Drakengard is a weird thing to exist, man.
The gameplay is terrible. The music is terrible. The characters are terrible and terribly written, as is the plot. By all accounts the game should have nothing going for it whether you’re a pure gamer or after some kind of story-telling experience.
But people don’t remember Drakengard for what it wasn’t, that being good; people remember Drakengard for what it was, that being COMPLETELY INSANE.
Everyone in Drakengard is a dick. EVERYONE. You play as a mass murderer psychically linked with a misanthropic dragon. Your sister’s a passive waif and your best friend’s a moron who trades away his singing voice for his own dragon from a 6-year-old little girl who is actually possessed by a god. You hang out with a cannibal, a pedophile, an immortal runt, and an alarmingly racist member of the clergy. By the end of it you’ve racked up about as many kills as the sum of the first world war SINGLE-HANDEDLY, so much so that the evil empire can’t even one up you by inventing nuclear weapons (which they do) and drop them (which they do) from their flying continental fortress (which they have) before they summon pan-dimensional space babies (which exist) to kill everyone (which they accomplish).
The final battle has you hurling an alien deity through a rip in the fabric of space time to engage them in a rhythm battle over a monochromatic Tokyo, after which you get shot down by the Japanese air force and proceed to infect the entire world (our world) with magical aids that either kills you or turns you into a bloodthirsty salt giant. Yes, really.
Drakengard is a terrible game, but it is nonetheless a compellingly bizarre thing to exist.