Let's start with the positives. The Cloud III Wireless offers a sturdy build that is yet to creak, bend, or break during my usage over the past two weeks. The headset's earcups are held in place by a tell-tale metal frame bathed in red and the surrounds are all plastic. The ear and head cushioning is a comfy and uniform leatherette. All together, it's a pretty standard gaming headset, and while the slightly hollow feeling earcups aren't my favourite, it's similar in styling to the Cloud line-up we've come to know so well.

A volume wheel with a smooth, slightly tactile action sits on the right earcup. On the left, a microphone mute button, power button and a USB Type-C charging port. The removable microphone extends out from the left earcup, connected via a slotted 3.5mm jack. 

My personal preference for a boom arm microphone is a flip-to-mute, simply for ease of muting it and moving it aside when it's not needed, though HyperX has employed a removable microphone for a long time and it remains a popular choice. This particular microphone comes with a small red light on the tip of the boom arm to indicate when it's muted—enough to give a quick visual cue to when the mic's disabled, and a good way to avoid accidentally talking to myself.

A mic's tone and profile are its most important qualities. The one included on the Cloud III delivers a tone favouring the upper ranges and with a much less pronounced bass response than some. That means it's not a natural sounding microphone, but an extremely clear one. For gaming over Discord or in-game voice chat, boosting the higher frequencies is not a bad thing—the Cloud III's mic cuts through game audio like a knife through butter. However, if you want a headset that's better suited to streaming or recording your voice, you'll want to look elsewhere.

I haven't felt the need to take the microphone off the headset much, as I'm not wearing this headset out of the house at all. There's no Bluetooth connectivity included on the Cloud III Wireless, only HyperX's 2.4 GHz connection via a dedicated dongle, meaning it's much more a dedicated PC headset than something like the SteelSeries Nova Pro or Bang & Olufsen Portal.

The dedicated wireless dongle will work across PC, PlayStation, and Nintendo Switch, however, thanks to an adaptor in the box to change it from a native Type-C connection into a Type-A.

Unfortunately, I did have a couple issues with the Cloud III's dongle, namely what appeared to be interference with other wireless devices I'm using alongside it. Side-by-side with a Logitech G Pro X Superlight dongle—which is much smaller than the Cloud III's—I had some instances of rogue disconnections, which had at times caused the headset to repeat the word 'disconnected' at me over and over. There were also a few moments where the audio cut out or was distorted in some way—the first time I've experienced anything of the sort in recent years, and which happened a few too many times during a Destiny 2 raid. Thankfully this behaviour hasn't continued since moving onto another USB port on my PC's case, away from other device dongles.

The fit of the Cloud III isn't all that comfortable for me over longer periods of working and gaming. I find myself itching to remove the headset after four or more hours of wearing it. Four hours is a long time to wear anything on your head, and the Cloud III is not particularly heavy (I weighed it at 340 grams), but I have noticed some ear fatigue with the Cloud III that I hadn't experienced with the AceZone A-Spire I was previously using prior to testing.

The 120-hour battery life brandished by the Cloud III Wireless is good compared to the wider market, and in a few weeks of testing I've hardly reached for the charging cable much at all. Though HyperX does offer a much, much lengthier battery life in the Cloud Alpha Wireless, upwards of 300 hours, and that's just one of a few reasons to favour the more expensive Alpha kit, if you can consider spending the extra cash.

What's left to say about the Cloud III's? The sound quality, of course. The most important part of any headset, gaming or otherwise. I went into this review expecting a familiar sound, but conversely the profile of the Cloud III Wireless is difficult to put a finger on. 

The bass feels more pronounced on this headset than some more neutral sounding headsets and yet lacks any real oomph. It's trying, really trying, to highlight the lower frequencies, yet the actual drivers don't sound like they're capable of it. As a result, when the bass is kicking, it detracts from the rest of the mids and highs. Without any bass thumping, the high-end is better and for a closed-back headset—it doesn't sound pointy or harsh—but the high-end response is nothing to write home about.

The profile on the Cloud III Wireless is better suited to gaming than listening to music. Without too much going on all at once, it's easy to hone in on individual cues in-game, and I've been playing The Finals and Destiny 2 on this headset all week and I've had no complaints. I've nothing spectacular to report, either, but this headset does not provide a bad gaming experience by any means.

Overall, the sound profile of the Cloud III Wireless is simply quite unremarkable, and as someone that listens to music during the work day, and hops on a game during the night, I'd look to other, more flexible gaming headsets with a wider-ranging profile to cover my needs. More generally, the headset itself is just fine. You could happily use it for a long time without much of a thought, but as a picky reviewer I'd side with the Razer BlackShark V2 Pro instead, the older version of which is frequently discounted to a similar $120 – $150 price as the Cloud III.

Ideally, we'd all be able to hold off for a Black Friday discount on the Cloud Alpha Wireless, which really is a more all-round impressive headset, but that's quite a long time to wait for a discount that might never arrive.

The Cloud III Wireless highlights an uncomfortable truth with wireless gaming headsets. You can pick up a fantastic sounding pair of wired headphones for less than $100, but you need to spend a decent amount more cash to pick up similarly capable cable-free headphones. I've not been blown away by any wireless headset beneath the $150 mark. In that sense, and compared to similarly priced competition such as the Corsair HS80 Max, the HyperX Cloud III Wireless is fine enough, yet doesn't feel anything close to a legend in the making like its more expensive sibling. 

The most fun I’ve had with a soulslike since Elden Ring. The less self-serious take on the genre I wanted Lies of P to be. FromSoftware should just go ahead and cancel Shadow of the Erdtre… OK, now we’re moving from possible hyperbole to outright lies. But I honestly stand by the first two. Another Crab’s Treasure is a joke game that takes being a great soulslike seriously. It's a charming, creative platformer with terrific combat and a good eye for both pretty scenery and silly sight gags. But it also contains the line "This is a coddamn shipshow!" so I’ll respect any demands to take 80 points off its score.

You’re a hermit crab called Krill who’s had his shell stolen by a literal loan shark (ho ho). So begins an oceanwide quest to get it back which involves hitting a lot of hostile sea life with a fork. Apparently there’s no stamina underwater so all you have to worry about is getting as many hits in as you can then leaping out of the way before being hit back. Actually, that’s a pretty big worry considering how vulnerable poor Krill is without his shell.

Luckily, there are replacement shells everywhere. They’re able to block a few attacks before shattering, forcing you to quickly scurry to find another. This might sound tedious but it’s actually one of the game’s best ideas. Shell’s have unique powers; a sushi roll gives appalling defence, but you can chow down on it mid-battle to restore health. A rubber duck can be thrown to act as a decoy while you scamper away. The soda can make me laugh when I see Krill waddling about in it. All handy skills for different situations, and because they break so easily, you’re encouraged to try them all. You can buy shell insurance for your favourites too, letting you spawn with one at every bonfire. (They’re not called bonfires, but come now, we’re all friends here.) 

Combat does a fine impression of Dark Souls’ sword fighting, with every enemy having a health bar to cut down and another Sekiro-like bar that, once filled up, gives you a chance to stun your foe and get some free hits in. It begins to truly sing once you unlock the grappling hook, letting you yank enemies towards you for a good forkin’. Delightfully, to successfully hook bigger prey you’ll have to nail a fun little fishing mini-game which mixes surprisingly perfectly with soulslike swordplay. Master it and boss battles become brilliant tug-of-wars with a lovely sense of flow. 

Customisation is fairly limited. There’s only four stats to level up. But that also makes this a more approachable take on a genre that could use more of those. Fail a boss fight and you’re respawned right outside the arena with all your currency ready to be picked back up, enemies occasionally drop health, and there’s even a somewhat helpful map tucked away in the pause screen. And if you’re really struggling, there are plenty of smart difficulty options to tweak. In fact, with its cute characters, bright aesthetic, and approachable difficulty, I wondered if I was potentially playing the first soulslike for younger gamers. Until one of the crabs started talking…

Das Crabital

Now, you don’t write for PC Gamer unless you have at least a little fondness for puns. I spent hours of the only life I’ll ever have thinking up awful ones for the headings of this review (Dark Soles, Seakiro, Blubblubblubborne, Elden Herring… I’d best start rehearsing my Games Media Awards speech). So I consider the astonishing number of puns in Another Crab’s Treasure a feature, not a bug. There are also constant satirical jabs at my beloved capitalism, which are about as subtle as being punched by Bernie Sanders. Still, I liked the crab who learns incredibly slowly that a workforce is being exploited (he comes to this conclusion long after many of them have perished).

I’m far less enthralled with the script’s tiresome habit of ‘hiding’ swearing with puns. We’re talking constant substitutions of "crab" for "crap" and truly crab lines like "coddamn shipshow". Yes, I know I’ve repeated that one, but so does the game. A later boss just started outright saying "aw shit". Not every cutesy game has to be a Pixar movie, of course, but this adult dreck still feels tonally off with the rest of the game. With a few adjustments this could have been a great entry point to the genre, the perfect choice for bad parents to turn their offspring into the tiresome Elden Ring stans/socialists of tomorrow. There’s enough good characters and genuinely funny lines in it that I still spoke to every NPC, but this really could have used an editor, or someone pushing Tim Schafer overboard for a script pass.

In fact, the game’s levels are highly reminiscent of Psychonauts, except with good platforming. The script misses more than it hits but the visual jokes are constantly delightful. The treasure map that drives most of the plot is a children’s maze on the back of a cereal box. Lobsters charge at you like knights on horseback except they’re using toilet brushes as jousting poles. One of the difficulty options is "give Krill a gun" which just turns his shell into a one-hit-kill handgun.  

They’ve done a fantastic job of making each area of the ocean look distinct too. An eerily beautiful deep dark area is full of terrifying anglerfish that haven’t been this traumatising since Finding Nemo. An ancient undersea city is genuinely striking, but whenever the haunting piano goes into overdrive and it comes close to turning into yet another pretentious fantasy soulslike, a crucial moment will have Krill flushing himself down a toilet or using bleach bottle bubbles as platforms. The push-and-pull between an epic oceanic odyssey and a game where crabs wear dresses made from those little silicon gel packets you get in new shoes is a delight to splash about in. I’ve forgotten or repressed most of the worst dialogue at this point, but I still think back on my battle with a hungry crab armed with a knife and fork, who gobbles you up if you don’t dodge their finisher, with a smile.

Soar subject

Dark Souls, one of the best games of all time, thought holding down the run button and then clicking the analogue stick was an acceptable way to let the player jump. Luckily Another Crab’s Treasure is a far more competent platformer. You get a dedicated jump button (wow!) and Krill has a very limited ability to swim that lets you float a little further. Mario doesn't need to be worried for his job but it’s still a fun 3D jump-‘em-up where you dread the combat bits for the right reasons, and the platforming helps it stand out from the increasingly crowded soulslike pack. Considering how much these games are about exploring, it's surprising that someone hasn’t thought to combine the platformer and the soulslike already, because they slot together great here. It’s a little janky— I wouldn’t say no to a patch that stops me occasionally getting stuck in the scenery—but I mostly loved leaping around its hostile waters for secrets.

Doesn’t hurt either that Krill is a lovely lead crab. He cries ‘no no no no no!’ when you let yourself get hit by an unblockable attack and cheers whenever you level up, instantly making a crab the most relatable soulslike protagonist of all time. He’s optimistic, sympathetic, and even has a nice little character arc. He’s yet another pleasant surprise in a game full of them. Shipshow? Actually, this is often krilliant! God I hate myself.

At times the game will force a side-on platforming section on me, complete with bottomless pits and an endless supply of incoming objects to avoid. In other moments I'll have to play along with some scripted chase sequence, or hit buttons at the right as if QTE-ruined cutscenes never went out of fashion. There are even multiple stealth sections to grit my teeth through. They don't turn up often, but they do turn up more often than they should in an action RPG of any age: never.

Which is a pity, because when I'm not gaming like it's 1999 there's a definite charm to Sand Land's imaginative selection of vehicles, which encompasses bulbous tanks and gigantic battleships. They're all covered in cartoonishly scuffed metal and exaggerated welding seams, and include wonderfully fine animated details. Bashed-up trucks might have a balancing pair of back legs that only set down when the vehicle comes to a stop. Tanks rear up slightly whenever they gain a sudden burst of speed, and lighter vehicles bounce around as they navigate uneven terrain. I can almost feel how hefty these machines are just by looking at them.

Anything I can drive can be built and then generously customised in a garage using materials found while I'm off adventuring, creating new weapons, new engines, or even attaching specialist extra functions and helpful drones. Once that's sorted, these machines as a whole as well as their individual parts can then be upgraded further, or have new parts swapped in as required. It's no Armored Core, but it does help make everything I build feel like it's truly mine.

So it's a shame this core part of the game is about as much fun as taking a car to a real mechanic. Each new vehicle is made up of multiple parts, all of which require an increasingly long list of materials to create, many of which must be scavenged from enemies or combined using raw ingredients at a workshop. On its own it'd be annoying, but at times the plot grinds to a halt until I build one very specific machine and then it becomes almost irritating enough to make me want to uninstall the damned game.

Item descriptions like "can be obtained from a variety of vehicles" are frustratingly unhelpful when I need just one more of some generic knickknack to build a bike that'll help me reach the next area by speeding across a desert's worth of quicksand. I had little choice but to wander around and hope I stumbled upon the right parts before I ran out of patience.

At least it doesn't take any time at all to hop around the map, thanks to a generous fast travel system. Any major town or health-restoring water station I've already visited automatically becomes a free teleportation point, so the chances are when someone says "Hey, maybe we should go to…" it'll only take a few clicks.

Unfortunately, wherever I end up the vehicles find another new way to disappoint. I may be able to bring up to five of them with me at any time, but they all serve very narrow roles. The environmental obstacles and puzzles I encounter always have just one bot-based solution to them—use this one to pull this heavy box, use this specific type to hover over this otherwise impassable terrain—and sometimes a particular bot is only needed for a few seconds before I'm better off either switching back to my trusty tank or Beelzebub's pointy-shoe'd feet.

Plenty of enemies will try to pick a fight as I poke around, and I'm free to either have my purple little ball of demonic royalty punch them into submission or hop into something more substantial and take them out that way. These battles are so seamlessly integrated into Sand Land's world that there's nothing to stop me from picking monsters off from a distance, or even just boosting my way straight past them. That freedom is a good thing, as the game's combat is not complex enough to warrant more serious attention.

Battles on any of the game's three freely changeable difficulty settings rarely required me to do anything more demanding than make sure I was hitting the enemy more often than they hit me, and using one of the widely available repair kits from time to time if I needed to. Pinpoint-accurate shots at weak points just aren't relevant here, nor is anything as obvious as shooting a tank's treads to stop it moving. Larger bosses are often accompanied by hordes of weaklings or defensive turrets—both of which have a nasty habit of infinitely respawning. These could have been an interesting tactical consideration, something to prioritise, clear out, or even fear. Instead they're generally better off ignored, robbing these climatic clashes of even that layer of tactical potential.

At least Sand Land's likeable rag-tag cast of generic stereotypes—Fiery Youth, Grizzled Veteran, Girl With Obvious Secrets, Bad Guys Who Become Good Guys After A Chat—and the eco-conscious story they're tied up in do their best to liven things up. Yes, hoarding natural resources for profit and war are bad, and Sand Land should say it. The messages get a little lost when the only response I have to anything is to blow it up with a tank, but it does try.

The winsome characters aren't enough to save something that plays like the dictionary definition of a licensed anime game though. Sand Land definitely looks the part, but the game underneath is never anything more than a scattered collection of unsatisfying bits and pieces. This particular take on Toriyama's sandy setting is destined to last in people's minds about as long as an ice cube in the desert.

All these goodies will set you back $180 (£170, AU$311). That's a little more than the good old HyperX QuadCast S and the Blue Yeti GX that also boasts RGB. However, there's a lot more to a good mic than just specs and, after a couple of weeks of using the ROG Carnyx, I'm left feeling a little shortchanged.

Let's start with the design of the thing which is no doubt one of the most striking gaming microphones I've seen yet, and a perfect showpiece on any live stream. The solid metal tube sits in an interestingly angled desk stand with elastic suspension cables, and that isolates external vibrations to the mic. The top half has machined triangular grills that expose the RGB lighting and, of course, allow sound to pass through to the condenser. Behind that are foam and mesh layers to prevent unwanted plosives.

There's a single, multi-functional dial on the front that controls gain, headset volume, and can also be used to toggle the built-in high-pass filter. Around the back of the microphone, you'll find the USB Type-C port and 3.5mm headphone jack so you can listen to the mic as you speak. On the top of the mic is a touchpad to mute the mic, which then glows a warm red to let you know it's muted. Touch and hold it will turn the RGB lighting on or off, too.

The desk stand for the Carnyx is solid and rigid, keeping the mic exactly where you want it to be. It allows you to tilt the microphone maybe 30-degrees. I like the base of the stand which is a triangular metal piece with tasteful grooves that highlight the ROG logo depending on the angle you look at. 

You aren't beholden to the desk stand though; a single screw unlocks the triangle base so you can attach the rest of the mic to a boom arm. The Carnyx uses a 3/8-inch thread which is common to a variety of boom arms.

Inside the Carnyx is a studio-grade, 25mm condenser capsule designed to improve low-frequency performance and deliver richer, warmer vocal tones. Combined with a lossless audio bitrate of 24-bit and 192kHz, the Carnyx can sound really good.

The microphone also uses a cardioid polar pattern, so as long as it's in front of you, and preferably less than five inches from your mouth, you will sound hella sexy.

I've recorded a sample of the difference proximity makes to the mic's quality and it is obvious to me that despite the lovely desk stand, the intended use case is a boom arm to get the mic as close to your face and in the camera frame as possible. I messed around with the gain levels while using the desk stand but couldn't get anywhere near the warmth and depth of vocals as when the mic was close to my mouth.

Having the Carnyx in its desk stand positioned at a reasonable foot distance would result in much lower audio volume—that's just physics. However, pushing the gain higher to get things louder introduces significant background hiss as well as other unwanted ambient noises. The high-pass filter never fully helps things much. Whether I sat the microphone close to my gaming rig or closer to my mouth, it always picked up the fan hum from my PC.

Lowering the gain helps much more than the high-pass filter but further necessitates proximity to your mouth for solid audio. Thankfully, there's also a noise-gate but being a fairly soft-spoken fella with a relatively quiet home (most of the time), I didn't need it much.

Now, while you can adjust the basics directly on the mic using the dial, you'll need Armoury Crate to really dial things in. In here, you can adjust volume, bitrate, noise gate, Perfect voice and an equalizer with three presets; Natural, Dark and Bright. I prefer the natural and dark, but it all depends on your voice and your own preference.

One issue I have with the physical control on the Carnyx is that you don't get any sort of feedback to acknowledge your changes. Turning the dial doesn't use the RGB to indicate gain or volume levels, which can be frustrating.

At the end of the day, the ROG Carnyx is a good first attempt by Asus though not quite groundbreaking. It's a handsome microphone that any RGB-loving game streamer would be happy to have in their setup and it can sound good if you set it up correctly.

But at close to $200, the Carnyx is far from the best microphone money can buy. Simpler microphones without the fancy RGB can deliver the goods for less money. Unless you are particularly sold on the aesthetic or Asus Aura Sync ecosystem, this wouldn't be my first choice. That said, I look forward to future iterations of the ROG Carnyx.

Mainly following Nowa, a young man thrust into leadership of a rag-tag alliance fighting against the empire, the set-up reads almost like parody. How cliché can you get? It also probably gives anyone familiar with Murayama's Suikoden series a serious case of déjà vu. The setup was tropey even then, but what's important isn't radical originality or constant subversion. It's the way this familiar structure and story is told, and Eiyuden Chronicle tells it with supreme confidence.

Nowa might be the protagonist, but Eiyuden is a true-blue ensemble story, a war epic filled with political treachery and a massive cast of well over 30 plot-significant characters. The narrative has no problem drifting away from the main team to peek in on the villains or switch playable characters for a while, constantly making it known that Nowa isn't the center of the story. Take the Guardians, a group living deep in the forest whose own lives intersect with Nowa's several times. Their culture and characters are enough to fill an entire game by themselves, dealing with clan politics, attempts at colonization, and their deep relationship with the game's magic system. Stacked on top of the politically twisty main plot, these threads could easily overwhelm with a mess of names and ideas. But thanks to killer character writing, it never feels like too much.

Each character is wisely defined with simple strokes, motivation and personality always so clear that even at its most complex, there's never any question about who stands where. That they're all deeply lovable certainly helps: More than once someone I thought was just a one-off side character would show up hours later in the middle of a high-octane climax and have me jumping out of my chair, celebrating as if I just beat the hardest boss in the game.

This expands well past the thrust of the main story: true to its title, there are over 100 characters to recruit and are they ever characters. Magical girls, '80s delinquents, robots and talking capybara—the crew is a smorgasbord of delightful weirdos, turning the world into a kitchen sink fantasy ruled by imagination over grounded realism. Concise writing strikes a delicate balance between clearly defining character traits and encouraging you to fill in your own details. It's an old school approach, but the result of this brevity is a world of constant, childlike discovery, one that invites daydreams and imagined conversations. Eiyuden feels all the more personal because of it.

Most of your time with these oddballs will be spent in huge turn-based brawls with a six person party against up to eight enemies. Battles are more concerned with party composition and turn order than exploiting status effects or enemy weaknesses, evidenced by Rune-lenses—equippable abilities and passive buffs—and an auto-battle option that comes with minute AI customization for every single character. It's the kind of game where prep is king and the winner is decided before the fight even begins.

In theory, at least. In practice the default setup is tuned a little too well. On the normal difficulty I was able to auto-battle my way through nearly everything without a thought. Fights still have personality, though, with unique AI settings highlighting personality quirks with clever light touches. The violent healer Francesca prioritizes attacking, converting SP—which is gained each turn to use skills—into magic buffs, while the strategist Melridge focuses on spells and damaging large amounts of enemies at once. 

Everyone expresses themselves differently, but the result is always delightfully big. Two feisty girls try and fail to seduce a horrifying flesh monster, a rabbit dressed like a wizard gets punched into the atmosphere, a horde of zombies are blasted with giant hearts—there's a flashy surprise waiting at every turn. It all hums along nicely, battles acting as comfortable breaks in dungeons filled with light puzzles and a gentle encounter rate.

Even outside these dozen-person scraps Eiyuden Chronicle is bursting at the seams. Armies are pit against armies in simplistic grid-based strategy battles, and heroes against villains in cinematic one-on-one duels. You'll go fishing, have a boat race, play cards with friends. By themselves none of these are particularly complex, but instead promote a propulsive rhythm to the game, highlighting narrative beats to create an emotional synthesis between play and story. Just as everything seems to be going the alliance's way the empire launches a surprise attack, and suddenly I'm in a boss rush, then a minigame, then a heart-stopping duel, then controlling an entirely new character.

Every five hours culminated in a fist-pumping climax that had me saying "god I love video games," out loud to no one. And once the dust settled and I could breathe again, I cooked a meal with characters I'd grown closer to. 

All of this is propped up by a charming blend of 2D sprites and 3D environments. Obviously borrowing from Square Enix's HD-2D style used in games like Octopath Traveler, with an aggressively narrow depth of field (mercifully toggleable in the options) and intense lighting, it delights in a retro style without being completely beholden to it. I noticed some slowdown in larger towns, but otherwise the game gave me no issues.

Maybe the whole experience is best summed up by yet another system: the alliance's headquarters, a run-down town slowly built up over the course of the story. You'll build hot springs, a theater to put on shows, a library to dig into lore, as long as you find the right person for the job. It's a fun way to create a persistent sense of progress, but the real joy is in the people who settle there. Once after a brutal defeat I wandered around my makeshift town filled with everyone who had joined me during my adventure. They all talked about how proud they were of me, of how they knew I would do my best and how they would support me because we're all in this together. It's the kind of corny power of friendship optimism found in a hundred different games and anime, and yet it almost made me cry.

Because I believed them. I'd laughed at their hijinx, struggled with them in fights, bonded with them in moments of quiet and imprinted so much of myself onto these simple, wonderful, canvas-like characters.

By itself no single mechanic in Eiyuden Chronicle is anything special. Alone, a person might be powerless. But together? Together they can snowball into something truly amazing. Yoshitaka Murayama's death was a tragedy. He was only 55 years old, clearly gearing up for a new, exciting period of his life. Like any loss of a creator I admired, it feels immense. At the very least, I hope he knows that he was able to leave us with something special in Eiyuden Chronicle: not just a thrilling RPG, but a rousing, beautiful ode to people.

Mythologies often paint the Sun and the Moon as complementary opposites, two sides of an enormous shiny coin, as it were. And rarely has this relationship been clearer than in Tales of Kenzera: Zau, inspired by the Bantu folklores of southern and central Africa, where solar heat and lunar cool together help you survive its metroidvania challenges. In short, it's the stuff legends are made of, even if the design of said challenges doesn't itself quite reach for the stars.

Most of the freshness in Tales of Kenzera stems from its setting, given that African mythologies (ancient Egypt excepted) remain a largely untapped resource in games. Playing as young shaman Zau, there's a real sense here that you've been dropped not only into an adventure but a legend passed between distant ancestors, drawing on regional lore of magical artefacts, spirits and gods.

Zau's mission is as much about his personal growth as his aims, as he quests to reclaim his deceased father from the land of the dead. In order to get permission from Kalunga, God of death, he first has to send three great spirits the other way, as they're running amok about the country, refusing to acknowledge their time is up. In the process, Zau might just learn a thing or two about accepting the cycle of life.

As for the Sun and the Moon, their power is infused into a pair of shaman's masks that previously belonged to papa Zau, and our hero can quick-change between them to banish the plethora of smaller hostile spirits loitering around the otherwise deserted tribal lands. Don the moon mask and you can run and gun, slinging magic bullets as if wielding an automatic pistol. The sun mask is suited to closer encounters, letting out a flurry of melee blows or a launching strike that leaves enemies flailing in the air.

The fact that your moon shot needs frequent reloading and some spirits come equipped with shields that can only be broken with a specific element means you need to get used to juggling both attack styles. In later levels especially, combat in Tales of Kenzera becomes a kind of frantic puzzle where you try to stay mobile, make use of harmful scenery for quick kills and select the right rock to blunt your opponents' scissors. That your quick heal power draws on the same rechargeable resource as your mega blast super attacks also leads to some tricky balancing. 

It can get a little untidy at times, to the point you might lose track of Zau's position amongst a mob, or find yourself sucker-punched by a projectile homing in from offscreen. But even then, you always feel there's a way to avoid such mishaps—getting rid of the missile-lobber first, for example, or steering clear of heavy traffic. A bigger disappointment is that the game's three major regions don't have their own bespoke cast of enemies, with only around eight kinds in all, barring bosses. There is variety in their combinations, and the arrangement of platforms and hazards in battles, but a sense of repetition slowly creeps in.

Switch hitter

Of course, since his adventure is a metroidvania, Zau also gathers new powers and techniques on his travels. He's actually pretty well-stocked from the start, with a double jump and a wall jump among his default skillset, but he soon adds extra combat moves that you pick from a skill tree, and a series of more momentous abilities bestowed by ancient relics. Each mythical item provides a new means of navigating the environment, although some are handy in a fight too. The first allows you to freeze waterfalls, streams and enemies temporarily, while the next, a flaming spear, is essential for striking distant timer switches and doubles as a range attack when you're wearing the sun mask.

These powers don't, however, fold into your acrobatic leaping routines so much as function in specific circumstances, like when a strategically placed waterfall gives you the leg up you need if you freeze it, or a hook point for your slingshot grapple move bisects an otherwise uncrossable gap. Yet once you get a few of these techniques under your belt, Tales of Kenzera gets busy with some pretty intricate platforming sequences, asking you to flick through your repertoire with speed and grace. In some of the game's optional challenge rooms, you may wish that control of Zau was a touch tighter, but for the most part he's pleasingly nimble and chaining moves is intuitive.

A little more curiously for a metroidvania, what these new powers don't do much is open up fresh paths on roads already travelled for further exploration. So, when you complete your first trip out to meet and beat a great spirit then return to the centre of the map, there's not a great deal that's newly accessible with the gear you picked up since you were last there, so off to the next region you go. Many of the game's non-critical temptations, from lore-drop echoes to max health boosts and those challenges, then, merely dwell in short offshoots from the main track that you can choose to tackle as you find them.

Tales of Kenzera isn't the first metroidvania to go light on exploration, of course, and others have proven there's nothing wrong with that when your level design is up to scratch. And the level design here is up to scratch, largely because it doesn't divert much from patterns set by its predecessors. Ori and the Blind Forest in particular is an evidently close inspiration—down to a couple of post-boss escape sequences—while colour-coded shields carry over from Guacamelee, among others. 

Tales of Kenzera works, in other words, because its methods are tried and tested. But, well, it does work, and it's cloaked in such fascinating, often beautiful fiction that it's easy to get swept along to its conclusion even if you've played these notes before. While it may be somewhat eclipsed by other gaming legends, then, it would be harsh to deny Zau's tale its day in the sun. 

The MX2A Reds are an improvement in a number of ways. First and foremost, they're factory lubed. If you're a regular reader of our keyboard coverage here at PC Gamer, you'll know that lube makes for smoother switches with a satisfying clack. That's certainly true of the MX2A Reds, too. Each key glides effortlessly with each strike from my fingers. 

The MX2A switches come with "pin point ring lubrication" applied to the new 'socket dome' in the bottom housing. If that sounds like jargon, it sorta is, but in effect means each switch leaves the factory floor with a big dollop of grease in it, and which should stick around for the lifetime of the switch. For comparison to some original MX Reds, I've grabbed my Corsair K65 off the shelf. The MX2A switches in the Xtrfy lack the scratchiness and rattle that's noticeable on the admittedly ageing Corsair.

Other upgrades with the MX2A switches factor into the more consistent key press, including: a new barrel spring, housing socket dome, guidance ribs, and stem geometry. That last one is important, as the MX2A are significantly less wobbly than older MX Reds.

All of those changes make for a much smoother key press than with previous Cherry MX Red switches. I'd also say they're generally less clangey, though it's hard to put a value to how much of that is the new switch itself or the keycaps and stabilisers used on this exact Xtrfy model. Overall it's a much better switch than the original MX Reds. That's good news for gamers, as we're likely to see a lot of them end up in gaming keyboards from multiple brands.

But how does the typing experience on the Cherry Xtrfy K5V2 compare to our favourite keyboard of the moment, the ROG Strix Scope II 96 Wireless? To put it simply, I much prefer the Scope II 96 for typing. The lack of wobble in the PBT keycaps through the ROG NX Snow switches is as impressive now as the day I first tried it. Considering the feel of the last-generation Cherry MX Reds and a few other keyboards I have close to hand, however, the snappy and lightweight keypress of the Cherry remains pretty darn good overall.

Onwards to the keyboard itself. This is a compact slab with a 65% layout. That means it's only 325 x 112 mm and doesn't come with a numpad or the usual cluster above the arrow keys. It does retain arrow keys, however, along with Page Down, Page Up, and Delete keys. The rest of the missing keys can be accessed via the many, many shortcuts on this keyboard.

End, Home, and the F1 – F12 keys are accessed with a press of the Function key. To make up for the lack of physical media keys there are some shortcuts thrown in along the top alphabet row. All pretty sensible shortcuts for any compact keyboard. There are also shortcuts for moving and using the mouse, which are less common but could come in handy.

What I find a little overwhelming are the many more shortcut keys for functions with unclear intentions. There's one key of mysterious machination with a fingerprint blazoned on it, another says K-LED. BG Color, K-Slow, K-Fast, K-Mask, E-speed+ … the list goes on. All those I've just mentioned control the RGB lighting on the board, and the reason why there are so many pre-programmed keys to do so is due to the lack of dedicated Cherry software to control this keyboard. That may appeal to some, though if you're looking for simplicity then I'd look elsewhere.

Programming the RGB lighting is a process of trial and error. You hold down one key, hit another, and maybe the key you're holding changes in colour. That means you're changing the overall lighting mode, probably, it might also mean you're changing the colour the keys light up as you type. I'm yet to entirely suss it out. The instruction manual loosely explains which key does what, but doesn't explain how exactly they all work together. After trying to change a static colour on a handful of keys, I ended up settling on one of the preset lighting modes instead.

There are a few other things to consider with this keyboard. For one, how long it's taken me to comment on the translucent housing. Don't be fooled by its mushy looking exterior, this thing is built like a tank and I couldn't get it to flex one bit. And I'm really strong. It does seem a bit odd to have a case designed so favourably towards outlandish RGB lighting on a keyboard that is also meant to appeal to the naturally software-sceptic among us. Those things don't often mix. But it may appeal to a niche audience, and there's always the less pronounced black option. Oh, there's also a strangely magnetic removable logo above the arrow keys, which I assume is so you can 3D print your own replacement.

The keycaps are made from ABS plastic, which feels like a bit of a miss for the money, but they're easily replaceable thanks to MX cross stems. The switches themselves are also hot-swappable and the USB Type-C to Type-A cable removable. All of which should see this keyboard last a long time—at least until those switches wear out around the 100 millionth click mark.

You'll have to part with $140/£139/€139 to get yourself in on the Xtrfy action. That's cheaper than the ROG Falchion RX Low-Profile I recently reviewed, which is a similarly compact board, though the Xtrfy has left less of an impression on me. It's a neatly packaged gaming keyboard with plenty of functionality for its lack of software, which for some may be all they need to hear, but it nevertheless feels a lot of money for fewer keys than most. 

At $269, the Teamgroup Z540 2TB PCIe Gen 5 SSD is certainly a speedy drive, with peak read and write transfer rates of 12,400 MB/s and 11,800 MB/s respectively, but is it worth the $100+ price premium over a Gen 4 drive when there's little tangible benefit for today's gaming PCs?

Still, that $269 price means it's one of the more affordable Gen 5 SSDs, particularly compared to first wave Gen 5 drives around the 10,000MB/s range. And, it stacks up very well against the $400 Nextstorage X Series 2TB drive our man Jacob recently reviewed, even though the NN5Pro model comes with a bundled heatsink.

Along with the Z540 SSD, Teamgroup also sent over its T-Force Dark Airflow 1 SSD cooler for this review. It's available separately and it's a recommended purchase if you have a motherboard that doesn't include integrated heatsinks. It's quite fairly priced at $27, though at the time of writing it was not available in the UK or Australian markets.

The Z540 is available in 1TB, 2TB, and 4TB capacities. I have the 2TB version on hand. Teamgroup promotes the Z540 as a drive for gamers, but the Z540 will happily serve as an all purpose drive, with a five year warranty and 1400 TBW endurance rating.

The Teamgroup Z540 is a PCIe 5.0 x4 M.2 2280 NVMe SSD. It's rated for up to 12,400 MB/s sequential reads and 11,800 MB/s writes for the 2TB version I have. That's the same as the 4TB version, though the 1TB version comes in slightly slower at 11,700 MB/s and 9,500 MB/s.

Like many currently available Gen 5 drives, it incorporates the Phison E26 controller, 232-layer Micron NAND and it includes 4GB of Hynix DDR4-4266 cache.

The drive as shipped includes a thin graphene strip, though it's not attached and won't be necessary if you're installing it under a motherboard heatsink with an appropriate thermal pad. All Gen 5 SSDs get hot when you're shuffling lots of data around, so it's imperative that your motherboard has some kind of integrated cooling solution. If not, then it is definitely worth spending a few extra dollars on a model with an integrated heatsink, or an aftermarket cooler like the Dark Airflow 1.

The Dark Airflow 1 is a nice looking little device, I think. It's not overly large at 105mm tall and it's thin enough not to interfere with my system's adjacent graphics card. It includes a small fan which I initially plugged into a full speed fan header. And boy was it loud! But that's not a problem as it's a PWM model that's easily adjustable in your motherboard's BIOS. I found setting it to 20% lowered its noise level to a point where it can't be heard over the rest of the system.

The Z540 has an optional SSD S.M.A.R.T. tool that you can grab from the Teamgroup website. It includes basic drive and system information and the CrystalDiskMark benchmark. It's not as visually appealing as the software suites from the likes of WD or Samsung and I'd like to see some kind of disk cloning tool included, but in my testing, the Teamgroup app worked well.

The Z540 performed pretty much exactly as we'd expect for a Phison E26 equipped drive. It all but matches the far more expensive Nextorage 2TB drive, while costing over 30% less, or 25% less if you factor in the cost of the optional Dark I Airflow cooler.

I'm more than happy to give up an intangible fraction of SSD performance in order to keep $100 or more in my pocket that I could allocate towards a faster GPU, which will deliver a genuinely noticeable performance boost.

A little curiously, the Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers loading time was slower than I expected. That could be due to the vagaries of Windows doing some random things in the background during the test, but a second and third test delivered similar results. I can live with the loss of half a second of loading time. That kind of difference right there is an example of why the fastest Gen 5 SSDs are not vitally important for gamers when compared to a good Gen 4 option.

I was pleasantly surprised by the effectiveness of the Dark Airflow I cooler. Little coolers with little fans are generally undesirable, but when its fan speed is set appropriately, it is genuinely silent. And it's effective too, delivering the lowest peak temperatures I've seen in a Gen 5 SSD to date.

As time goes on, we expect the price of the latest and greatest PC hardware to fall in price. Frustratingly to date, Gen 5 SSDs have not fallen by as much as we'd hoped. It's fine to expect to pay a premium price for the best hardware, but in the case of Gen 5 SSD's, the honest to goodness real world gains are not apparent enough to justify their cost. Sure, if you shuffle terabytes of files around they're worth it, but I'd say a typical gamer doesn't do that all too often.

Having said that, at $260, the Teamgroup Z540 is one of the cheaper Gen 5 drives, and it's a top performing one as well. If you've got a high spec system, then paying extra for a high performance SSD is justified. If you are prepared to pay, you'll be rewarded with performance that all but matches the best SSDs on the market.

Like all the Gen 5 drives we've tested to date, they can get hot without appropriate cooling. Modern motherboard SSD cooling has come a long way from the days of simple metal plates. Enthusiast motherboards have very good SSD cooling with lots of heatsink surface area, and in that case you won't need to purchase a cooler like the Dark Airflow I. However, if your motherboard is lacking in that area, a small cooler is well worth the investment.

In time, the price of the Teamgroup Z540 will fall. We'll see 14 GB/s drives, new controllers, improved NAND flash and competition from the big guns like Samsung and Western Digital. With increased competition, the price of Gen 5 SSDs will surely become a lot more compelling. But for now, unless you have a high spec system, a much cheaper Gen 4 drive makes more sense for a gaming system.

The tide is ever so slowly turning. I can't see it being too long before a Gen 5 drive like the Teamgroup Z540 adds good value to its very good performance. Knock $50 off and we're nearly there. If/when that happens, it will be a contender for a spot on our list of best gaming SSDs.

For a start, there's your desk chair. Chances are it doesn't lock in terms of spinning movement, which means a decent wheel with good feedback will try and turn you around its axis as you fight against the torque, requiring quite a bit of core stability to maintain a good position. There's also the angle itself, which, unless you elevate your pedal set or are a particular fan of Euro Truck Simulator, won't feel very car-like. 

And then there's the pedals, which—despite the best attempts of manufacturers—will still inevitably move around under heavy braking. All in all, it's a bit of a faff, which is why sim racing enthusiasts tend to buy a heavy sim rig frame to keep you in the optimum position and securely clamp down all your gear. Trouble is, they're big, heavy, and bulky.

That's where the Logitech Playseat Challenge X comes in. Playseat has been making gaming chairs and relatively lightweight sim rig setups for a while, and now, in collaboration with Logitech, has come up with something that not only aims to keep your sim racing gear pinned in the right positions, but can be folded away for easy storage too. 

At $300/£260 it's a fair bit cheaper than the $599 Playseat Trophy—although still not what anyone would call cheap in general—and while the Trophy is plenty sturdy, it doesn't fold up the same way the Challenge X does. The idea here is that you can simply pack your sim rig away like an oversized, folding camping chair. On the face of it, that is a whole lot more convenient and sociable than dedicating space to a more permanent setup.

The box itself was a lot more compact than I was expecting, too, which suggested to me that I was in for a heavy afternoon of construction. However, many more parts were pre-assembled than it first appeared, everything was well-machined and clipped together with minimal effort and no real hang ups, and, thanks to some good instructions and a clearly thought out process, I was done building the chair in less than an hour. And that included taking plenty of photos for this review and a mid-construction cup of tea.

The seat cover is attached to the chair with velcro straps underneath the frame, which initially gave me some pause. However, the bulk of your weight is supported by a gigantic strap underneath your posterior. Being a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to builds, I initially mis-aligned it and wanted to straighten it up for a photo, and discovered that it's coated in what might possibly be the strongest Velcro connection known to humankind. Though that did give me some reassurance it would be capable of taking a large amount of weight.

Sitting in my handiwork for the first time was still a bit of a nerve-wracking experience. The Velcro initially crunches as it first adjusts to the pressure, but once in place you do feel remarkably secure. The frame poles are a good thickness, and the design means that the chair resists rocking from side to side perfectly. Grand.

Seat height and angle adjustment is determined by two numbered locking mechanisms, the "X-adapt hinges", located on either side of the crossed angles of the frame, and the instructions suggested locking them in the mid-position to start with. This also serves as the folding mechanism, as with a flip of the two bright blue handles the locking teeth release for folding the chair away or angle adjustments.

This mid-position was, I discovered, perfect for my frame. I'm just under six foot tall (so near, and yet so far) and around 170 pounds, but at the middle setting I found the angle was about perfect for supporting my spine and keeping my head in a forward facing position.

In terms of mounting sim hardware, I tried out both the Logitech G923 and the Moza R5 bundle. The G923, as you would expect, mounted with very little issue, with both the pedals and the wheelbase unit lining up nicely with the multiple holes on the baseplate. The Moza, however, had the odd issue. While I could mount the wheelbase securely, the pedals themselves required some additional hardware that neither Logitech nor Moza provided, despite both companies including vast numbers of screws, bolts, and connectors with their packages.

That being said, with some longer bolts bought from a local DIY store I was able to successfully attach the Moza's pedal set, so I'm just going to blame it on a rare setup combination, given that large amounts of different types of mounting hardware were provided by both. Customising a sim rig frame is unfortunately commonplace as there's little standardisation in terms of hole placement, and the Challenge X has plenty of pre-drilled holes in both the wheelbase mount and the pedal mount to cover as many possibilities as possible.

Also included are some little snap-on plastic clips to keep the cables attached to the frame, which is a nice touch.

The wheelbase plate can be tilt adjusted with the help of a screw in lock underneath, so there's plenty of flexibility there, while the pedal mount hardware is angled slightly towards you, which worked nicely on both pedal sets I tested. You can also easily adjust the pedal distance with two adjustable rods connecting them to the rest of the frame.

Once locked in place, I found the Challenge X to be remarkably comfortable. The seating angle was perfect, with plenty of adjustment for different heights and leg lengths, and the "Acti-fit" material is soft, premium-feeling and cushy. It's a nice place to be, and puts you in a positive position to get racing.

In order to get in and out of the seat, the wheelbase attachment bar can pivot and lift over to the left hand side, which feels a bit like getting in and out of a rollercoaster. This initially feels like a risky movement, as your precious wheelbase rotates out into the open air, but thanks to a well-placed extendable support leg that can be deployed from the left hand side, there's no danger of the seat tipping over.

As you can see from the pictures, the fact that the Challenge X wants you to get out from the right hand side was a little inconvenient for my purposes, as to the right of my setup is a large bookcase. Still, unless you're cramped in a right hand corner like me that should leave plenty of room to get out for most people, and even with the wheelbase open on the left I didn't find it much of an issue to step over.

Once back in the seat, the bar comes down (riders, keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times) and a twist lock mechanism on the right side secures it in place. Once all locked in, with the extender support leg placed outwards, the feeling is remarkably secure, sturdy, and confidence-inspiring.

I had the feedback intensity turned up to max on both the G923 and the R5, and while neither are as powerful as the Logitech G Pro Racing Wheel, I felt zero flex or buckle in the frame, even in intense racing scenarios.

After you're done racing, unbolt your gear, unlock the side-locks with the bright blue handles, and the Challenge X tucks itself up to something that can easily be chucked into a spare room or besides a wardrobe. There's a buckle clasp strap to keep the pedal mount from unfolding itself while you move it, while the blue locking mechanisms keep it securely shut, so there's no danger of it unfurling itself like an ironing board while you stow it away.

Here's something to note: while the G923 pedal set had to be removed to fold up the Challenge X and put it away, I found I could actually keep the Moza set bolted on, which made it even more convenient. I'm pretty sure Logitech wouldn't recommend this, for the record, but I found it convenient not to have to set up my pedals again each time I got the Challenge X out, although it did add to the weight considerably.

Despite the secure seating position, I did experience a couple of durability issues. Number one was the leatherette backing on the seat, which quickly showed signs of dust and wear and was difficult to clean. 

Second, and slightly more concerning, the left hinge lock at one point did let go on me and drop down a few settings in one movement during a day spent in the chair. This was due to the inner facing hex bolt of the mechanism working itself slightly loose over time, and was easily fixed with an included hex key.

That being said it was a bit of a buttock-clenching moment, as I did feel for a second like I was falling, which is a hell of a thing when you're immersed in a game. Since tightening the hex bolt I've had no issues, but given that the hinge mechanism isn't part of the user construction I can only assume it wasn't tightened properly from the factory, so points deducted there. 

The only other issue is price, and here we reach a real sticking point. $300 does feel like a lot, especially when the original Playseat Challenge racing cockpit looks like a very similar product and can often be found for less. While I haven't tested the original, they do look much the same, and if it was my money I might consider the other option instead, simply for the price reduction. The strap adjustment mechanism looks more crude, but then the Activ-X locks here aren't exactly perfect, either.

Otherwise though, I enjoyed my time with the Challenge X. It's a clever solution to a problem many would-be sim racers face, namely where you're going to put a proper sim rig frame. Other than my slightly loose hex bolt drama it's been completely solid, and after spending many hours in it since, I've found I'm able to jump out after a long racing session with zero fatigue or uncomfortable back twinges.

While the Playseat Trophy strikes as perhaps a more solid solution for those that have the room for it, if you're struggling for space or don't want a dedicated setup, I reckon the Challenge X is a very good solution indeed. While you could also consider the Monoprice Dark Matter GT, the Challenge X is a more all-in-one product, albeit for significantly more cash.

It's made racing on the weekends in my front room much more convenient, and a bit more immersive thanks to that seating position, too. While it's had the odd niggle, the comfort and convenience of the design are all top notch. But with those niggles, and that price? I feel like it could and should deliver just a little bit more.

There are 11 cultists in front of me, and only one round in my sniper rifle. Not that I need any more to near-instantly clear out entire compounds in this game of supernatural executions and flawlessly executed plans. My primary goal—as an ex-cult-member out for revenge—is to kill scores of anonymous cultists across stark, grungy levels until I can finally take out their leader. All I need is my rifle, one bullet and—oh yes—my telekinetic powers.

Planning is at the heart of Children of the Sun, as you first scout out each level by finding and tagging all the enemies, Far-Cry-style. There’s no stealth element, however, as you’re not actually moving around the level itself but running rings around its perimeter, from a place of safety. Instead, it’s your bullet that gets its, er, casing dirty, as it pings from enemy to enemy in the guts of the level. You have the telekinetic ability to move the bullet after it’s been shot, and the main way you’ll be taking advantage of this is by flinging it from one exploded head to another.

But the order in which you kill enemies is vitally important. It’s the difference between failing the stage or clearing it—and getting your username out of the bowels of the leaderboards. So, who do you shoot first? And where are you going to ride the bullet from there? After you’ve initially fired the gun, you can only see what the bullet sees, so it’s very easy to get into a position where there are no enemies in sight for you to leap to. Miss at any point and you’ll have to restart the level, though mercifully enemies you've tagged stay tagged even when you fail.

As you may have guessed, there’s a heavy puzzle element to Children of the Sun, although certain abilities—and more resilient enemies—gradually dial up the amount of skill required to put your plans into action. The first power you acquire is to steer the bullet mid-flight—only a little, but enough to swerve around obstacles, or to make sure you’re hitting vital enemy weak spots. Thankfully, this power also slows down time, so you won’t need killer reflexes to execute these perfect shots.

The second ability, Re-Aim, sets an entirely new trajectory for the bullet, essentially letting you do a U-turn in mid-air. This extremely useful power needs to be charged up before use, by shooting two enemy weak spots (usually their heads), although up to three charges can be stored for later use. Combine these two handy powers with the final one—Power Shot, which lets you kill armoured enemies by ramping up the bullet speed—and later levels make you feel like a telekinetic god.

Here’s an example from a late-game stage: a graveyard punctuated by floating debris. Having decided on my first enemy, I perform a Power Shot to rip through his armour, then whip around and shoot his mate (hiding behind a riot shield) in his now unprotected head. The third man in this group, fleeing for dear life, is soon relieved of his noggin, giving me a charged Re-Aim I can use to defeat a psychic on the opposite side of the graveyard. His psychic shield will deflect my bullet, but it takes a little time to recharge, giving me the chance, if I’m quick enough, to do a U-turn and snipe him in his briefly vulnerable head.

It looks amazing, and it often feels amazing—the result of minutes of repeated practice—and it’s less than half the cool manoeuvres I need to perform to finish the level. This final try, after I had perfected the process, must have taken me under a minute—time being one of the factors that determines your score at the end of each stage.

Snipe dream

That god-like feeling quickly crumbles when you look at the leaderboard and see your name at 557th place, but this is a game meant to be played multiple times (you can replay completed levels in any order). You can also start a level from anywhere—from anyone, I should say—and usually make it work, although more powerful enemies have certain criteria that need to be met first.

Begin the stage from the opposite side and you may discover a parked car that you can explode and use as a stepping stone, or a flying bird you can leap to for a new perspective on the scene. At times you feel like Corvo Attano, chaining awesome powers together in a Dishonored sandbox, although there is less flexibility here when things go wrong. It’s all too easy to reach a dead-end with no targets in sight, or to miss a weak spot by a couple of pixels and forfeit a Re-Aim that you need to finish the level.

It’s this inflexibility—the impossibility of thinking on your feet and recovering from fuck-ups—that makes it difficult to feel a sense of triumph when you do succeed. You’re following a plan, and you’ve finally achieved it through sometimes painful repetition. It’s not a sense of exhilaration so much as relief. Though that’s not to devalue the thrill of scouting out a level and testing your plans, before you set them in stone. 

The final level in particular is like a heist, as you pop heads to lower magical barriers and gradually make your way towards the heavily guarded leader. Here, everything you’ve learned builds to a crescendo: a moment of transcendent mastery, even if I was screaming at my laptop a lot of the time.

But where do you go from there? Where can you go, after mastering a game? You can master it better, improving your scores on the previous stages, but when half those stages feel like training grounds, I don’t feel terribly compelled to look backwards. This is a game crying out for challenge levels, more stages that give you your full suite of powers. Finishing it makes you feel like you're just getting started.