Recent reviews by Ye's Divine Disciple

At its core, Felvidek is about a man learning how to love again — not because he is loved, but because love is the right thing to do. Pavol’s journey to find his wife Paula, who left him due to his worsening condition, is less about reunion and more about restoration — not of a marriage, but of the soul. His tireless pursuit, even in the face of rejection, mirrors the call in Romans 12:21 to “overcome evil with good.” When, at the game’s end, Paula finally tells Pavol she still does not love him, his response is not bitterness or rage, but peace. He accepts the truth with grace, and it is in this moment that Pavol becomes most Christ-like: he loves without expecting anything in return.

Throughout the game, Pavol meets a cast of fascinating characters — peasants, soldiers, mystics, and fools — each of whom helps him chip away at the bottle and find his true self beneath the scars. His growth is subtle and slow, marked not by grand transformations, but by small moments of clarity and kindness. He begins to drink less, to think more, and to listen. He begins to hope again.

As he journeys across a Slovakia scorched by Hussite rage and Ottoman terror, Pavol is continually faced with choices that test his character. And yet, time and time again, he shows humility and courage. He stands up for the weak. He offers his service to those who mock him. He helps people who will never repay him. In a world full of hatred, he begins to preach love — not with eloquence, but through action. He becomes, in an unlikely way, a preacher of the Gospel, not with sermons, but with a life slowly transformed by grace.

One of the most powerful Christian messages of Felvidek is the idea of carrying one’s cross with a smile. Pavol, for all his sarcasm and stumbling, does exactly that. He never escapes his pain — the trauma, the loss, and the disappointment stay with him — but he chooses to carry them with dignity. This echoes the words of James 1:2-4, which urges believers to “consider it pure joy... whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.” Pavol's perseverance, born out of suffering, becomes his sanctification.

Felvidek may not be wrapped in the pious aesthetics we associate with Christian storytelling. It is gritty, vulgar, and unpolished. But that is precisely why its message resonates so powerfully. Pavol is a modern-day parable: a deeply flawed man who learns that love is not something we earn, but something we give — freely, even painfully. His story is not about success, or reunion, or glory. It is about finding peace when the world refuses to give it. It is about loving the unlovable and forgiving the unforgivable. It is about doing good not for reward, but because it is good.

In the end, Felvidek is not just a JRPG with an Eastern European flair — it is a Christian fable in disguise. Pavol reminds us that sainthood does not begin with perfection, but with the decision to get up, again and again, even with a hangover and a broken heart, and try to do what is right. He shows us that even the worst of us are never too far from grace, and that sometimes, the greatest testimony comes not from sermons, but from a drunk knight trying — truly trying — to become a better man.

Perfect ad for horse care!

Do you want to roleplay as a cop, or understand how a woman works? This game gives you BOTH!!! Now I understand zombies, viruses, dark rooms and a 8 foot monster that follows you through the game can be scary, but the fact that the game lets you become a cop is insane, I played the original and ever since then all i wanted to was become a cop. And that's what I became...

I started training from an early age, I made my body into a figure of steely resilience and unyielding purpose. Grit has been etched into my bones, and every moment of my life has been forged in the fires of relentless discipline. I’ve trained through dawn and dusk, every breath taken with unwavering dedication, my resolve tempered like steel with an almost monastic fervor. My body is my weapon, my mind a fortress—both sculpted through years of uncompromising endurance, self-discipline, and tactical prowess. Becoming a cop isn’t just a career to me; it’s a calling, a purpose embedded in my very soul. I’m here to be the line between order and chaos, to serve as the iron fist of justice. Hardship is my ally, and unrelenting rigor my creed.

I owe my iron will and relentless drive to one true crucible of inspiration—Resident Evil 2. Yes, that masterpiece of survival horror. It was within the shadows of Raccoon City that my young mind found purpose, where I learned that true courage lies in facing the grotesque with unwavering resolve, that justice is a battle fought even in the bleakest of nights. Every scene, every eerie footstep, and every harrowing moment I experienced as Leon S. Kennedy shaped me into who I am. Through him, I learned what it meant to protect, to serve, and to stand unflinching against chaos. Resident Evil 2 didn’t just teach me to be brave; it taught me to become a warrior cloaked in valor, to embody strength forged from fear, and to pursue the badge with unstoppable ardor.

Now, I am not a women, but Claire is one badass ♥♥♥♥♥, if I transitioned into a women it would be all thanks to her. Now some words for her...

I owe so much to Claire Redfield, to her quiet courage, her warmth wrapped in unbreakable strength. From the first time I followed her journey through the haunting streets of Raccoon City, I saw something I admired deeply—a resilience that didn’t need to roar, a bravery that was tender yet fierce. Claire wasn’t just fighting monsters; she was protecting, caring, even when it meant putting herself in danger. She taught me that strength and kindness could live together beautifully, that I could be brave without losing my softness. Every step she took reminded me that courage could be quiet, gentle, and still unwaveringly powerful. Because of her, I found a strength I didn’t know I had, a resolve to be brave in my own way, no matter what shadows lay ahead.

Thanks Resident Evil 2, I am truly alive because of you!!!

P.S. One whole book couldn't contain my love for Ada, that's why I didn't mention her.

Should have added a way to play the game with a steering wheel.

Before I had played this game, midgets (of all shapes, sizes and categories) evoked disgust in me. I was repulsed by their little fingers that, like weird, compact hot-dog sausages, would twiddle around in motions not unlike those of a hyperactive child. I couldn't even stand to think about them - I would get physically frightened of the contents of my own head if I allowed these monstrosities to enter it. It all reached a turning point when my daughter asked to marry a midget - fuming, I locked her fiancee in a broom cupboard (he couldn't put up much resistance, the miniscule jerk) and covered him with a bucket).

My daughter, trying to shift my views, advised me to play The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt - and I have to say, never have I had such an emotional experience. All my prejudices, all the inclinations and proclivities I had stored within me (all of which related to hating midgets) were gone. Vanished. Destroyed by Alexander Morton pretending to be a dwarf. I love midgets now.

I love the amount or realism and immersion in this game. Breaking into windows, defusing bombs, realistic weapon design, it all really makes you feel like you're in there. Problem is, it really, really makes you feel like you're in there. Every time I leave my computer after a play session I'm shaking and I feel physically sick. I get flashbacks in every day life from the memories I have with this game, all the blood, bodies piled up around a ticking bomb, all the people sneaking around and waiting behind cover in fear of losing their life, I've seen more than you can even begin to try to comprehend the idea of imagining. Every time somebody from my team dies I can hear their voices, screaming in agony, anger and disappointment in both themselves, and me. I am the one who has to carry their burdens, I am the one who they rely on for the rest of the match. After one round is complete, the next one starts, I can still hear their voices and see their spirits, walk around the map and try to complete what they didn't before their death. As if their spirits are oblivious to the fact that they are free from the physical world now, and don't have to continue fighting. They are still, however, determined to continue what they started, truly comitted warriors, which cannot be stopped even by death. Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six Siege and it's community, literally gave me ptsd, 10/10