For five minutes, after the PSP's drive has accelerated and settled into that battery draining hum, the revolutions per minute spinning a scenic tapestry of dark hewn rock, purple half light and cold cave womb around you, Breath of Fire 3 seems delightfully different.
You're one of them: the kind of fire breathing dragon you've slain a thousand times in countless adventures before, each one's plastic case a transparent trophy on your gaming shelf. Left long unknown, silently un-hatched deep underground the game opens with your egg's discovery by treasure hungry miners. They're the kind of RPG people whose hungry shoes you're used to filling. In a flash of loud you're awoken from scaly slumber, virgin lungs itching with trinitrotoluene fire as your crystal eggshell cracks gloopy to their dynamite punch.
Three minutes to go: you crawl out, stretch terror and lumber toward incredulous stares, nostrils flaring in their speed-dilating retinas, bristling with the rush of being monster; Such foul elation to be hatched just for unjust destruction and ruin. As you burn their twitching torsos to ember crisp, lingering smoke trailing hot fingers around your newborn hide, it's good to be bad. You imagine what lies ahead: tearing down identikit RPG villages, ripping out the NPC throats which always existed only to repeat that one line time after infuriating time after time. This could be the ultimate revenge RPG; your chance to wreak havoc upon genre conventions that have grated year after year through developers lack of foresight, insight or bravery.