Via Naughty Dog
Every game I consider a masterpiece delivered an ending that made me sit there, controller still in hand, staring at the credits, trying to process what just happened.
And because of that, all their little flaws — and trust me, they all had flaws — just faded away.
Then I started thinking back to all the games I absolutely loved while playing them... only for them to crash and burn so hard at the finish line that I basically erased them from my personal "best games ever" list.
Take Horizon Forbidden West, for example.
I was having a blast with it. Aloy’s world is gorgeous, the gameplay loop is polished to a mirror shine, the robot dinosaurs are still chef’s kiss perfection. I genuinely thought, “Hey, this might be one of my favorite open-world games ever!”
And then... that ending.
That weird, jarring, sci-fi soap opera ending that felt like it stumbled in from an entirely different game.
It was so bad, so baffling, that it retroactively poisoned the rest of the experience for me.
Now when I think about Forbidden West, all I feel is disappointment. Not wonder. Not excitement. Just that bitter aftertaste.
Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the spectrum, there’s Red Dead Redemption 2.
Let’s be honest: that game is slow.
It’s so slow it makes molasses look hyperactive. You spend what feels like actual decades riding a horse through endless fields, picking herbs and brushing your horse (at realistic speeds!) It has so many boring moments!
But that ending? That ending wrecked me.
Arthur Morgan’s journey hit with such emotional weight that all those slow, repetitive chores melted away.
Now when I think about Red Dead 2, I don’t remember how tedious it could be — I remember Arthur’s redemption, his quiet sacrifice.
Because when you end strong, people forgive everything else. (they even forgive the fact that that's not actually the end and you still have several hours to play as John).
Same story with The Last Guardian.
That game could be an absolute nightmare at times. (Trico, buddy, please jump on the platform. I’m begging you.)
And yet... that ending.
That heartbreaking, beautiful, utterly perfect ending turned all the frustration into love.
I can’t explain it. I can only tell you that a game that made me want to snap my controller in half somehow lives in my heart as a flawless masterpiece. seriously, just thinking about the ending brings tears to my eyes.
And of course, there’s The Last of Us.
A game with some truly clunky gameplay moments, awkward AI, and weird pacing issues (all fixed in "The last of us part 1").
But none of that matters, because when Joel carries Ellie out of that hospital, when he lies to her face and the game ends with that final quiet "Okay" — it redefined the entire experience.
It wasn’t just a story. It was a gut-punch straight to my soul.
Now compare all that to games that fumbled their finales.
Far Cry 3 — incredible game, iconic villain, beautiful open-world chaos — and yet somehow, one of the most underwhelming endings in gaming history.
Instead of feeling triumphant or thoughtful or even just satisfied, you’re left confused and a little hollow.
It’s like the writers got bored and left the room halfway through.
Or No Man’s Sky at launch.
Yes, the game was broken and overpromised. But the final insult was the “ending” — a non-ending that basically said, "Congrats! Nothing matters! Start over!"
If you thought people were mad about the bugs, trust me, it was the emptiness at the end that truly pushed them over the edge.
So what’s the takeaway here?
Simple: it’s not about how you start. It’s how you finish.
When you spend 40, 60, 100 hours with a game, you form a relationship with it.
And just like any relationship, it's how it ends that defines how you remember it.
Stick the landing and people will forgive the bumps along the way.
Blow the ending and no matter how incredible the journey was, it will feel like it wasn’t worth it.
It’s not fair, but it’s true.
Gamers — maybe more than any audience — want that payoff. We need closure. We need to feel like our time and emotions meant something.
So here’s my plea to developers:
Respect the ending. Respect the player.
Because we’re not just playing your games — we’re trusting you to take us somewhere.
Make sure it’s somewhere we actually want to be when the credits roll.
