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Recently I heard a wild noise! Again: it is two voices coming together as one, speaking in an indecipherable foreign tongue. Wander, Shadow of the Colossus's prophetic assassin, wakes up at the Shrine of Worship every time he slays a colossus. From a circle of sunlight beaming through the ceiling, the voice urges him to kill another, and another, and yet another. Invariably, he follows it as though he has no control of his own. It is the will of God communicating through my tinny television and it also compels me to say something. But I'm not ready. Not yet!
Crazy Climber
Laying a deceased girl down upon the altar, Wander pleads for her life back. The voice informs him to observe the statues which line the hall of the altar. They cannot be destroyed by a mortal. However, it is not impossible to kill the incarnations of these statues: 16 colossi wandering the terrain whose removal from the earth will resurrect the girl. In this improbable Ulyssesian odyssey of the highest order, Wander has only three things to aide him: a magical sword that can collect light and direct him towards the next colossus; a bow and arrow with a magical, never-empty quiver; and a magical horse name Agro. The way Shadow uses only those items to the max (except for an ICOy scene with a wooden plank) is only one segment of its multi-faceted genius.
 Riding away from the Shrine of Worship and climbing, jumping, and exploring the ruined temple steps leading up to the first colossus, there is no sound except for Agro's hooves and the confrontation of the wind. You can't help but swish the camera around as you ride. Pick any random angle and chances are it's a stunning, drop-your-controller panorama. Everything in this game is of perfect distance: not too far, not too close, with all of the mountain ranges, hills, sun-shrouding forests, and golden deserts crashing together into a disorderly realm. Yet it avoids feeling like a creation of industry. It has organic grace and atmosphere, as a hell upon heaven's landscape.
The colossi homeland is cursed. What civilization there was is eradicated, leaving decaying monuments and empty architecture. Yet I never felt more alive in a game then when alone at the end of the world. In any other game, admission to the world is given on a silver platter, that the player's dominion is simply entitlement. But here the player is trespasser to an obdurate world, one so quiet and pointless that if feels that there must be something sinister watching from around the corner. But turn it and it's just more land. Saving the girl is a job, but just as important is coming to terms with this bewildering, foreign ecosystem.
It's barren and paralyzed, yet brought to life in a way that only video games can, and beautiful in a way that I've never seen before. There's nothing to inspect, nothing to pick up and add to an inventory, no first-person mode, and no background text to tell you what you're looking at. The things meant to engross the player, but usually end up underlining the game's artifice, are removed. To be simply there is enough.
And just by galloping and exploring through the scenery, I already felt a certain conviction and compelled to say something. You know, that thing I said I was going to say. Which I'm going to say. Right now. I'm serious. Very, very serious. Actually, no, I'm not. Not yet! Keep reading.
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