I knew Heavy Rain was going to be an artsy game as soon as it instructed me to take a piece of paper and fold it into an origami bird. Shortly thereafter I got to see a man’s naked ass. By the time the game’s female shower scene happened—with the camera swirling around the girl’s breasts in intoxicated filmschool closeup—Heavy Rain had sunk so far into pretentious territory that I could tell without looking it had been made by the French.

First times are special. First kiss, first hearing of a song, first taste of a certain food—they’re special because the second time around they might not be so good. The kiss turns out to be attached to a moron, soon everyone else is listening to the same stupid song and the food gets cold.

The first time I saw the undersea city of Rapture it was spectacular. The plate-glass windows were cracking under pressure and the residents had turned into crazed drug addicts. The decaying art-deco design and claustrophobic atmosphere made 2007’s BioShock an unforgettable first-person shooter, and I was anxious to return for this year’s sequel.

When we first meet Dante, he is midway through his life’s journey, seated in a dark forest sewing a red cross across his bare pecs and up the ripples of his sixpack. It’s not exactly how I envisioned the ardent pilgrim from The Divine Comedy. And it’s certainly not the Dante depicted scowling down from his tomb in Florence. But the buff, barechested Dante is the ideal hero for a videogame in which the torments of Hell are depicted in robust, fleshy glory.

The designers of Dante’s Inferno—the videogame—have taken the theologically bold stance of treating Hell like a real location, and its denizens as demons who can be decapitated and destroyed. The minions of Hell include unbaptized babies who skitter around with blades instead of arms, and obese men who spew gobs of bile and what looks like undigested food. Grim devils tower over the landscape, and Beatrice, Dante’s beloved, spends much of the game in the nude.

There are two sides to every story. My life in Divinity II tells a part from both sides of the tale of Rivellon. I was trained in the arts of the Dragon Slayer. Using powers as mundane as swordsmanship and as arcane as mindreading, we scoured the land seeking to eradicate the ancient Dragon Knights.

Holdovers of ancient magic, the Dragon Knights were masters of both land and sky, able to take either human or dragon form. They were fearsome, legendary beings who had once betrayed the Divine of Rivellon, allowing for the rise of an ancient evil that we—fools—had forgotten.

Divinity II allows me to grow comfortable in my role as Dragon Slayer. I explore a glowing, picturesque corner of Rivellon, hacking apart goblins and rooting out corruption among the countryside militia. I creep through caves that glow blue with the light of phosphorescent fungi, and battle ghosts and skeletons in magical laboratories locked deep beneath churches.

The Saboteur must have sounded like a brilliant idea when it was explained to executives at Electronic Arts, the game’s publisher. “Like Grand Theft Auto, but set in Nazi-occupied France,” I imagine the pitch. “And the main character can climb buildings and dash along rooftops like Assassin’s Creed, but instead of some quasi-mythical organization, he’s fighting for the resistance. He can liberate Paris.”

Sean, the game’s Irish hero, heaves himself from window-ledge to window-ledge with tireless drudgery. When climbing down, he unfailingly raises his arms all the way up before dropping them to catch the next ledge, resulting in slow descents intermingled with fast falls. On the ground he’s not much more graceful. When he jumps, it looks like he’s riding a small invisible elevator up and down. He can enter “sneak” mode, which has almost nothing to do with sneaking, but certainly seems to dial down the Nazi’s computer-controlled hearing.