For proof, look no further than roguelike RPGs: a group of games so explicitly influenced by old design and mechanics that it takes its name from a forerunner of the genre. Rogue offered players a randomly-generated game world that was genuinely dangerous. Gameplay was arbitrated by dice rolls before any button pressing even occurred. Arcade veterans will tell you that even chaotic and seemingly random early titles such as Pac Man still relied on extremely basic scripted pathing for their obstacles that anyone could learn to read and avoid. If Rogue felt so inclined a player might die at the first hurdle through no fault of their own - death, of course, being permanent and requiring a meek and weary shuffle back to level one each and every time.
To some this idea sounds terrifying. Players spoiled by the regenerating health mechanic in Halo (and everything else after it) would struggle with the cumulative damage of Doom, let alone having to restart a game upon death. Yet Rogue was not only a success, but also became the mantra for successive generations of hardcore gamers walking the tightrope between risk and reward. The genre thus far culminated in the creation of FTL: Faster Than Light this year, earning massive attention long before launch and a warm critical reception. Predictably, it is just as difficult as its ancestors, adding an infuriating time limit to the random world generation which leaves no room for breathing space if things turn sour (and they will).
Seminal PC sci-fi strategy XCOM doesn't need its own genre to make its influence known in today's market since a cross-platform remake was recently put out with familiarly brutal mechanics in place. Playing in Ironman mode eliminates the ability to save except when exiting the game - another stylistic nod to the roguelike genre. To date, only one person has completed the 2012 release of XCOM on Impossible difficulty in Ironman mode; he was paid to do it during beta testing just to make sure it could be done.
This trend is not limited to just one genre either. In games across the board, Normal difficulty is no longer the middle ground, with difficulty modes extending beyond Hard with apt titles to match, such as Nightmare mode courtesy of Mass Effect. This year also saw the PC port of notoriously frustrating action-RPG Dark Souls, with the depressingly frank subtitle, "Prepare To Die" and proudly advertised with the crippling adversity that would challenge the player.
Why the appeal for games that essentially (and literally in the case of Super Meat Boy) play out as meat grinders, with players dragging themselves back to the start after more deaths than it is realistic to count? Common sense might dictate that random chance is frustrating to a player. It's one thing to fail through human error which can be refined and eliminated, but losing based on chance can ruin the best laid plans with no necessary justification.
In some ways, it's closer to real life than we might think. After all, not everything is always going to go our way. We can't expect each day to be scripted for us with a set solution purposefully put in place by an omniscient designer. Sometimes, luck is not on our side; our decisions are permanent. While comparing life with video games point for point is wholly facetious, the two certainly reflect on each other. The thrill of beating the odds and making it just one more level further than last time is palpable. It's a feeling that more forgiving games - while just as enjoyable in their own right - cannot emulate.
Not only that, but break through the veil of crushing disappointment and defeat to uncover an experience with surprising longevity. Without the need to feel constrained to a tangible twenty hour-plus narrative, difficult games can make a little go a long way. A typical playthrough of FTL might clock in at less than sixty minutes, but when each new game brings fresh challenges and teases of victory, one hour can quickly become six. Beating a game multiple times - on Normal, then Hard, then Kick-You-In-The-Balls - makes a player genuinely feel like they're getting better at a game they love, with the physical evidence to prove it.
A difficult game that doesn't rely on random number generation is a work of art in its own right - the coding carefully finding a sweet spot between "too easy" and "unbeatable". Games like Ninja Gaiden II take a simple genre and engine, then turn it into a beast all of its own. What makes this title genius is how incredibly easy it becomes once it is mastered. But of course, in getting to that stage lies the huge challenge and thus, the game itself.
At the heart of it all, overcoming adversity means bragging rights. The same players who impose self-made handicaps and challenges like the ubiquitous speed run are now rushing out in droves to grab each new game that wears its ludicrous difficulty like a badge of honour for the taking.
Of course this is not new and there have always been hard video games available on every platform. But very recently the propensity for using a game's difficulty as an advertising tool and the fanbase's never-satiated hunger for a challenge has taken on a life of its own. For many people it represents a line in the sand in the market of today, in which games increasingly cater for a family demographic and refuse to be seen as niche. Nobody denies that beating a video game feels good, and is itself an achievement: just maybe there's nothing so bad about losing either.
