(Originally published to Glitchwave on 8/31/2024)
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Wonder Boy III: The Dragon's Trap
Developer: Weststone Bit
Publisher: Sega
Genre(s): Metroidvania
Platforms: Master System
Release Date: September 1, 1989
My interest in The Dragon’s Trap actually did not stem from its professed outstanding quality, even if playing a pre-Genesis Sega game rumored to be better than a substantial chunk of Nintendo classics released the same year is certainly a source of genuine intrigue. No, the way that The Dragon’s Trap lured me into experiencing it was a specific genre tag. If my Ufouria: The Saga review is any indication, Metroidvania games released before the parents of Super Metroid and Symphony of the Night were conceived fascinate me to no end. It’s always interesting to see how developers tackled open-world design and the peculiar progression tenets of the genre in such a primitive age of gaming before the rule book was written. Hearing that The Dragon’s Trap was an all-around exceptional game in addition to its precociousness was simply the cherry on top.
How The Dragon’s Trap approaches its mannered, exploration-intensive design is expectedly rudimentary, but it still showcases a relative understanding of how to execute a Metroidvania game's progression. After plunging into the introductory dungeon and defeating the first boss, the player is transported to a quaint little burg that acts as the game’s main hub. It exudes the same sense of hominess as the respite areas found across Zelda II’s map, and the similarities in the old-world architecture make it seem like Sega borrowed the same “set.” Here, the player has access to the shop of a smoking, eye-patched pig vendor, which includes a selection of armor and weapons. A “cure station” is also available further down the road to fully replenish the player’s health, curated by a buxom nurse with fluffy blonde hair. Extending from this initial point are the various tree branch pathways where the atmosphere is a bit less tranquil. Finding the route underground through what I can compare to a sewer system is not the clearest trajectory from the surface of the town. Still, it becomes the only sensible way out of town when all of the more conspicuous avenues are blocked by several impediments. This obscuring of many passageways for the player to find the one of least resistance is textbook Metroidvania design. However, the perimeter of the hub is the extent of this type of progression. Once the player finds the correct route, the waypoint to the next boss is a fairly straightaway trajectory with the occasional key needed to unlock a door. Occasionally, a previous area will need to be revisited such as traversing back through the octopus-infested ocean waters to uncover a sunken ship, but the backtracking beyond the hub happens in instances few and far between. I never expected a proto-Metroidvania title to showcase a world design as thick and rich as chocolate molasses, so I’m satisfied with the game’s partial elements that will still faintly recall the foundation of a modern Metroidvania title.
The intended path of progression in The Dragon’s Trap greatly depends on which form the protagonist is currently taking. A primary gimmick of Wonder Boy, his “schtick” if you will, is the extraordinary ability to alter his human anatomy to that of a plethora of different animals and mythical creatures. This metamorphosis is engaged whenever the titular Wonder Boy conquers a boss in the blank, dim arena and the blue flame that represents its soul engulfs his being. I was initially under the impression that Wonder Boy was a chameleonic Beast Boy who could shift his shape on a whim, and changing his form to utilize the specific attribute of a certain creature is what’s needed to surpass obstacles. In reality, the permanence of Wonder Boy’s status is more akin to a curse if anything. The player is stuck with whichever creature is currently possessing Wonder Boy’s physicality. Each section of The Dragon’s Trap is practically segmented into chapters, with one form corresponding with an area as its completion shifts the shape of Wonder Boy into something else entirely. Because each form is unique to the other with its special set of quirks and skills, the quality of the gameplay fluctuates like the stories of an anthology film. The Lizard-Man looks intimidating but is handicapped by his lack of a shield. The player will have to manually block all projectiles with the Lizard-Man’s innate fireballs to protect themselves. Mouse-Man regains Wonder Boy’s trusty sword and shield, but sacrifices size as transforming into the pipsqueak animal would dictate. At least the smaller mass of a mouse allows Wonder Boy to effortlessly run along the sides of surfaces. Piranha-Man is naturally a water-bound creature who can swim, and Lion-Man is a strapping, upstanding beast with the greatest attack range. Hawk-Man is the animal equivalent of the Screwattack or transforming into a bat like Alucard, as his flying ability allows the player to mitigate all bounded ground and spaces. Eventually, the player will reach a room with a platform in the middle that shuffles through each transformation but for the most part, the player will be confined to one creature until the milestone of defeating a boss. Mouse-Man especially irritates me, for the pinpoint close range needed to attack an enemy often results in him getting hit on impact, and the controls regarding his wall climbing ability are incredibly unresponsive. Every prospective turn from vertical to horizontal movement feels like the rodent has gotten himself stuck in a glue trap.
While the transformation forms all fall on polar sides of the likability spectrum, one surprise that is probably indicative of the acclaim that The Dragon’s Trap receives is that it’s consistently smoother on the difficulty scale. The 8-bit era in which the game was released was notorious for causing gamers so much pain and agony that the NES and Master System were comparable to BDSM dominatrixes, and I guess we were the sick masochists who took every lashing with delight. If you’re a hardcore 8-bit enthusiast who thrives on frustration, The Dragon’s Trap is not the title for you. However, I can bet that most modern gamers who are usually deterred by a pixelated title’s austerity will find The Dragon’s Trap to be a refreshing exception. Damage from enemies seems to only result in knocking out a sliver of the player’s total health in most instances, and the small units can be restored thanks to the hearts that frequently emerge from fallen enemies. If the player unfortunately exhausts all of their hearts, having a potion in their inventory will reinvigorate them, although the amount of insurance received seems to be random. Even if the player doesn’t have this handy elixir to avert death, dying will simply transport the player back to the hub with all of their gold intact. The items that unfortunately won’t survive the resurrection process are the secondary weapons such as the boomerangs and tornados, but they can be recovered as quickly as one’s health in the remains of smote enemies. A luck of the draw might also reward the player with a free potion in the "game over" screen. I’d gripe at the arduous trek one has to undergo upon dying, but I honestly didn’t mind the backtracking because I could farm for gold along the way. The bosses are durable and the amount of strikes they take to vanquish could grate on the player’s patience, but their attack patterns are so How ironic is it that Sega would adopt such an uncompromising ethos for game difficulty in the next generation when The Dragon’s Trap is evidence that they were ahead of the curve.
However, while The Dragon’s Trap is accommodating, it isn’t entirely immune to some old-school obtuseness. The one-eyed pig is evidently quite the entrepreneur, considering how many shops he owns located beyond the hub. In stores elsewhere on the map, the player can be prevented from purchasing whatever it is that a question mark is obscuring. I figured I needed to progress further in the game and uncover a specific item that would unveil these high-market items, so I paid them no mind. That is until I was faced with a stream of lava as long as the Amazon, and attempting to swim in it fried Piranha-Man into fish sticks immediately. What was the solution to this unyielding progression hindrance? Wearing the dragon mail armor that is bought at the pig’s store located in the volcanic area right before the swathe of boiling liquid. The issue at hand was that I was not “charming enough” for the pig to put his flame-resistant armor up for sale. A mechanic situated alongside offense and defense is “charm points,” and the amount of charm points you have coincides with the pig’s willingness to offer up his wares. What the fuck, isn’t my money good enough? A thousand pardons that I’m not Hugh Grant circa 1994. Across all combinations of my weapons and armor at hand, they still didn’t accumulate a satisfactory amount of charm to convince the pig to put it on the stock. I would’ve had a sufficient level of charm if I had purchased armor in the jungle as Mouse-Man. Little did I realize that the goblin armor that had the highest defense stat made me as charming as a drunken, piss-stained hobo, so I couldn’t purchase that armor at the time either. I also couldn’t reach the jungle again upon my realization because the direction towards that area could only be reached by the mouse. I hit an impenetrable progression wall and was forced to start from scratch. The immutability of arcade difficulty that The Dragon’s Trap seemed to divert from still ultimately led to the same result. Because The Dragon’s Trap had convinced me it was a saintly presence in an otherwise grueling environment, what I endured here was a searing stab in the heart.
I can see why The Dragon’s Trap persists as an essential game from the 8-bit era. It’s a maverick title that separates itself from the pack of the vicious, sadistic video games of the time with more accommodations than a five-star hotel suite. Its smoothness may have deterred some gamers at the time, but it has aged wonderfully as gaming has become more accessible over time. However, the jaggedness that is admittedly characteristic of games of this era did brandish its sharp teeth eventually, so it's still cut from the same cloth at its core. Maybe a more astute gamer would have caught my blunder before it happened, but I’ll still argue that the game wasn’t directing me out of the dead end I had cornered myself into. All the same, The Dragon’s Trap was a pleasant and impressive experience when I corrected my mistake, breezing through it until I fought the final dragon and returned Wonder Boy to his original “Hu-Man” form. This game could have served as Sega’s entire marketing plan for the Master System–presenting an exclusive to wind down with after Nintendo had beaten them mercilessly on the NES.
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