Walking down the street to check the mail at my hometown’s post office is an eerily different journey today than it was a year ago. I still pass the local pizza joint on the town square—a literal cornerstone of a small town community—but time has changed more than just ourselves. Despite the marks near the building’s roof acting as a reminder of its survival from the fire years before, the restaurant is still there, but not really. It’s hollowed out. Empty. It’s closed, for good, thrown to the void of to-be-forgotten establishments from before the pandemic.
As I walk by, memories of being a kid in that restaurant come flooding back: playing Dig Dug and Streets of Rage and some random bowling game with a physical ball to spin that controlled the virtual ball on-screen. Head down, wandering forward and lost in thought, I watched the sidewalk pass me by—square by square—and found myself thinking about Loop Hero.
On its face, Loop Hero is a curious amalgamation. Tower defense mechanics fuse naturally into a roguelite framework with a deck-building aspect, and if that sounds like a lot of bullshit, it’s because it is. At some point, diluting a game down to the cogs that construct it removes its identity as much as it informs it. Loop Hero is so much more than the sum of its parts, and its story ties together a patchwork only possible in the video game medium.
Plunging the depths of Loop Hero’s lore wasn’t only worth my time—it gave me my sense of time back.
Source: Destructoid Loop Hero’s best trait is its lore