Shadow of the Colossus – A Love Letter to Empty Fields and Therapy Bills

“Shadow of the Colossus” is often hailed as a masterpiece, which is gamer shorthand for: nothing happens for long stretches, but you feel guilty if you admit you’re bored. It’s a game where the main activity is galloping across endless fields on your horse, Agro, who, let’s be honest, is the real protagonist. You, the alleged hero, spend most of your time screaming “AGROOO!” like a medieval Uber rider whose app keeps glitching.

The story is simple: boy wants girl back. God, or demon, or maybe a vengeful HOA manager, says, “Sure, but kill sixteen majestic stone titans who were just minding their business.” You agree instantly, because the video game logic of “murder everything beautiful” is stronger than your moral compass. Each colossus fight is an awe-inspiring puzzle-boss battle where you climb a moving skyscraper made of fur, stab it repeatedly in its glowing weak spot, and then feel immediate remorse as sad violins play over its corpse. It’s basically Pokémon if Ash developed a drinking problem.

The art direction? Gorgeous. The landscapes? Haunting. The emotional impact? Crushing, mostly because you realize you’ve willingly signed up for a genocide simulator where the victims look like architectural wonders designed by a depressed god. By the end, you don’t feel like a hero, you feel like an exterminator for the sublime.

And yet, somehow, this is gaming at its finest. Because in between the guilt, the loneliness, and the existential questioning of whether you’re the villain (spoiler: you are), you’ll admit it’s one of the most unforgettable experiences you’ll ever play. It’s less a game and more an interactive depression painting.

Final verdict: 10/10, would stab a skyscraper again.

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