Where Did Atlas Fallen's Narrative Go Wrong?

Atlas Fallen was recently released, and anyone who has read my review will know that I was not thrilled by one specific part of the game: its narrative. While I genuinely enjoyed the gameplay, world, and co-op elements, the story, characters, and overall writing felt so wrong and off that I just couldn't like it; as a person who really loves lore, this is a pretty big deal for me.

I started discussing with my wife shortly after writing the review why I hated the story so much. There's the obvious reason that the characters feel bland and boring, and their quirks are forced. There's also the more obvious reason, which is that Atlas Fallen is gameplay-heavy, and should evidently not be judged by elements outside of that. But I felt that there was something more — after all, previous games have excelled and succeeded with less of an exciting premise; surely the problem couldn't be so clear cut. Where did Atlas Fallen go wrong in its narrative when others like God of War and Darksiders have gotten away with arguably less? That's what I'm hoping to answer today.

Naturally, one of the first arguments I'd make is that whilst violence-heavy tales and games focused solely on who could do the most badarse attack to their enemies was a viable strategy in the past, it is less so now. These gorey and brusque titles thrived in an era where Mortal Kombat sought to push the boundaries of gore and traumatise children (like my wife); these simpler times had games focus more on their gameplay because we had ways to get our fill of lore through other means. As the videogame industry grows, so does our expression of our "art form", where now we amalgamate gameplay and narrative tales.

But if you really look at the facts, it's hard to say that this is the case. Gameplay-heavy titles are a staple of the videogame industry and far predate narrative experiences. Even with today's standards, where some of the most highly praised titles come in the form of deep, emotional storytelling, games like ELDEN RING can earn the Game of the Year award against story-heavy competition, such as God of War Ragnarok. While our industry has grown to favour titles that encompass everything "necessary" (an important message, a touching narrative, and gratifying gameplay), there is still a place for more gameplay-oriented titles to thrive, in the form of It Takes Two, Resident Evil, and survival titles like Valheim and V Rising.

In the case of Atlas Fallen, its story is still a part of the game that is arguably more connected than even ELDEN RING's, as instead of being told through cryptic messaging, you are outright told about Thelos' tyrannical reign and your position as an Unnamed. The lore is built to stand out, and Deck13 doesn't discard it to the side in favour of focusing on its gameplay. Even through the dull characters and two-dimensional personalities, there is more there than if the game was a score attack or platformer (because let's be real: platformers seldom have a story to follow).

The second thought I had was that maybe it was because the lore and world are so unique that it leaves me yearning for a more focused experience. Few games are set in a magical world filled with sand and a Sun god that watches its subjects whilst devouring their Essence. The idea of demoting from an actual human to an Unnamed and this strange ideology of naming yourself after almost degrading things that boil you down to your mere actions incite a lore of revolution and inequality. Who doesn't love fighting for the underdog and watching them defeat a tyrannical oppressor? 

The lore that is present from the beginning sets a trajectory of rebellion and the uprising of a weaker force. From the very beginning, you are suffering oppression, even at the hands of other humans, before Thelos and their ever-gazing presence overwhelms you from the skies. The Unnamed that survived the sandstorm speak of rising against them, and shortly after receiving your gauntlet (and what would obviously set you as the new leader of the revolution), you disappear and go to focus on greater targets.

The pacing feels wrong and uncomfortable, and the behaviour of the characters feels disconnected from the narrative that is being presented — Atlas Fallen takes place in an apocalyptic world set in motion by a gluttonous god that seeks to fulfil their every desire. Perhaps you could even argue that antagonist lacks a clear motive aside from devouring Essence — Thelos is strictly evil, whilst the protagonist is set as the apparent saviour. Without a rebellion to care for due to a slew of faceless characters and a villain that feels almost too corrupt, perhaps the narrative was too on the nose.

But even despite all of this, I would argue that Atlas Fallen's failure from the narrative came from something even deeper inside — a part of the foundation of the game that set its story up for failure and something that is entirely unrelated. Instead, I think the issue comes from its gameplay elements and a lacking feeling from this modern-day hack-'n'-slash game that titles like God of War, Darksiders, Devil May Cry, and even Bayonetta have nailed.

One of my favourite elements of storytelling is when the developers masterfully incorporate narrative situations in gameplay disconnected from cinematics or dialogue sections. In my article where I talk about DEATHLOOP's narrative fitting into the gameplay, I touch a bit on how Arkane Studios manages to make the player partake in the story without even intending to. Videogames have slowly succeeded in ensuring that a story can be told without forcing the player to watch movies worth of cutscenes due to the various controversies that have followed the worst offenders (such as Baldur's Gate 3's absurd amount of cinematics and DEATH STRANDING's... well, everything), and it isn't something I'd say we mastered recently.

One of the main focuses of Atlas Fallen is to make you feel cool — your attacks, especially as you build up your Momentum, become flashy and powerful: you start showing borderline godlike traits in your abilities. After you have filled your bar and become an unstoppable force resembling a multi-armed deity of strength or swinging a hammer so large you could shake the world, you truly learn what power feels like. But, even when I was at my strongest, I felt weak — even when I swung attacks and hit enemies for chunks of their life, I didn't feel powerful enough. The lore never made me powerful enough.

Early in the game, it's established that the protagonist themself is not the source of the strength, but the gauntlet — Nyaal — isn't either. When the characters interact, the protagonist explicitly details that it isn't their doing, but Nyaal also is reluctant to take the credit for our actions; it felt almost disjointed and confusing — if not me, the protagonist, and not Nyaal, the weapon, who would be powerful enough to take down Thelos, an actual god?

I felt unwilling to call myself powerful because the narrative didn't want to give me that sort of agency — everything I was doing was part of the gauntlet, an entity or being completely disconnected from me. And while this may sound ridiculous, titles like God of War make a point to make the player feel powerful, immortal, even. Facing mythological creatures, deities, titans, and even fate itself, Kratos defeats everything in a powerscaling that feels comfortable, and a point is made that throughout it all, you are powerful.

Darksiders does a similar thing by giving you agency over one of the most destructive and powerful creatures in lore itself — the Horseman of War. When uttered, the title itself brings chills to your foes as you relentlessly defeat enemies of significant proportions and move on from one target to the other — your strength isn't in question. Bayonetta does the same by giving you a hair demon (which is somehow cool — sue me), and Devil May Cry doesn't skip a beat to give you incredible rock music and scores to your combos and skill to remind you: you are a force to be reckoned with.

This sense of strength is pivotal to the hack-'n'-slash genre. The narrative isn't told through words but the sheer destruction you leave in your wake and the enemies that quiver at your strength. While every other game mentioned in this article ensures that you are partaking in the narrative somehow, Atlas Fallen is reluctant to give you too much agency or power, instead opting to take the slow route of making you slowly "deserve" to lift gargantuan structures in a powerscaling that feels almost haphazard. After collecting three fragments of a gauntlet, you can suddenly move tons of steel without much struggle or issues to stop you; Nyaal makes a point to remind you at every turn of the corner that you are simply not ready (which gave me Illidan flashbacks, but that's beside the point). And even through all this, your character is a lowly Unnamed, unworthy of any significant title because your success is attributed to a gauntlet stuck to your arm that you just happened upon — you are not the chosen one nor a legend, you are just some random person. 

And somehow, through it all, you are supposed to usurp a god.