God of War is an extraordinary game filled with extraordinary ideas. From its rip-roaring combat to the varying atmospheres between the fiery fields of Muspelheim and glacial plains of Hel, it’s a difficult game to criticise in good faith. A small number of people, most of whom are generally contrarian towards anything with blockbuster status, reckon it’s overrated. I reckon that’s bollocks, and best boy Jormungandr proves it.
Jormungandr, for those unfamiliar with both Kratos and actual Norse mythology, is the World Serpent - a massive, coiled snake encircling the entire planet. It’s also Loki’s son, which, if you know your God of War, is pretty funny - the logistics aren’t particularly logical. Still, God of War has diverted from both the Poetic Edda and Prose Edda fairly liberally, so who knows what Sony Santa Monica has up its sleeve. What matters is that Jormungandr was done justice, which is especially evident from the sequence in which you sail down its gullet.
As in, yes, you, Atreus, and Mimir row your little rowboat straight down the World Serpent’s gargantuan oesophagus. It’s weird, but then again, all the best mythology is. In order to finally reach Jotunheim and cast Faye's ashes to the wind, you need to find Mimir’s other eye, which - get this! - was hidden in a statue of Odin Jormungandr ate for brekkie. This leads me to my next point: The World Serpent eats everything. It is, by definition, a snake the size of the world. Boats? Delicious. Bridges? A delicacy. Statues of the Allfather? Scrumdiddlyumptious!
And so you set sail with Atreus and Mimir in tow, rowing into Jormungandr’s colossal jaw and meandering through the inside of its astonishingly wide throat. It sounds a bit silly, but it’s executed with finesse and tact. Prior to this quest, the World Serpent has been the epicentre of all spectacle, from Mimir conversing with it in ancient, whalish tongues to the fact it is at all times the centrepiece of God of War’s magnificent world. Now, however, it’s time to see the forest for the trees - the snake for its belly.
Given that Jormungandr’s appetite demands it eats everything in sight, there are entire levels in here, all of which should be tonally and structurally inconsistent with one another, but, given that this is the World Serpent who has been chomping on chunks of land for who knows how long, they are strangely coherent in context. Sure, it’s weird hopping out of your little rowboat and scaling ladders alongside actual scales, but the fragmented architecture of this place is to its benefit. It is the one area in God of War where the atmosphere is cohesive specifically because it is intentionally disjointed. The only commonality throughout this entire sequence is the snake saliva you sail through. Everything else? Completely different, and brilliant for it.
When I think back to the first time I played God of War now, there are some standout moments that always strike like lightning to Roy Sullivan, the US park ranger who was struck by lightning seven times and survived all of them. I think about Kratos returning home and digging out the Blades of Chaos; Zeus appearing to Kratos and Atreus in Hel; the infuriating mists of Niflheim that took me centuries to navigate; and that now illustrious post-credit scene where Thor stylishly flips back his cloak to reveal Mjolnir - speaking of which, the new Thor design rules.
Most of all, though, I think about the Jormungandr level. It is a phenomenal achievement in design, an exemplar of purpose in development that the vast majority of studios could do with taking lessons from. Three years on, I still regularly recall my floaty little trip down the World Serpent’s pharynx. It’s no surprise that when I saw Jormy’s massive maw grace the key art for God of War: Ragnarok, I punched the air as if it had a face like Baldr’s.
God of War is an extraordinary game filled with extraordinary ideas - the voyage through the World Serpent is still the best one.