Hexen is harrowing. It's like looking into a dark pit and realizing the pit has no bottom. It's like realizing that somehow the ground gave way beneath you and you're suddenly tumbling into that infinite pitch black abyss below. It is the knowledge, the horrible, perfect knowledge, that darkness and fear is all your existence will be as you tumble forever in utter oblivion.
Do you remember Hexen? Do you remember its pixelated castle walls? Its mud-stained color palette and audio design by way of an abandoned dumpster? Do you remember the betrayal of a promise, a lie so deceitful Satan himself shook his head?
I had forgotten until last week. When over drinks with visiting family we broke out the old Nintendo 64 to nostalgically leaf through some games. We saw all the classics. GoldenEye with its multiplayer bliss. The surprising depth and competitiveness of Mario Golf. The adventurous exploration of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. Good times, treasured memories. But then, an ominous red cartridge caught our attention, a stranger in a box of familiar old friends. There was a moment of confusion, a face we could not place. But then, in a terrible shared collective rush we remembered Hexen, and the curse it placed upon our childhoods.
Of course we had to play it.
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