I wander down a path that hugs a steep valley and find what looks like the remains of a dragon clinging to the cliff. It looks burnt-out, desiccated. I step nearer. I step nearer. My wife is standing next to the TV, watching, telling me not to. I have to. I’m curious.
There was an Asylum Demon there towering two stories and with a hammer big as my top-heavy hunter. Only in my second life did I realize that upon his entrance, a door opened on the opposite side of the room. I survived the second time around. I am learning from my dying.
We think video games are literature, and so why shouldn't there be literature about video games? That's the question we're hoping to answer here. Read more.
