"Precision beats power, and timing beats speed," said Conor McGregor after he knocked out Jose Aldo in 13 seconds, the fastest finish in a title match in UFC history, to then become the UFC Featherweight Champion. Mystic Mac, as he fancies himself, predicted that outcome, his counter left crashing onto the reserved Brazilian killer's skull from an inopportune right hook within a minute of the first round.
No fights in Furi can end that quickly given the multi-staged design of every encounter, but what the world's most famous Irish fighter said to sum up that record knockout of the most dominant champion of that division encapsulates not just the combat of Furi but the overall design philosophy of the game.
For the uninitiated, Furi is a hack-and-slash/shoot 'em up where you only battle bosses, linear walking and talking sequences filling the spaces between fights. That last bit is essential to the pacing. A 100% boss rush with no breathers would have been overwhelming for a first run through, especially with how relentless the action gets when the bouts break out. These walk-ups are also crucial to crescendo.
When you, The Rider AKA The Stranger, stride through each of the nine jailers' domains, whether it's the neon prison-within-a-prison of The Strap or the topsy-turvy new age zen garden of The Line, the tone is set with every step you take. You can push the left stick in any direction, but it's a distraction, a concession to the indiscriminate desire of "player freedom". I prefer the one button press that lets your sun-kissed, white-haired avatar of death move on his own and with a single-minded purpose.
For maximum impact, Furi's original synthwave soundtrack starts anew on every level and seamlessly streams from scene to scene. It's almost calming when a track begins an area. Then slowly but surely, it picks up momentum as you get closer to your destination, and you feel that rush rising, ready to carry you. By the time you're about to set foot in a boss arena, the music has swept you up and is ready to burst. You inhale before the inevitable. You dive in.
Each track, with how it ebbs and flows to the rhythm of battle, getting tighter in melee combat and looser in bullet hell phases, isn't just another layer to thicken the intoxicating atmosphere. It might as well be the driving force to every swing, every shot, and every hit you take. You know how well you're performing and when s*** is about to get real by just the tempo changes. It's about as dynamic a score can get.
The fighting itself is kinetic. You're always learning patterns as you shift in and out of parry-heavy swordplay and evasion-focused SHMUP sequences. It becomes increasingly complex how it tests your reflexes and recognition. You're expected to weather screen-filling, life-draining flurries with a nigh-perfect execution of blocks and dashes. A chunky health bar you can refill with parries and three "lives" that regenerate after every phase allow for mistakes, but bosses also get their health back for that phase for every life you lose. It's fair and can make for truly tense back-and-forths.
You do not, however, trade blows with stronger and faster foes and expect to come out victorious. You will always die before they do. No, you have to strike with economy and efficiency. You perfect parry in tune with the telltale twinkle of a blade about to fall. You launch pinpoint counterattacks for critical damage. You let the Rider do what he was built to do - observe and assess in patience, and rain down swift and terrible judgement, unerring in conviction. And when the patterns map to your mind and your fingers prove dextrous, it all plays out like intricate choreography, as if every move had been planned, every action directed, and every conclusion decided well in advance. Because that's what it feels like when you fight with precision and timing - predictable.