If you're reading this hoping I’ll explain what makes God of War (2018) a masterclass in game design, narrative, and emotional suppression, you’re in the right place. But make no mistake—this is not a technical breakdown. This is a retrospective written by someone who willingly spent 40 hours being emotionally dragged through mythological trauma while getting repeatedly stomped on by winged death goddesses… and called them Mommy every time.

The Setup: Playing the Prequel Last Like an Absolute Menace

Let’s get this out of the way: I played God of War: Ragnarok first. Yes, I reversed the natural order of things. Yes, it messed with my expectations, my button reflexes, and my understanding of who’s currently dead, betrayed, or fuming. But you know what? That only made this game more delicious. I walked into this one knowing some things—like that Freya would eventually want to eviscerate me and that Mimir had a whole neck once—but how we got there? That was the meal.

So, here I am, playing God of War (2018) in 2025 like a time traveller trying to blend in. I’ve got partial memory of the mechanics, vague foreshadowing of deaths that haven’t happened yet, and the emotional range of someone who knows this dad is eventually going to cry, but right now? He just grunts at his child like a stoic boulder of parental guilt.

And I loved it.

Time Spent: Roughly 40 Hours and One Gently Crushed Soul

I’m currently sitting at 39 hours, with one final hurdle: those damn Valkyries. I’ve saved the absolute worst for last. These winged nightmares demand precision, patience, and at least two brain cells more than I’ve got. I fully intend to get the platinum trophy, but not without whining about it and being publicly humiliated by winged women in elaborate armour. Which, honestly, is the exact brand of shame this game thrives on.

Gameplay: Damp Flannel Brain, Cooldown Buttons, and Godlike Vibes

Combat in God of War (2018) is as satisfying as ever, especially if you, like me, are a lazy gremlin who refuses to learn combos. Parry, light attack, panic roll, cooldown—repeat. That’s the loop. And it works! There’s a kind of beauty in being wildly under-qualified for complex combat systems but still managing to pulverise everything in your path through sheer stubbornness and timely cooldown spamming.

The kill animations are still one of the biggest joys. That moment of slow-motion brutality? Like a grim little reward for having eyes and decent timing. It still hits the spot—even more so when you’ve scraped through a boss fight with 3HP and a prayer.

Story: Parenting, Grief, and Decapitating Men for Wisdom

The narrative holds up spectacularly even knowing how it all ends. In fact, there’s something satisfying about watching the threads form before they fray in Ragnarok. You see Freya as a powerful, hopeful woman before Odin absolutely decimates her emotional landscape. You see how Mimir ends up as a handbag accessory, and you begin to understand why Kratos is so emotionally constipated.

What God of War (2018) does so well is take a man we’re used to seeing as a rage-fuelled killing machine and places him into the most terrifying role possible: a single father with no idea how to talk about feelings. You watch him fumble his way through grief, parenthood, and an apocalyptic to-do list, all while trying very hard not to call his son “boy” with too much emotional inflection.

And let’s talk about Atreus. Baby Atreus. The sass levels. The entitlement. The moment he finds out he’s a god and turns into a smug little horror? I almost dropped the controller. Absolutely believable behaviour from a tween with delusions of grandeur and a bow.

Mythology: A Greek in Norse Clothing

Blending Greek and Norse myth without making it feel gimmicky is a tall order—and yet here it is, seamless. Kratos doesn’t belong in this world, and the game doesn’t pretend he does. He doesn’t fit—and that tension is exactly what makes the world feel so lived in. It’s the story of a man who left his entire mythology behind, but it still clings to him like ash and blood and regret.

The poetic licensing with the Norse canon is done well. Odin, the toxic narcissist. Freya, bound by loss. Baldur, a beautifully tragic little prick. It’s not textbook mythology, but it feels true—and that’s more important.

The World: The Lake of Nine, Puzzles, and Getting Lost on Purpose

Wandering around the Lake of Nine pre-Ragnarok is a spiritual experience. It’s not just a central hub—it’s a mood. The verticality, the way the water level changes to reveal new paths, the sheer size of it. Alfheim, Niflheim, Muspelheim—each recognisable, each different enough to feel like you’ve been dropped into a new chapter of myth.

The puzzles in this game? Honestly more challenging than I expected, and I was thrilled. I love a good “How the hell do I reach that chest?” moment, followed by 20 minutes of jumping, swinging, swearing, and finally discovering I needed to stand slightly to the left. Glorious.

Exploration never felt hollow. There was always something—a chest, a lore marker, a new enemy. Even when I was lost, I didn’t feel like I’d wasted my time. And that’s rare.

Pacing: No Drag, Just Drive

This game moves. From the moment you push your wife’s ashes into a cloth pouch to the moment you punch the final boss into emotional clarity, the story keeps driving forward. Even after the main plot wraps, there’s more to do. More lore. More fights. More gear. More stompy women demanding respect and offering only ruin.

Sure, the platinum grind slows things down, but I do it because I want to—not because the game forces me. That’s the difference. Completionism feels like a satisfying side quest rather than a chore someone left on your desk at 5pm on a Friday.

Visuals & Sound: Godlike in Every Way

Visually, the game is stunning. The world is richly textured, the skies feel impossibly big, and the realms feel like something between a saga and a hallucination. The architecture is a gorgeous mix of grounded Nordic roughness and mythological flourish. You believe in these places. You want to stay in them.

The voice acting? Superb. Kratos is still monosyllabic and emotionally repressed, but every grunt carries weight. Atreus is brilliantly voiced—vulnerable, bratty, believable. And the soundtrack? Oh, that soundtrack. It’s not just music. It’s atmosphere. It’s the sound of ancestral grief and celestial violence. It does something to your chest.

Minor Gripes and Guilty Pleasures

I don’t have many complaints, but I will say this: those ravens? They can piss off. Odin’s avian surveillance drones are hard to spot, irritating to aim at, and make the completionist part of my soul cry out in frustration.

Also, the Valkyries. Terrifying. Brutal. Unfair. Obsessed. I don’t know what it says about me that being repeatedly stomped on by immortal warrior women was a highlight, but here we are. They are everything I aspire to be and everything I fear at once.

Final Thoughts: Play It. But in the Right Order, You Fool.

God of War (2018) is a triumph of tone, balance, and dad-shaped emotional damage. It’s not just about gods and monsters—it’s about learning to speak again after years of silence. It’s about parenting when you’ve barely survived yourself. It’s about rage, grief, and figuring out how to break a cycle you were born to repeat.

I recommend it wholeheartedly—but please, for your own good, play it before Ragnarok. Your fingers will thank you, your understanding of the story will thank you, and you won’t spend 10 hours wondering why your buttons aren’t doing what they used to.

⚖️ Rating: 9/10 Daddy Issues. Would Grunt Softly Again.

Whether you’re here for the myth, the murder, or the melancholy, this game delivers. And if you’re here for the Valkyries? Bring bandages. And respect.

So, you’ve read the review, now it’s time to wield the Leviathan Axe yourself.
Don’t just take my word for it—grab God of War (2018) and prepare to deal with gods, monsters, and a lot of emotional baggage.**
Get your copy now and start your own father-son therapy session.

💬 Over to You:

Have you played God of War (2018)? Did the Valkyries also emotionally ruin you? Were you also weirdly into it? Drop a comment and let me know—because pain shared is pain halved… unless you’re Kratos. In which case, just grunt twice and walk off into the snow.

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