Bless me, An-Ansgaidh, for I have sinned. Not against the Herald of Annihilation. Never against my god. I have always carried out my duties, my service, faithfully. Like any good cultist in An-Ansgaidh’s service, I long to be free from the burden of flesh, the toil of our mortal existence. Being a writer is a life of confessions. Every drop of ink I put to page reveals a bit of myself, whether I want it to or not. But now I have the honor of spilling blood in the service of a great god in this Pikmin-esque cult builder. And I am enjoying myself, but I feel kinda bad about it.
My demo of Worship puts me in the robe of a cult leader sworn to An-Ansgaidh, Herald of Annihilation, the most compassionate of the Unseen Depth gods, who is determined to end our suffering by bringing an end to our pointless existence. Sick. My job is to gain An-Ansgaidh’s favor and expand Its cult. After playing a brief tutorial that gives me an overview of the controls and introduces me to a sassy and utterly deranged (in its own words, “charming a witty”) talking grimoire that serves as my guide, I’m dropped into a run in An-Ansgaidh’s service.
I don’t start with any cultists in my service, which is a bad look for a cult leader. Luckily, An-Ansgaidh starts me with some godless who just needs something to believe in. How do I convert them, you ask? I stab myself with a dagger and smear my blood across the ground to create sacred symbols. This whole thing is a ritual, you know. A circle to draw the godless within it to our cult. I press my hand to the blood-stained ground to activate its power. A square to summon the Execution Edict, a fraction of my god’s power so Its mighty hand might judge our enemies, and find them wanting. I press my hand to the blood-stained ground to activate its power. It awaits my command. I am patient. I am powerful.
Converting them to our unholy cause is simple as surrounding them with a circle.But it does hurt to stab myself so much. I fret not over my hand (which is probably little more than a bloody pulp) but for my mortality. To drain my lifeblood across the ground for An-Ansgaidh is an honor, but it leaves me diminished, leaves me at the mercy of my enemies. All that to say: it literally drains my health, and I want to be freed from this mortal coil but in An-Ansgaidh’s time, not our enemies’. And we have so many enemies. The godless stand mute, unmoving, uncomprehending. They pose no threat. Converting them to our unholy cause is simple as surrounding them with a circle.
But I fear the others. No conversion will take hold of them. The behatted men with their rapiers that cut down my cultists like so much kindling, the black creatures who do not serve my god and spew bile at us. Once there are enough of us, they pose no threat. I raise my hand, mark what needs to die, and my cult descends upon them like locusts. I wonder if An-Ansgaidh, Herald of Annihilation, is a Pikmin fan. Probably not. Gods are not concerned with such trivial things as the Nintendo GameCube. But it reminds me of it all the same.
That is not to say our followers don’t die. Oh, they are resilient. They fall, dizzied, stars swirling about their heads, but they often rise before they are killed. But inevitably, some die, brought low before they can rise and recover. Early on in our ventures, I learned to avoid our enemies. I searched instead for the godless, converted them to our cult. It is only when I have overwhelming numbers that I challenge our foes, and they fall before An-Ansgaidh’s glory. Sometimes my followers perish. That is inevitable. But I try to keep them alive. A good cult is a strong cult, and a strong cult is made of many bodies.
They are pliable. I can pick them up by the throat and throw them to ring bells, or gut them and use their blood to perform rituals instead of my own. I have no problem throwing them at things. They’ll be a little concussed, maybe. But they’ll live. Once you use them as a resource, though, it’s lights out. Curtains. Game over. I don’t like killing the cultists. Partially because it leaves me with one less cultist, making my unholy army a little weaker. But partly because it doesn’t feel right. I brought them into this. It’s my job to keep them safe. They’re my children (religiously speaking) and my children (metaphorically speaking). They follow me around like little dogs. Besides, there’s no shortage of blood for me to absorb. I can call it back from a botched ritual where a circle too closely resembles a square, from my cultists who fall in battle, from fountains, plants, and even stones (yes, reader: blood from a stone).
I don’t like killing the cultists. Partially because it leaves me with one less cultist, making my unholy army a little weaker. But partly because it doesn’t feel right. I brought them into this.When my cult kills our enemies, or some of our own fall in battle, I perform a tribute ritual, inserting an upside-down triangle into the center of a circle I draw around the corpses of the dead. My reward is a chest, which might contain anything from a relic I can offer at an altar to a blood fountain to a catalyst. I can order my cult to carry catalysts back to our base, and plant them in the ground to gain new spells and perks like the ability to throw farther. As the cult grows in power, so do I, though I am still at the mercy of the world and require their aid. I have spells, yes, but they take setup. The violence of a mass of bodies is quicker, more efficient. By myself, I am nothing. Weak. The cult makes me whole. So I go, converting the godless, building favor with An-Ansgaidh. I break down the statues of The Last Church. I send the dead as tribute. I cover the world in my blood. My grimoire offers advice.
I find followers in strange ways. I find a village stuck between worlds, in the middle of a half-completed rite because musicians played a song with instruments built from the bones of horrors, and it remains unfinished. I track them down, carry them back to their stage. The song they play is a bop. Much of Worship's visual and auditory language is incredible. Only evil things are black, colored inside white outlines. Everything else is white, outlined by black. It’s not subtle, but it’s effective.
Eventually, I gain enough favor to return to An-Ansgaidh victorious. It teleports my cult and I to The Last Church, something my grimoire blames for all of this earlier. I don’t understand until I get there and see a woman in white sitting next to a monster. They aren’t hurting anyone. The woman is singing. The monster sleeps with a little doll. Their names are Ulmira and Eleanor, respectively, and my god has commanded that they die.
So I go to work. Of the two, Ealnor is the larger threat, but I cannot hurt her. When my cult gets close, she stuns them, swipes at them, leaves several dead. When we run away, she shoots fire. Her doll, animated by magic, chases us across the screen. I dive out of the way; my cult follows. We move around the edges. “How do I do this?” I think. Then I discover that Ulmira is here, too. She can attack, but she is smaller and weaker. I set my cult on her and then the strangest thing happens. Eleanor comes to defend her, shielding her from harm. And this is how I win. I wait. I bide my time, until Ulmira is vulnerable. And then I set my cult on her, and Eleanor springs into action to save her, taking the damage herself. Dozens die. But in the end, I am victorious. Ulmira holds Eleanor in her arms as she dies. And then she breaks down in tears. This is where my demo ends.
There is no denying that Worship feels good to play. That its minimalist art style looks beautiful. That the music is gorgeous. That it forces you to play smart, to use every resource. But I like that the last thing it did was make me feel bad. I am a cult leader serving a dark god. I will do nothing good with the power I gain. Winning shouldn’t feel good. And I am glad Worship understands that.
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