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I remember the first time I fired up God of War Ragnarok, thinking my experience with the previous title would carry me through. Boy, was I wrong. The combat system, while visually spectacular, presented this peculiar rhythm that kept tripping me up—especially that deceptively simple attack indicator. That little on-screen arrow switching from yellow to red became my personal nemesis. In the heat of battle, with multiple enemies swarming and spectacular effects lighting up the screen, I found myself losing track of it constantly. The timing felt just slightly off, not enough to pinpoint exactly what was wrong, but sufficient to leave me frustrated as attacks landed from behind that I swore I should have dodged.

What starts as a minor annoyance in the early game evolves into a genuine threat as you progress. Around the halfway mark, enemies gain this brutal ability to stunlock you, and that's where the indicator issue transforms from inconvenience to game-changing flaw. I recall one particular encounter where a single Draugr's backstab opened me up to a coordinated assault from three others, draining my health bar from full to zero in what felt like under two seconds. These moments didn't feel like skill issues—I've platinumed the previous God of War and consider myself above average in action games. Instead, they created this disconnect where Kratos wouldn't respond as I intended, as if the game and I were slightly out of sync.

The stakes become particularly high when you consider Ragnarok's equivalent to the Valkyrie fights—those brutal optional bosses that test everything you've learned. Having conquered all eight Valkyries plus Sigrun in the previous game, I approached these new challenges with confidence, only to be humbled repeatedly. The margin for error in these encounters is razor-thin—we're talking maybe two or three frames for perfect dodges—and that unreliable back-attack indicator often meant the difference between victory and watching Kratos get brutally dismantled. I'd estimate I died over forty times to one particular optional boss, and at least fifteen of those deaths came from misreading attacks from behind.

Thankfully, Santa Monica Studio implemented some quality-of-life improvements that partially compensate for these combat quirks. The checkpoint system during major boss fights is noticeably more generous than in the previous installment. During my playthrough, I noticed the game would typically save progress after each health bar segment in major encounters—usually about every twenty-five percent damage dealt. This meant that when I inevitably died to that frustrating attack pattern, I wouldn't have to repeat entire phases I'd already mastered. It's a subtle change, but one that preserved my sanity during some of the more demanding sequences.

Where Ragnarok truly shines compared to its predecessor is in your companion AI. Atreus has evolved from a helpful sidekick to a genuine combat partner who actively alters the flow of battle. I lost count of how many times his intervention saved me from what would have been a fatal blow. His arrow shots, whether commanded or autonomous, consistently disrupted enemy attacks at critical moments. Mimir's callouts too became an essential audio cue that complemented the sometimes problematic visual indicators. There were numerous instances where I dodged an attack based solely on Mimir's "Behind you!" warning when the on-screen indicator had gotten lost in the visual noise.

The combat system creates this interesting dichotomy—on one hand, you have these moments of pure gaming brilliance where every dodge, parry, and attack flows together beautifully. On the other, you have these frustration points where the mechanics seem to work against player intuition. I found myself loving the game despite its flaws, perhaps even developing a strange appreciation for the very elements that occasionally infuriated me. It's like a demanding mentor—unforgiving at times, but pushing you to improve in ways you didn't anticipate.

Having now completed the main story and about eighty percent of the optional content, I've developed workarounds for the indicator issue. I found myself relying more on audio cues and developing a kind of sixth sense for when attacks were coming from off-screen. My dodging success rate improved from maybe sixty percent in the early game to around eighty-five percent by the end, though that final fifteen percent never felt entirely within my control. The game demands that you adapt not just to enemy patterns, but to its particular mechanical idiosyncrasies.

What fascinates me most about Ragnarok's combat is how it manages to be simultaneously more polished and more frustrating than its predecessor. The improvements to companion AI and checkpointing show a developer listening to feedback, while the persistent issues with attack indicators suggest some design philosophies remained unchanged despite potential drawbacks. It creates this unique identity—a game that doesn't hold your hand, for better or worse. I've come to respect its stubborn commitment to a particular vision, even as I cursed it for those cheap-seeming deaths. In the end, the triumphs felt earned precisely because the path to victory was littered with frustrations I had to systematically overcome through adaptation rather than pure skill alone.