Why Diablo 3 can feel like a kick in the nuts.
Last week, hundreds embraced their inner nerds, as Diablo 3 was released and they learned the meaning of error 37. But nothing was going to stop hundreds of determined gamers banging on the gates of hell from fulfilling their destiny. Not even a proverbial kick in the nuts. And they came prepared.
They were prepared to give up their lives. Whatever little of it they had. But it seemed that there was no end, such was the all-consuming nature of the hells of Sanctuary. The more zombies they killed, the more kept turning up at work the next day. It was an unstoppable tide. And they were horrible to look at. With dark eye rings and bloodshot eyes, at times it seemed like they had spent too much time witnessing the horrors of hell, where foul demons spawned from every corner. Some of them even drooled, the definitive sign of a gradual loss in sanity.
The sheer horrors of work held little sway for such people, who had faced death at every corner. Compared to demons wielding huge axes, what was a paper cut? Just a flesh wound! Boss screaming at you? Pussy. Have you seen the INFERNAL roar that Belial makes when he starts throwing green meteors at you? Or so they said. Never mind that you have no idea who the fuck was Belial. Like really, who the fuck is Belial?
You would have sworn it was a new girlfriend, just that it was a pretty iffy name for one, and demon slayers don't have time for girlfriends.
At moments, it seemed that the corruption pervaded everything. People went insane and started babbling in an incomprehensible language. Where they were once understood by friends and colleagues, they now spoke a new indecipherable tongue consisting of words like "dps" and "stats".
You were sure they were speaking English because they never demonstrated a keen interest to speak anything else, but somehow you could never get a word of it. It was much like the babble of the crazed, but somehow the other crazies got them too. And the more they talked the more animated they got. You could almost feel the excitement, the building tension that mounted as they watched the clock at work ticking down and inched ever closer to... this.
For a gate to hell, it looks pretty... blah
And at last, liberated, they were set loose on the fields of Hell. And on and on they went. Hacking slashing and cursing their way through waves of animated sprites, ignoring the repeated calls of mothers to eat dinners. They drank in the blood of the fallen gaining sustenance from it, much like the vampiric mobs they were oathbound to slay, the oath being forged when they put down the money to buy a one way ticket into a chronological abyss.
Feel the wrath of Ytar! No, don't ask me to explain who is Ytar.
Just so you know, the market value of a young guy's life now is about $79.90. Don't ask me how it got so cheap. I never thought that it would ever sink so low, but it did.