overwhelming power. Demanding persistence of the player in knocking down Riku’s increasingly ironclad defenses reinforces this feeling.

Persistence is key in turning Riku’s attacks against him

Riku will finish out his empowered state with an empowered helm splitter that unleashes a wave of unblockable energy bursts. As with any enemy in Kingdom hearts, the key to avoiding this attack comes from understanding its behavior. The attack itself sort of acts like a little mini-enemy in that it has its own logic to how the energy bursts appear. They will surround Sora, and appear at semi-random locations, but there’s a bit of a predictable method to it. They seem to predicatively try to lead whatever direction Sora is currently moving, so quick changes in trajectory as Sora dodges drastically reduces the likelihood Sora will be hit. Figuring out your enemy’s behavior through observation is one of the primary skills Kingdom Hearts tries to impart, and that can also be applied to individual attacks like this.

Notice the appearance of energy bursts are clustered around where I’m facing, just ahead of me, but slightly offset

Riku cycles between his empowered state and the attack pattern from phase 1 until he is reduced to low health. Now the final phase begins, and with the player’s competence in regular combat well-established, the game shifts somewhat to introduce feelings of desperation and survival. Riku will permanently enter the empowered state, and the player will now have to constantly deal with his empowered attacks while whittling down the last of his health. The tension is raised and the stakes are at their peak – be defeated now and lose all that progress you made fighting Riku. The player’s ability to manage risk, defense, and offense is pushed to its limit.

Every so often, and with increasing frequency as his health is reduced, Riku will initiate his ultimate attack. This is one of the earliest examples of such show-stopper, set-piece, mega powerful, screen-subsuming attacks that will become a Kingdom Hearts favorite tradition. First, how does it work? Riku will raise himself into the air, announcing his intention, then fly straight at sora in a dashing attack. A series of identical dashing attacks, this time each forming a part of a rotating danger area around the arena happen in rapid sequence. Finally, Riku does an even more empowered version of his helm splitter, sending energy bursts outward from the center of the arena towards the edge. Like the previous empowered helm splitter, the game is asking of the player here to recognize the behavior of this attack, how it works, and formulate a response. Since this ultimate attack is constituted of mostly things we’ve seen Riku do before, it also acts as a capstone to the fight’s mechanics.

The final step of the fight is, essentially, trying to squeeze in a last few good hits against Riku. You’ll notice he’s totally invulnerable during his ultimate attack. He’s also prone to using it very very frequently when his health is almost spent. I have mixed feelings on this. On the one hand I’m wary of ever making a boss completely invulnerable like this when up to this point the fight has been so open ended and player-driven. Riku is never invulnerable otherwise, even if it’s not always wise to attack him, so it can be a somewhat frustrating disruption, especially when he is using it near-constantly towards the end of the fight. I understand what the intent is here. This attack is the most difficult thing to defend against that Riku can throw at you, so it makes sense to use it consistently to up the tension at the fight’s climax. The experience of having only a small window to deal that last tiny bit of damage you need is also a compelling one – it gives the feeling of the fight becoming more and more desperate. Still, the attack is dangerous enough that it feels as though Riku didn’t need to be unassailable during it. The added danger of trying to damage Riku while he’s flying around with this ultimate attack could even be quite compelling, itself.

When this all started, Kingdom Hearts went out of its way to really build up the rivalry between Sora and Riku. It was a rivalry built on a childish sense of possession of their mutual friend Kairi, though that was all merely a pretense to air their own senses of inadequacy toward one another. The rivalry was only ever really about Riku and Sora. They both care deeply for Kairi, but Kairi and her feelings weren’t the real reason they fought. Now, the situation is turned on its head. Riku’s will is suppressed, the real Riku is nowhere to be seen in this dark reflection, and Kairi is in imminent danger. There’s no rivalry anymore. Sora no longer fights for himself, but only for the safety of his friends, both Riku and Kairi. The Dark Riku fight paints a stark contrast to the idyllic playful world our characters once found themselves in, forcing them to grow past the irresponsibility of their rosy childhood to own the consequences of their actions to this point. With the battle wrapped up, Riku is left to deal with the darkness he’s unleashed, and Sora has to be willing to give up his heart, his ego, to save Kairi, proving her well being more important to him than his own.

The Dark Riku boss fight is incredibly memorable. Anyone who played Kingdom Hearts in their childhood will tell you as such. It’s an excellent culmination of the skills one builds up through a long RPG like this, while capping off the central emotional through-line of the game, established all the way back in the opening minutes of the experience. It’s a great fight, but there are some pretty notable issues I should mention. Most egregious, is how the relatively small boss arena interacts with the game’s lock-on feature. The lock-on is meant to keep your enemy front-and-center for easy viewing. While dodging around Riku’s flanks, the camera has to spin and can often get caught on surrounding walls in such a way that Riku will be pushed off-screen, essentially hiding information from the player through the mechanic that is meant to do the opposite of that. It’s a pretty significant technical hitch, and a shame that it can be so readily reproduced. There’s also the repeated periods of invincibility Riku enjoys near the end of the fight, which as I said do accomplish some of the fight’s design goals admirably, but creates a bit of unnatural frustration I feel could have been designed around. While I find what is blockable and unblockable in his fight rather intuitive, that’s a bit of a gray area and I could see it unduly confusing some people. Still, all that emotional catharsis in finally defeating Riku at his best, and seeing how Sora’s matured could make one overlook some of these flaws. I mean who could forget Donald Duck tearfully running to Sora’s side as he disappears.

I told you Donald was the key to all of this

Overall, I think it’s pretty clear why this one fight sticks so strongly in people’s minds. It’s not just the narrative, nor is just that it’s incredibly hard. It’s that synthesis of gameplay and story – action and emotion that really cements moments like this for people. The emotion is heightened by the interactivity, and the interactivity heightened by the emotion.

He sought a way to cross over into other worlds. And he opened his heart to darkness…

Boss Breakdown: Riku on Destiny Islands

Today on Boss Breakdown I’m going to be delving into the wonderfully weird world of Kingdom Hearts to examine an optional boss encounter that comes very early on in the game – the player’s ultimate rival, Riku. Kingdom Hearts is an action RPG developed by Square Enix. Combat in Kingdom Hearts is a fast-paced series of sword battles (well, keyblade… yeah, we’ll just say sword battles) that take place on the ground and in the air with over-the-top fantastical feats of acrobatics and agility. It’s very much larger than life, exaggerated, and full of charm.

The player fills the role of the young dreamer Sora, a resident of the Destiny Islands, a vague sort of childhood-paradise world where teenagers enjoy their seemingly endless summer vacation racing, play-fighting, collecting seashells, and imagining the world outside their own. Sora’s got two best friends – Kairi, a creative, sassy yet kind-hearted girl and Riku, an abrasive, competitive, and contemplative boy. The Destiny Islands act as a safe tutorial space for Kingdom Hearts where the player is free to explore the game’s movement systems without fear of battle unless they seek it out. Riku has an optional boss fight in this early stage and it’s very notable for what it accomplishes. I wanted to talk about Riku particularly for how strong the gameplay-narrative aspects of his fight’s design are. This first Riku boss fight on the Destiny Islands is very basic, comes very early, and is seemingly innocuous. You wouldn’t think it has huge implications on the rest of the game, but there was clearly a lot of thought put into how this early game challenge would fit into the overall experience.

Also Donald Duck is involved, somehow, I understand

Riku is absolutely terrible, at this point in the narrative. I don’t mean to say I dislike his character, in fact he’s very effective in his role. From the moment you meet him he’s a driving force for the player, motivating them to explore the combat mechanics. He teases and condescends to Sora, but it’s all innocent enough. It feels like friendly banter. Some red flags start to go off when Riku and Sora challenge one another to a foot race. Surreptitiously, outside of earshot of Kairi, Riku puts up a prize, a very symbolic and intimate moment with Kairi, as a bet to be won by the victor of the race. It’s somewhat chilling. Sora doesn’t even have a chance to really respond to the rather untoward proposition before the race begins. The player has a single chance to establish who wins this “bet”, though the result is inconsequential, as Riku will play it off as a joke. It certainly doesn’t sound like he’s joking when he first brings it up, however.

This is like wagering her hand in marriage, basically

There’s some clear tension building among this group of friends, and Riku seems to be the source of it. At a later point, Kairi will offer to escape the island with just Sora, the two of them leaving for adventures together, implying Riku would be left behind alone. Sora doesn’t answer quickly enough, and Kairi too plays off her startling proposal as a joke. In actuality, with the benefit of hindsight, Riku doesn’t act all that terrible generally. Perhaps a bit full of himself, but he does show a genuine camaraderie with Sora and Kairi. It’s isolated moments like that proposition at the footrace where an inner darkness peeks through from him. He says hurtful things from time to time, but he’s ultimately a confused teenager from a very narrow world. Before all this though, Riku strongly establishes himself as the de facto leader and strong, wise “elder” of the group (he’s only a year older than Sora and Kairi, but still). He taunts and brags to Sora constantly during encounters with him, demeaning his abilities in a sort of ribbing way, but also the kind of way that gets under your skin and moves you to prove him wrong.

Look at how perfect it is, that text field was MADE FOR THIS

As a young kid, I really did feel like Riku was driving a wedge between Sora and Kairi. It invested me in this microcosmic little world, with Riku as our small-scale antagonist. Riku is positioned that way by the gameplay, as antagonistic. He’s meant to drive you, as the player, to better yourself through game mechanics to better Sora. You feel the same rivalry Sora feels with Riku , and you’re suffering the same way Sora is when Riku beats you into the sand. And he will. A lot. Riku’s boss fight is incredibly overtuned for what I’d consider to be an appropriate early-game boss fight, under normal circumstances, but that’s why Riku is an optional fight. I say optional, but given the aforementioned story context, you’d be hard pressed to find a Kingdom Hearts player who would not at least attempt to defeat Riku a few times.

You can challenge various characters to play-fights with wooden swords. Please ignore the fact that beating each other with wooden weapons would still be horribly dangerous, as this is anime land where human children can effortlessly bound twenty feet in the air, do three backflips, then deflect a flying bullet out of the sky with a sword. It’s fine. These are the only real sources of combat available to the player in this tutorial stage, as the story isn’t ready for monsters to be popping out just yet. They act as a sort of optional tutorial set, with each kid you can challenge specializing in teaching some aspect of the combat system.

Selphie teaches the player how to clash with an enemy’s weapon. Tidus teaches you how to outmaneuver a melee attacker. Wakka will teach you how to deflect projectiles. Riku is the fourth and final kid you can challenge, and he’s here to teach you how to lose. I’ve at times heard individuals deride Kingdom Hearts as a button masher, or in other words, implying the gameplay is overly simplified to the point of being trivialized by mindlessly mashing the attack button. I could go into detail about that misconception, but essentially if you have that experience, you’re playing on too low a difficulty setting for your level of skill. Riku’s boss fight is here to prove that to you.

Riku’s arsenal of maneuvers and attacks is pretty modest at this stage, but very effective. The player too, this early in the game, does not have very many options. Sora can run, jump, or attack with a 3-hit melee combo in the air or on the ground. Your defensive options are severely limited, you don’t even get your proper block or dodge roll until later, so using good positioning is your only way to avoid damage. That, and utilizing Kingdom Hearts‘ delightfully intuitive weapon clash system, which will nullify enemy attacks if Sora matches them with a well-timed attack of his own, deflecting the attack with a satisfying *clash* sound. This system simultaneously rewards attentive observation of your enemies’ attacks for proper timing and promotes aggressive attack-happy play, which makes the combat a very frenetic and fast-paced system. Attacking is, in a way, also a form of defending.

Ahh youth… smacking around your buds with two by fours like god intended

Riku has a fast melee attack that he’ll bring out if you get too close, teaching the basics of how enemies behave in this game. They mostly respond to the player’s position. They can be proactive, but their behavior is extremely contingent on Sora’s position relative to them. If sora dodges this attack but stays close, Riku can follow it up with a second, similar fast and close-ranged hit. At a medium distance, Riku can stab out his sword for a slower but longer-reaching attack. Riku also has a small spinning attack. Observing what Riku can do will also teach the player what Sora can do, as their arsenals at this stage are very similar. The attack button in Kingdom Hearts is contextual, and will activate a different attack depending on Sora’s relative position to his target, and whether or not he’s airborne, similar to Riku! These fast attacks of Riku’s can be clashed, which may stagger him and leave him vulnerable to a counterattack. This is one of the basic methods of dealing damage to enemies in Kingdom Hearts.

Simple so far, right? Well that’s just what Riku wants you to think. In Kingdom Hearts, because battles are so overwhelmingly player-directed, enemies keep track of how much they’re being hit by the player with something called a revenge value. This invisible numerical value, once it reaches certain thresholds, changes the behavior of enemies, causing them to retaliate, or use super moves. Riku has no super moves, but his favorite form of retaliation is so deadly it might as well be classified as a super weapon. If he feels he’s taken too many hits too quickly, Riku will lean onto his back, and point his feet toward the air, before kicking up into a standing position, clobbering Sora if he’s standing in front of the kick’s path. This maneuver deals devastating damage, and has a very tight window within which the player can react and move out of the way. Riku loves to do this in the middle of Sora’s attack combos. Riku’s revenge value is very sensitive, and he’ll start doing this if Sora’s hit Riku with even one full attack combo. The player can stop Sora’s combo, but only between attacks. If you push that attack button one too many times, Sora will be locked into his attack animation, and it’ll be too late. Button mashing is the easiest way to get absolutely demolished by Riku. I think it was very clever to key into this player behavior specifically as a bad habit worth shaking, if one ever wants to be as good at this as Riku. You’ve got to think, look, and listen carefully before just wildly swinging your sword.

If you do keep an eye out though, Riku’s greatest weapon can become your greatest weapon. Riku is unable to retaliate if you hit him just as his kick-stand maneuver ends. If you see it coming, you can step out of the way and respond with a free attack combo, punishing him. If Riku feels he’s in a bad position, or has been hit too many times without landing hits of his own, he may make a short, grounded dash movement to close the distance, or jump into the air to make distance. Riku is unable to attack in the air, nor can he retaliate in the air. The timing is tough, but if you can land an aerial combo on Riku while he’s jumping, he has no recourse. Giving Riku no aerial options at all helps the player realize that aerial and grounded combat have distinct differences and that enemies will react differently to those approaches. Knocking enemies into the air will tend to make them more vulnerable, so this is good knowledge to have.

Riku’s final trick is his taunting. He’s constantly, constantly, goading and heckling Sora and by extension the player about how they’re scared or not good enough. If you act in haste, he’s likely to clobber you, so this really is a game mechanic of sorts. It’s easy for people to tunnel vision in games and make mistakes, which is the main thing this boss fight is trying to teach you overall. One of Riku’s taunts is accompanied by a blocking motion. Any attempts to attack Riku from the front during this extended block will fail, and after a few failed attacks, Riku will hit Sora with a powerful overhead strike. This may at first seem like an impasse where the player simply as to wait for Riku’s taunt to end, but in actuality, if you get behind him, Riku will realize his block won’t work, and he’ll jump to a new position. Given what we’ve learned, and how predictable this behavior is, the player can learn to catch Riku out of this reliable jump to turn the taunt against him. Cool!

I can feel genuine, seething rage start to rise from the depths of my heart. How authentic!

Amusingly, the game takes a moment after each and every confrontation with Riku (you can challenge and re-challenge him to races and fights as much as you want) to highlight your win rate against him, with Sora musing on the current “score”. A fresh player is likely to have lost to Riku many, many times by the time they beat him, if they beat him. The game does not want you to forget that Riku is better than you at this. The race alone, which you are required to run at least once, is likely to give Riku at least one win over you, as the race is also extremely difficult to a new player. The game sets the player up for failure when it comes to beating Riku, and engenders the same sense of dissatisfaction and perhaps inadequacy that Sora feels toward his older counterpart. The player, like Sora, is motivated to improve and master their combat skills as Riku himself becomes an implicit motivator.

It is the game designer’s job to make the player motivated to want to play their game, to spend time in the world they’ve helped to build. Obviously, a designer needs to motivate the player to do so. There’s explicit motivation, which promises the player rewards and treats for doing so, outside motivation. These are useful tools, but potentially much more powerful are the inner motivations whose rewards come from within the player. Fun, satisfaction, and investment in a story are all implicit motivators. These are ephemeral terms, difficult to pin down, which is why when they are designed for effectively it’s so remarkable to behold, and worth studying. Riku will destroy a new player, repeatedly. However, as beating him is entirely optional, this is unlikely to demoralize the player, who is allowed to continue the story, but now carries this internalized rivalry with Riku. One day, you will be able to beat him, the game implicitly promises. Maybe not now, but continue playing, continue improving, and one day, you will. You might see this technique used in games often, if you’re on the look out for it – establish a rival or mentor that both the player and player character cannot overcome, setting the player up to go on a journey of self-betterment alongside their protagonist.

This player-protagonist harmony, where the player feels analogous feelings to your protagonist, is an excellent method of immersing the player in a game world. If the player has nearly the same motivations and emotional responses as the character they are playing, they’ll find it much more natural to put themselves in their shoes and empathize with them for whatever wild scenario you can dream up. This is the real power of video games as a medium. It’s the only form of media where the player can really be part of the story, explicitly, emotionally, mechanically, so I’ve always believed one should lean into that. Gameplay itself can be a form of storytelling.

But this is only part of the story. So Riku is set up as this big imposing physical and emotional obstacle for the player, as well as for Sora. They’re ready to tackle it together. But what next? Where does this story go? You may have heard that Kingdom Hearts‘ narrative gets complicated. People like to exaggerate, but for the sake of simplicity I think next time we’re going to skip ahead a bit and see where this path we’re on leads us, in regards to Sora and Riku. This is, after all, not the only Riku boss battle in this game. Players familiar with Kingdom Hearts will know the others well. In part 2 of this Riku Boss Breakdown, we’re going to take a look at the infamous Dark Riku boss fight.

They’ll remain a part of each other’s lives, no matter what…

Galaxy Brain: How NEO: The World Ends With You Recaptures the Experience of its Predecessor

The World Ends With You is a distinct and memorable little action RPG originally for the Nintendo DS. It is remembered and well-loved for an engaging story about coming out of your shell and expanding your horizons by connecting with people. The game also sported an incredibly unique action combat system utilizing the DS’s hardware features – one of the first touch screens used for video games, and two concurrent display screens. In The World Ends With You, combat is conducted through a loadout of unique psyches, the player’s attack moves, that each are used via a respective touch-based gesture to fight enemies. This all occurs on the DS’s bottom screen. At the same time, a second character is controlled with buttons to defend against additional enemies on the DS’s top screen. These features allowed for some standout gameplay mechanics that helped The World Ends With You achieve its cult status, but how has this gameplay evolved as its been ported to other, more traditional interfaces?

It’s a lot to keep track of, but MAN do I feel like a genius when it works!

The World Ends With You has been ported to a number of systems since its original release, including the Nintendo Switch and several mobile devices. Given how entwined the original game is with its hardware, particularly in utilizing the feature of action occurring simultaneously on two screens, it seemed a given that the game’s mechanics would have to be re-imagined for these other systems. The route these ports took accommodating the change in hardware was a simplification of focus. In lacking a second screen, the Nintendo Switch version of the game changed the player’s partner character, normally an independent actor on the DS’s top screen, into another psyche in the player’s arsenal, controlled similarly by touch gesture. Using this partner psyche in conjunction with the normal psyches would confer combat bonuses. This was a fairly elegant way to make the game functional on devices that lacked the DS’s unique features, and the game remains fun, if somewhat more cumbersome to control without a touch screen stylus. However, these ported versions of the game seem to lack something experiential and essential when compared to the original. In cutting the second screen’s mechanics entirely, something fundamental was lost.

In enters the bluntly titled NEO: The World Ends With You, a new direct sequel to the original game for the Nintendo Switch and Playstation 4, arriving some fourteen years later. The PS4, notably, lacks a typical touch screen entirely. One may note further, that NEO lacks gesture control, entirely. The design focus of this game has, perhaps surprisingly, shifted entirely away from replicating the methods of the DS touch controls. Although The World Ends With You‘s gesture controls were incredibly intuitive and satisfying on the DS, they weren’t entirely one-of-a-kind. Other games like WarioWare: Touched! accomplished similar things with their controls, albeit in different genres. NEO shifts focus to what is more unique about its predecessor, and seeks to replicate not the control scheme, but the core experience, what is happening in the mind of the player, something more recent ports of The World Ends With You struggled to do.

One screen, one window of focus, but has something been lost?

The World Ends With You for the DS had some best-in-class gesture controls for an action game on that system, but this wasn’t the only gameplay mechanic that set it apart. During regular gameplay, the player’s main character, Neku, acted on the bottom screen, where he’d have to attack enemies while dodging around them according to the player’s touch gestures. Simultaneously, on the top screen, Neku’s partner would be stationary, and slowly assaulted by enemies. The player would have to control Neku with one hand, while commanding the partner character to defend themselves via button inputs with the other. Neku and his partner share a health bar, so if either screen was not given due attention, both would suffer. This created an absolutely mesmerizing experience of splitting attention between two active scenes, triaging and reacting to both. It was a different and challenging sort of mindset to get into, this constant multitasking, demanding players adjust to a new way of thinking. In fairness, it could even be restrictive to some players, a shortcoming that is assuaged somewhat by the versatile difficulty options present in the game. Once the player got use to this, however, it could create a state of flow and rhythm where successfully managing two characters was almost hypnotically engaging.

NEO once again features multiple simultaneously controlled player characters that share a health bar, this time up to four, all on one screen, in a 3D space. As stated, gesture control is done away with entirely in favor of assigning each psyche move to a button input. Each psyche is assigned to one of up to four characters in the player’s party. The twist is, each party member answers the player’s input independently of each other, but are each still vulnerable to counterattack at all times. As before, all psyches operate with different game mechanics at different time frames, but they can be layered together, offset from one another, done in sequence, executed in any way the player is able to push the associated buttons.

For example, one character might loose a volley of energy bullets when the player repeatedly taps a face button, while another character charges up a big rock to throw when the player holds down a shoulder button. In this scenario, the rock will do extra damage if timed to hit just as the first character’s bullet salvo is finished, using Neo‘s combo system, which encourages finishing multiple psyche moves on the same enemy in quick, timed succession. Bonus damage and and the potential to unleash a devastating ultimate move is rewarded for doing so consistently. In this way, the player is rewarded for roleplaying their party of characters as working together, and supporting one another, just like the original DS title, all while replicating that challenging and engaging split-attention experience through its design alone.

NEO even further addresses the barrier of entry for new players by condensing all the action to one screen. A single field of view is intuitive- it replicates how we view spaces in real life. Two screens, while novel, also create two separate cognitive spaces in our minds. No matter how close together they are, switching between two screens is harder than simply utilizing your peripheral vision on a single screen, due to that cognitive distance the break between screens creates. There is something to be said for that novelty of control across several distinct cognitive spaces, but it is a trade off that fits naturally for game consoles that simply don’t support multiple screens.

The player characters once again share a health bar, but unlike in the previous title, now all exist in the same game space. Each party member’s movement and dodge mechanics become directly controlled by the player when their psyche was the last one to be used. Each time a new psyche is used, control is shifted to a new character. The player must shift their control around like this. To keep things from getting disorienting, the 3D camera is directed by the game, rather than the player, and party members quickly run into the player’s field of view on their own as they are queued up to be controlled, creating a smooth transition.

Enemies will still react and attack in real-time, and all party members are vulnerable, thus the player has to be splitting their attention to multitask and triage the various goings on in the battlefield, all while keeping up their rhythmic combo of attacks. If one party member is pinned to the ground, the player might respond by sending another to help them out. All this together emulates the original game’s sense of almost melodic flow within gameplay, that makes the player feel smart and skillful to maintain. A complete re-imagining of gameplay mechanics was able to recapture The World Ends With You‘s most distinctive feature, by focusing on the core experience. Although the gameplay is structured very differently in many ways, the experience one feels while playing the new game is incredibly reminiscent of the original.

Here we see one character’s melee attack push an enemy out of the way of a rock throw – being aware of spacing and timing is essential

This also serves to reinforce some of the themes of both games – expanding your horizons by reaching out and connecting with other people. As Neku must learn in the original game to open himself to others, the player learns how to coordinate Neku and his partners’ distinct gameplay styles together, to create a greater whole. NEO‘s combo system accomplishes the same result, rewarding the player for being cognizant of the timing, effects, and spacing of each player character independently, and how they work together. They must consider a greater group, and not just an individualized self. The result on screen is an amazingly coordinated show of teamwork, reinforcing the player’s small band of party members as a real team working together toward the same goal. It’s a narrative in its own right, told entirely through the gameplay mechanics, reinforcing the explicitly written and acted narrative told between sections of gameplay.

A friend’s been pinned by wolves, indicated by those red “!!!” in the front. Let’s beat them back together!

NEO‘s renewed shift in focus re-frames what was once a hardware problem into a design problem, while playing to the strengths of the platforms the game was developed for. What’s more, the new angle by which this design problem is tackled plays to the original strengths of The World Ends With You, recreating the experience that makes it unique, not just the control scheme. It does this to draw the player in to this stylish and exciting world, while also creating a consistency of narrative between gameplay and non-gameplay sections. Re-framing issues like this in terms of design, playing to a game’s strengths and unique experiential identity is something that makes games truly memorable. NEO: The World Ends With You knows its strengths, knows the experience it’s aiming to create, and executes on that in a manner best suited to its platform, choosing not to adhere rigidly to old solutions and patterns. As it turns out, entirely changing its approach and expanding its horizons may have been the best way to become a true successor to The World Ends With You.

Expand your world…