So I recently started playing Hollow Knight: Silksong. This is despite my deep-rooted aversion to difficult games of all types. For context, I never played Dark Souls, and I typically avoid the many so-called Soulslikes that seem to spring up like mushrooms every year.
The reality is that not everyone has the time, patience, or willpower needed to "git gud" as they say. And when you are someone like me who tends to ragequit during the tougher boss encounters in seemingly benign titles like Paper Mario: The Origami King, perhaps it is best to leave the punishment to those who actually welcome that sort of challenge.
But for some reason, I still found myself drawn to Silksong despite cautionary tales of how much harder than the first Hollow Knight it was. That increased difficulty shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone, though, considering the game was originally conceived as DLC meant for those craving more from what was already itself a very difficult game.
Except this is Hollow Knight: Silksong we are talking about here, one of the most anticipated and requested games in recent memory. There is no universe in which I wasn't at least going to try and see for myself what all that noise was about. So after much deliberation and second-guessing, I caved and gave in to FOMO.
And right off the jump, the game hits you with its uncompromising difficulty, so much so that I came this close to quitting and uninstalling it within my first hour of play time. But just when I thought I'd been slapped around more times than my fragile dignity would allow, the whole thing began to click.
Just like Neo at the end of The Matrix, I could finally see the tells and patterns of the enemy's attacks, and how I could best avoid them before dishing out attacks of my own. And therein lies the hook of the gameplay in Hollow Knight: Silksong, that perpetual dance between player and enemy that rewards both patience and super-sharp reflexes.
Speaking of enemies, there is no shortage of crazed bugs trying to bring our hero's journey to an end. But it is the various bosses that populate the kingdom of Pharloom that act as the true standouts. I've only faced a handful of them thus far, but each one I've managed to beat has proven to be as satisfactory as they were frustrating.
Another element of the game's difficulty worth mentioning is the platforming. This is a Metroidvania after all, so much of the gameplay involves moving between the various hallways and biomes scattered across Pharloom. Some of those areas can be borderline sadistic to traverse, compounded by the fact that dying to a boss or enemy along the way means you get sent back to the last checkpoint, which are few and far between.
I suppose such gripes come with the territory for anyone used to playing games of this ilk, but it is still worth mentioning. It would have been nice if the game could autosave before major boss encounters and platforming gauntlets, or if there was a more generous placement of benches, but this is not that type of game, apparently.
It is a good thing the world of Pharloom looks as good as it does, though, making those repeat treks through its hazards scenic ones. The whole thing is brought to life with some truly stunning hand-drawn art, paired with atmospheric fog, lighting, and other effects reminiscent of the ones employed in Playdead's Limbo and Inside.
The same attention to detail extends to the music and sound design. I especially love the gibberish language spoken in Pharloom, as it lends the many characters you meet along your journey an undeniable charm. It is all these things that ultimately make Hollow Knight: Silksong worth sticking with, if only to discover more of its beautiful world and the pilgrims populating it.
It is not often that a game forces me to question my preconceived notions about entire genres. In retrospect, perhaps I was simply too harsh on games like Elden Ring and Sifu for their baked-in difficulties. And while I don't know if I'll eventually succeed in helping Hornet scale up to the heights of the Citadel, I'll keep trying and hold off on hitting that uninstall button, assuming, of course, that frustration doesn't finally get the best of me.
