If you haven’t gotten the memo yet, I’ve been balls-deep into Diablo 3 for weeks now. If you’re one of the few people who has never played a Diablo game – I dunno, maybe you grew up Mormon or Amish or something, or you’re 12 years old (that’s about my demographic anyway) – one of the greatest things about Diablo is its infinite replayability. Not only is each and every level randomized every time you start up a game, once you finish the game the first time through you unlock the ability to keep your character’s level and inventory and access progressively harder levels of difficulty; finish it on Normal, and you unlock Nightmare. Put Nightmare to bed, and you’ve got Hell to contend with. Finally – and I don’t know if I’m ever going to get to it – if you make Hell your bitch, you unlock Inferno.
I died maybe five times on Normal mode during my first playthrough. Three of those deaths were on Belial, the Ragnaros-clone that slaps your shit at the end of Act 2. The rest was pretty damn easy, especially if you keep on top of your gear and manage your skills right. Nightmare was a nice bump up, and I would die here and there, but I only really got frustrated once or twice on my way through – I put it to bed yesterday afternoon, finally glad to get to the real nitty-gritty: Hell mode.
Holy fuck my ass is sore.
The majority of the difficulty from going through the game once more in Hell mode originates not from jacked up damage and health on normal enemies. Instead, Blizzard’s developers have decided to turn their rare and unique monsters that randomly appear in each level into towering engines of rape, loading them up with the kinds of abilities that make you howl in disbelief as they descend upon you with their massive, ichor-dripping dog dicks just waiting for a chance to turn you into a well-perforated corpse.
I have died more in Act 1 of Hell mode than I’ve died in total working my way through the first two difficulty levels. Sure, the gear that’s dropping is consisting of almost all upgrades, but when it takes me twenty minutes to kill Chucklefuck the Vile, a golden animated skeleton that has the ability to desecrate the ground under his feet, turn any damage it deals into health for itself, and freeze you in your tracks, all while it leads a pack of invulnerable minions that have extra health and are skilled in the art of creating illusory doubles of themselves, I begin to wonder if I’m ever going to find a way to survive to get into Act 2, much less into Inferno mode.
I don’t know, maybe I’m getting older. My videogame skills may be starting to atrophy; I thought maybe I was just tired but it seems to be a theme more often than not. Or maybe I’m just burnt out from main tanking through vanilla WoW and its first two expansions and I’m permanently broken when it comes to challenge, and I need to transition from “twitch” games to more slower-paced stuff. The thought of that is depressing; I really don’t want to have to go find a copy of BattleChess 4000 because it’s the only thing I can deal with in my old age.
Still, in the spirit of yesterday’s post, I’m not going to give up. It might make me go grey even faster, but I’m going to get my ass in gear, get my shit together, and get into Inferno mode. I don’t know how long it’s going to take, and I may need to start taking blood pressure pills, but I’ll do it, goddammit – even with Corpsefucker the Swift, the Enchanted Jailer Mortar Teleporter, breathing down my neck and smearing me into a pulpy mass all over the floor of the Tristram Cathedral for a few days.
Because fuck entropy, that’s why.