The game is also longer, and this time it even has bosses.
Combos are more fluid and exacting (and you can now make progress without having to rely on the back-into-the-wall-and-spring-forward-to-knock-them-over manoeuvre every single time), you can pick up a second blade which wears out over time and either use it to perform spinny and slashy combos or throw it, you can spin around pillars to slash at necks, and you no longer have to stab enemies on the floor to finish them off - although we reckon this is more in order to facilitate the gruesome decapitation/neck-slice/cut-in-half death animations than anything else. Other changes include the expanded combat system that's been trailed so heavily since May. It's all part of a broad effort to improve the series' appeal. Everything's grimmer and grimier even the Prince himself, who seems to have arrived at the castle via a Linkin Park video - complete with a horrendous metal soundtrack that only ever feels like it belongs when the Prince climbs into a gothic elevator. And the whole game is bathed in the red glow of blood.
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Twinkling corridors no longer beckon us into misty, dream-like fountain shrines that upgrade the Prince's health. Combat is no longer held at arm's length and wheeled out between the vast puzzles, but instead crops up regularly as we try and make our way around the labyrinthine castle's many brainteasers. In its place you can now save whenever you find a particular water fountain. Gone is the clever save game system, which grabbed the Prince like a squeeze-toy and gave us a quick glimpse of some of the exciting things we were about to do, meaning that we simply couldn't bring ourselves to turn off the console, and guaranteeing that the phrase "just one more go" would appear in every review. You could even argue that Warrior Within does so with reckless abandon. Except this newfound desire to cancel out The Sands of Time seems to have spread a bit beyond the bounds of the story. He will do this by running along walls, leaping balletically between ledges and horizontal bars, solving a huge number of puzzles and killing anything in his path. The only way he can change his fate, the Prince reasons, is to go to the Castle of Time where the Sands were originally forged, and use some of its many portals to journey back through history and stop them ever being made in the first place, thus negating the threat of the Dahaka and virtually everything else in the process - including the first game. For meddling with the timeline in last year's Sands of Time, he's condemned to be stalked through life by the Dahaka, an unstoppable monster with a single objective: the Prince's death. But in trying to summarise the Prince of Persia's dramatic shift from wash-clean poster boy for grown-up platforming into the dark shroud of whatever gothic monstrosity inspired his new look, this quote - borrowed from an early clash with a largely-naked female adversary - seems like the most obvious one to crib.