Emaculate “Bingo King” Misconception

Most deserving of a 1 star review I have ever given in my entire life. I regret every second, every glance, and every touch of my controller that brought me into the dreadful experience known as Assassins Creed: Mirage. Having immersed myself in the enrapturing world of AC: Valhalla for over 1000 hours, a game that held my attention with the intensity of a vice grip, Mirage felt like a slap in the face. A disgrace. The graphics, oh lord, the graphics. How does one regress from the visually stunning landscapes and intricate details of Valhalla to this travesty? Mirage is a visual nightmare, each scene a visceral reminder of the glory we once had and lost. Navigating the skill tree, a task I once considered an art form, is now a journey into the abyss of mediocrity. It’s so uninspired and vacant, I was convinced it was a glitch or a cruel joke devised by some sadist at Ubisoft. Every upgrade, a painful reminder of the depth and intricacy that now seems like a distant dream. Seven hours. That’s all it took to conquer this so-called “epic” - a time frame laughably short for someone with my insatiable appetite for side quests and an ADHD that makes focus a fleeting friend. The desolation of the game’s environment mirrors the emptiness of its substance. A wasteland. A barren stretch of nothingness that rivals the desolation of Baghdad. The protagonist, a headless chicken in human guise, scurries around a map so minuscule, it makes Valhalla’s Dublin look like a universe. Fishing, the delightful pastime? Annihilated. The regal experience of reigning, expanding, and raiding as a king? Eradicated. Every hallmark of the grandeur that made Valhalla a masterpiece is conspicuously absent. Ubisoft, this is an unforgivable sin. You've lost a loyal subject. Your kingdom of gamers deserved a successor worthy of the throne, not this aberration that stinks of betrayal. And to the community, the cult that bemoans the majesty of Valhalla and embraces this catastrophe – you're a fellowship more tragic than FIFA’s most zealous. The depth of Valhalla, lost in the echoes of its glory, remains a painful reminder of the heights we've plummeted from. Mirage is not just a game. It’s a eulogy to the death of a legacy, an epitaph inscribed with the tragic tale of splendor lost and mediocrity gained. I am beyond disgusted. The animus is not just a device in the game – it’s what I feel, deep and scorching, for every pixel of this catastrophe. Farewell, Ubisoft. Our paths shall never cross again.