2024 is shaping up to be the year of backlog clearance for me, and I've finally reached the God of War step in that ever-growing process. As a huge lover of Nordic viking aesthetics as seen in Hellblade 2 and Assassin's Creed Valhalla, I knew that I'd adore walking the path of the gods with Kratos and Atreus.
But if there's one thing I wasn't expecting, it's that playing God of War right in the middle of my first ever Cyberpunk 2077 run would expose the best of each game's genre. The focused linearity of Santa Monica's action-adventure couldn't be further from the RPG sprawl of Night City, and the change hit me harder than one of Kratos' axes.
Off the corpo grind
It's taken me 84 hours across two and a half months to reach an important crossroads in Cyberpunk. Point-of-no-return mission Nocturne OP55N1 has been sitting in my quest log for days now, and try as I might, I can't find much else to do in Night City besides. A cursory Google search tells me that this is the grand finale, leading to the most vanilla ending of the game. But before I meet Hanako at Embers, there's a huge swathe of the city's south side that still needs my attention. With everything I've heard about Dogtown and all that the Phantom Liberty DLC has to offer, though, something made me hit the brakes before ramming Johnny's Porsche into Barghest territory at full speed.
Maybe it's the desire to take stock of everything V has been through up until this point. Maybe it's the frustrating fact that one wrong dialogue choice during a certain side quest means I've locked myself out of Johnny's secret Cyberpunk ending. Or maybe it's that pesky RPG burnout catching up with me at long last, threatening Cyberpunk with the same cruel fate that befell Dragon's Dogma 2 (hint: I never finished it, and decided instead to blow the whole thing sky high.) Whatever made me let go of the throttle, this moment of pause has given me an opportunity to finally play one of the best PS4 games that finally made the jump to PC last year.
I'm talking about a little game called God of War, and it's everything that Cyberpunk is not. Trading high-tech futurism and gadgets for snow-capped mountains teeming with flowers, foes, and Nordic folklore is enough to give anyone culture shock, but the thing I'm finding most refreshing? It's comparative simplicity. Just five hours into God of War, I'm welcoming the fists-first approach to Kratos' combat encounters. No quickhacks, overpowered revolvers, or Tier 5 crafting components can save me now as I tear through the icy heart of Midgard – and I'm loving every second.
Taking a break from a jam-packed RPG to experience a tighter, narrative-driven adventure feels like taking a sip of McDonald's sprite after a long night of chugging red wine. God of War is not as rich, heavy, or mechanically dense as Cyberpunk – not for now, at least – but its sharp, cooling waters feel like a total palate cleanser. Instead of fast traveling from Kabuki to the Badlands on the tail of a cyberpsycho, I'm parsing thoughtful environmental puzzles. Instead of agonizing over dialogue choices, I'm watching Kratos struggle between his role as a father and his duty as an authoritarian. The stark differences between the two games, from setting to combat encounters and beyond, mean that I'm not likely to get the controls confused – which is something I struggle with whenever I try to take on more than one beefy game at a time.
I'm not sure I would have the same appreciation for the linearity of God of War had I not picked it up at such a crucial point in my Cyberpunk 2077 career. Comparing and contrasting the two games is not robbing me of either experience, but illuminating their respective strengths. It feels like a celebration of the best RPGs and the best adventure games side by side, even if those values stand in opposition to each other. This just means I'll have to add God of War Ragnarok to said growing backlog list with even greater urgency – though, perhaps spliced somewhere in the middle of Avowed.
There are plenty of games like Cyberpunk 2077 to sink into next.
