Diablo has an inherent quality that I would refer to as ‘clickiness’; that is, how satisfying it feels to click on hordes of pixelated hellspawn and watch them explode into sludgy, gooey flesh. It’s partly what makes the game so alluring, alongside the compulsion to grind for and hoard as much shiny loot as possible, all as fountains of gold erupt from every undead carcass. Then you haul all this loot back to town, sell it for more gold, and return to the bowels of hell once more. It’s a rhythm that has been perfectly refined over the past two decades.
There’s a reason this routine has become a genre now: it taps on our inclination for progression, customisation and accumulating as many treasured artefacts as possible. The giddy exhilaration of picking up a rare weapon after hours of farming is unmatched—some of these even go for real, actual money in Diablo 3’s auction house. And underpinning the Diablo formula is the sprawling skill tree and the ceaseless potential for customising your hero; no two heroes can be said to be exactly the same, even if they belong in the same class. You may allocate your stat points differently, or invest in a skill from an entirely different branch. The final step in this ritual—the one thing that makes Diablo so quintessentially Diablo—is the sense of depravity; it’s that of fallen angels, murderous demon lords and blood-thirsty butchers howling for your blood.
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Discarding the Judeo-Christian mythology of hellfire and brimstone is Ghostlore, a Diablo-like action RPG that seeks to replicate the same clickiness, the same rhythm, the same compulsion to collecting all the things, but with a twist: the game is infused with the
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