It's a comeback for the ages. Well, almost. I'm standing at one end of a roofed wooden walkway in the grounds of a magnificent Buddhist monastery, health bar chiselled down to a stub, the sunset blazing at my elbow. That walkway is fast becoming notorious in For Honor's fledgling PvP community: it's all too easy, here, for a less civilised player to crash through your defences and shove you off the edge.
On the plus side, my adversary doesn't appear to be one of the latter. On the down side, my adversary is a Nobushi, a Samurai class equipped with a bladed spear whose basic tactic is to lacerate you with rapid, merciless prods, then retreat smugly while you bleed out - very effective indeed in a narrow environment. I'm playing an Orochi, a fencer who excels at rapid counterattacks and darting footwork. Or at least, that's the idea. What I'm mostly excelling at right now is getting poked in the kidneys whenever I try to close in.
Among the things I suspect fighting game AI will never, ever capture are those moments when desperate players tap into unsuspected reservoirs of skill. In this case, it isn't so much a question of desperation as pride. What, was I going to let this broomhandle-wielding oaf polish me off with a status effect? Me, the very flower of bushido? I lurch forward suddenly like a drunk going in for a hug. The Nobushi retaliates with another flurry of jabs, but rather than trying to block I veer into them, my katana catching the point of the spear elegantly and guiding it over my head. An opening!
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