DOOM: The Dark Ages- A Technical Masterclass in Precision Combat

Movement in Doom: The Dark Ages is like re-learning to stride on uneven pavement. You're no longer gliding through air-dash combos; every step feels deliberate, even stubborn. Jumping is still tempting, yet the title punishes that muscle memory. No double leaps and little airtime push you toward planting your feet and locking shields, not floating around the kill box.

Obviously, it isn't a crawl. Sprint pockets full of fire and swapping guns is practically a knee-jerk reaction, two facts high-skill players love to quote. Still, the tempo tweaks. Eternal wanted you airborne constantly; Doom: The Dark Ages hands you the hammer and tells you to be vintage aggressive about it. When the Slayer lands, the maps shake a fraction late to underscore how heavy invincibility can really feel.

Enemies never get the chance to leap over your head, so every fight plays out on the same flat plane. Ramps and rooftops are gone, and the volume of the arena forces players to think side-to-side instead of up-and-down. Stance changes feel heavier because you can no longer escape by climbing, yet that very weight makes every movement matter. At first, the ground-hugging design feels cramped, but it slowly unfolds once you start playing around with the shields' finer timings.

Frame Data and the Parry that Turns Tides

Now, about that parity window, because if you're not watching the frames, you aren't really playing. Timing the shield isn't passive; getting it right shifts a match from simple survival to vicious punishment. Tests show the active window sits near 12 to 15 frames - close enough that a twitch can decide the round, yet broad enough that you won't quit after a single miss. Get it perfect, and your opponent is left gasping while you link a heavy hand strike, slam on the blade, and finish with whatever gruesome execution animation you prefer.

Something about the new party system feels fresh, almost alive. That lumbering Baron, hammer raised for the classic one-hit wipe-out, suddenly looks like a bad actor waiting for a cue. The Mancubus spits plasma, you time the catch just right, and its own glop fries a couple of Hell Knights standing too close. Even those jabbering Imps become pinball flippers once you realize their fireball can ricochet. By the time you put the controller down, blocking feels less like survival and more like choreography.

Then there's the shield toss, a simple throw that stays easy until you try to trick a wall with it. Bounce the disc just so, and it carves a brand-new lane through a swarm of demons. Nail the angle again and again, and people stop patting you on the back and start asking how you did that. In the end, that single arc of metal splits good runs from the kind of footage players loop for bragging rights.

Mech-and-Dragon Portions: Unused Canvas Space

Jump into the Atlan for the first time, and the cock-pit shudders like it just woke up. Metal shrieks, the screen does that panicky tremor, and for just a heartbeat, you feel invincible. Then the combat clicks into a monotone drabness, and you notice how thin the whole thing really is. Pounding another titan turns into a waiting game, waiting for that flimsy counter prompt, trading slow-hitting blows until something finally flashes green. There's no chaining moves, no fancy dashes, nothing except a cut-scene dressed up as an encounter.

The dragon-riding interlude carries a little more life but still drags its feet. One minute you're climbing, the next the speed vanishes as if you've hit an invisible sidewalk. Dodging feels like tossing the controller on a polite shake; the mount simply refuses to answer half the time. Opponents hit you with sign-post attacks anyone could memorize on their lunch break. None of it is outright broken; it just sits there looking cold when every other system is practically breathing.

Silver lining-lucky for us, these segments don't linger. The studio clearly tucked the experiments into quick bursts and then stepped back, a sensible move that prevents the boredom from spreading. Still, next to weapon mods and parkour flips that glitter like chrome, these missions feel like rough pencil sketches beside finished oil paintings.

Weapon Balance: A Meta in Flux

Doom: The Dark Ages don't hand you a shotgun and call it a day. Each piece of hardware slides into a distinct role, and since the weak-point system vanished, you're free to experiment rather than forced to grind the same setup. Burst engagements still belong to the Super Shotgun, yet the newcomer, the Accelerator Rifle, carves out a fresh lane. Charge its beam, and you can puncture a row of demons instead of picking them off one by one.

Even so, the real showstopper is the Ravager. Sniper precision grafted onto an assault-rifle frame, it ratchets damage higher with every clean head hit you land. A marksman who steadies the crosshair can out-damage even the shotgun at mid-range and keep belting enemies instead of pumping a second shell. Weighty, yet oddly nimble in the right hands. Switch from rifle to rocket with barely a hiccup, preserving that frantic Eternal flow. Cancel the reload with a quick shield bash or a brutal punch, and you've trimmed precious seconds that mean victory or another respawn. The balance feels razor-edged and competitive; every weapon is a doorway to more profound mastery if you're willing to shoulder the challenge.

Speedrunning Potential: Breaking the Game Wide Open

Early routing already hints that DOOM: The Dark Ages could be a speedrunners' playground. The new shield tech lets players surf downhill with a sticky momentum that even marathon sprints can't match; sync a parry right afterward, and most enemies just stand there, stunned but unwilling to move. Even the lumbering mech sections, bound by tight scripts, surrender whole minutes if someone sharp-eyed rewrites the path.

Sequence breaking is where the juice really shows. Sneak a Ravager inside the first hour, leap back to the last checkpoint, and the clock ticks cruelly while it waits. Thanks to a surprisingly lenient save and restore chain, that kind of wacky route is less a fringe trick than the bread and butter of the following week-five streams. Games like this reward off-script thinking, and people who have chased down glitches for years recognize the scent immediately. They're already arguing about frame counts in Discord DMs.

The Verdict: A New Standard for Precision Play

The Dark Ages doesn't feel like a side-step to players who buy PS5 games; it steps sideways, upside-down, and still lands on its feet. The fresh shield rakishly rewrites the combat math, inviting both rookies who've never dashed a demon and savants who obsess over pixel-perfect drift. Centered movement forces players to hug the ground for a moment, a second, before launching back into the air, but hesitation evaporates the second the thumb lands on the stick. Speed, flow, and the obnoxious satisfaction of a perfect run are still front and center.

Yes, the mech and dragon showboating is stick-to-the-ribs quick and a touch light on depth, yet they pass by before boredom can sink in. Sink instead into the core combat drums-tight aim, brittle enemy tells, and the constant itch to shave another tenth off that PB. That loop, to be blunt, feels like a new spine for everything DOOM might dare try next.

It feels odd to say it, but DOOM is suddenly the poster child for head-to-head carnage. Tear through the enemy horde, and the scoreboard moves with you-easy to lose a Saturday in one breath and still feel the itch for one more round.

Final Score: 9/10.

Pros

✅ Precision Mechanics. A quick shield flick feels the same as matching a stubborn lock; frame-perfect work pays in blood and glory.

✅ Balanced Arsenal. Pick the pistol or the plasma cannon, and nobody yells cheese; even the humble shotgun earns its seat at the grown-up table.

✅ Speedrun-Friendly. Players are already skipping whole chunks of the map the way kids once danced through Super Mario glitches.

Cons

❌ Underbaked Vehicle Combat. That lumbering mech-dragon finale is all flash and not nearly enough pop, a neat idea with the flavor wiped off.

❌ Limited Advanced Movement. Eternal acolytes may sit in mid-air begging for a double jump, and honestly, I sympathize.