playtime withdrawal maintenance

The first time I opened God of War Ragnarok, I felt an immediate sense of homecoming. That’s the beauty of a sequel that understands what made its predecessor work—it welcomes you back without demanding you relearn everything from scratch. When it comes to confronting Kratos and Atreus’s enemies on the battlefield, God of War Ragnarok doesn’t make any drastic departures from the previous game, though there are some new additions and expansions made to key mechanics. Fundamentally, however, the core gameplay remains the same, and this is in its favor. My familiarity with the previous game meant it was very easy to begin tearing my way through the battlefield, and the close camera angle offers a dramatic front-row seat to the brutality Kratos’s legendary reputation is built upon.

I remember jumping straight into a skirmish with a pack of draugr within minutes. The Leviathan Axe felt just as weighty and responsive as I remembered—maybe even a little sharper. There’s something deeply satisfying about recalling muscle memory from dozens of hours in the 2018 installment and applying it seamlessly here. I didn’t have to pause and dig through tutorials. I was dodging, parrying, and executing runic attacks almost instinctively. That’s not to say everything is identical. For instance, the shield mechanics have been expanded. Now there are at least three distinct types, each altering your defensive and offensive options. I spent a good 45 minutes in Svartalfheim just testing one that allows you to absorb and redirect energy—a small but meaningful evolution.

What truly stood out, though, was how these subtle changes didn’t disrupt the rhythm. The combat flow is still relentless, intimate, and deeply personal. That close-over-the-shoulder perspective pulls you right into the chaos. Every crunch of bone, every spray of frost or fire, feels visceral. I’ve played roughly 25 hours so far, and I’d estimate around 60% of that has been combat—and it hasn’t gotten old. There’s a raw elegance to how Kratos moves, a brutality that’s been refined but not sanitized. You feel every hit. You sense the impact. It’s gruesome, yes, but it’s also art.

I’ll be honest—I was a little worried they might overhaul the system to chase trends. You see that a lot in sequels: unnecessary reinvention that alienates the existing fanbase. But here, the developers trusted their original vision. They added rather than replaced. Atreus, for example, has more autonomy and a broader arsenal of supporting attacks. His arcane arrows can now inflict different status effects, and I found myself relying on them heavily during boss fights. One particular encounter against a towering frost troll in Vanaheim took me four attempts. On the final try, it was Atreus’s sonic arrow that created the opening I needed. Moments like that make the partnership between father and son feel more dynamic, more alive.

And the enemies—they’re smarter. More aggressive. I noticed early on that weaker foes now coordinate better. On two separate occasions, I was flanked by hel-raised warriors while distracted by a heavier opponent. It forced me to adapt, to use the environment. Throwing my axe to freeze one, then cleaving through another with the Blades of Chaos… it never gets old. The balance between strategy and spectacle is near perfect. I’d argue the dodge timing is slightly tighter this time—maybe by 0.2 seconds—which gives fights a sharper edge. It’s small tweaks like these that keep you on your toes.

Of course, no system is flawless. I did feel a little overpowered at times. By the 15-hour mark, I had unlocked four runic attacks for each weapon, and some combinations felt almost too effective. There’s one where you summon a storm of icy spikes—it clears smaller enemies in seconds. It’s glorious, don’t get me wrong, but it can trivialize certain encounters. Then again, maybe that’s the power fantasy at work. You’re meant to feel like a god, after all.

What I admire most is how the game layers complexity without clutter. New mechanics are introduced gradually. By the time I reached Alfheim, I was juggling elemental infusions, companion commands, and relic activations—all without feeling overwhelmed. It’s a masterclass in pacing. Even the skill trees, which now include over 90 unique upgrades, feel intuitive. I leaned heavily into strength and runic builds, and by level 6, Kratos was hitting for around 350 damage per heavy axe throw. Numbers like that make progression tangible and deeply rewarding.

I’ve played my share of action RPGs—from Dark Souls to Devil May Cry—and what sets Ragnarok apart is its commitment to tactile, grounded violence. It doesn’t float into abstraction. Every system serves the fantasy of being Kratos. Whether you’re recalling your axe with that satisfying thwack or igniting the blades with a gritty roar, the connection between input and outcome is seamless. It’s responsive. It’s crunchy. It’s everything I wanted.

In the end, returning to the Nine Realms didn’t feel like starting over. It felt like coming back to a world that had grown with me. The combat, at its heart, is the same brutal ballet I fell in love with years ago—just with more instruments in the orchestra. For veterans of the series, that’s the real gift. You already know the steps. Now you get to dance better, smarter, and with more fire. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.