“Altered Beast”
(Sega, 1988)
I was a Roman centurion. I’m dead now. But death is no hurdle for the almighty Zeus. From the dark depths I hear his words:
“I command you to rise from your grave and rescue my daughter.”
If Zeus can raise the dead, surely he is powerful enough to rescue Athena on his own? No matter. Who am I — with my reanimated flesh, golden locks, and rock-hard abs — to question the almighty Sky Father?
I lumber rightward. I punch. I kick. I jump. Sometimes I punch while I jump. I destroy zombies blocking my path. Am I not a zombie too? No matter. These zombies are ugly. My teeth are bright white and my yellow belt and purple tunic look good together. Damn good. I kick their bones to dust.
What dark husbandry is this? A two-headed wolf snarling at me. Threatening me. Me! A gorgeous, undead Roman centurion! I kick it to death. From its husk comes a floating blue sphere crackling with strange magic. It contains great power. I press it against my body.
By the deltoids of Atlas! My glorious body has become perfection. My tunic shredded, unable to contain my musculature! My kicks become stronger, my punches meaner, my belt tighter.
I destroy all manner of creatures that I see. Zeus has promised me immortality and his daughter’s hand in marriage if — no, when — I succeed. Athena knows not of this plan. No matter. She is but a goddess. I am me.
Again, the devil wolf comes for me. I show it mercy and do not kick it to death. Instead, I punch it. Pulsing, sweaty sorcery is yet again my reward from the dark lupine. I eat the sphere whole.
My belt explodes off my pelvis, no longer able to contain my power. I tower over these base creatures. Epic songs are written of the circumference of my pectoralis majors. These villains, these big bosses, they are jealous of me. They want to be me. They are fools. You are named Crocodile Worm and Moldy Snail. I am a Roman centurion. You are nothing.
I need more power. I kill something to find more. I ingest it. Something is different. A new strain. A new feeling. More hair. More teeth. More power. I have been altered. I shoot fireballs from my paws. I am a werewolf.
I no longer see in color. Only power. I grow bigger. Supremacy continues to be redefined. The thunder breath of a were-dragon. The petrification spell of my were-bear form. The death blast of a were-tiger. That Roman centurion is dead once more. I am reborn again. The soft, weak flesh of my sculpted, fabulous form is covered now in scales. Fur. Horns.
Finally, Neff, the evil necromancer. He transforms into a were-rhino. No matter. I rip the power from the dead with my teeth. I become my final form. The golden werewolf. The golden god. I destroy Neff. A blue bird appears. It transforms into Athena. She approaches me. We embrace. She loves me. Not the centurion — the beast.
Questions remain. Why do I worship Greek gods if I am a Roman? What kind of name is Neff? Why does Athena wait until I’ve already killed all that lives before using her magic bird powers? No matter.