D4 Bad - Math Rock

Where Diablo II once thrummed with the primal power of tritones and the rhythmic fury of polymeters against a backdrop of Lydian b7 chords, Diablo IV descends into an abyss of dissonant atonality – a cacophony that would make Schoenberg weep chromatic tears.

The once vibrant landscapes, meticulously rendered in the bold contrasts of major and minor, now resemble atonal pointillist nightmares, bathed in the sickly glow of a Neapolitan sixth chord. Enemies lumber forth not in the counterpointed dance of isometric fury, but as clusters of unresolved seventh chords, their attacks a cacophony of semitones that grate against the atrophied auditory cortex.

Gone are the loot drops that chimed with the satisfying dissonance of a minor second interval, replaced by a relentless, microtonal rain that assaults the ears with intervals both familiar and unsettlingly alien. Skill trees, once sprawling vistas of atonal exploration, have devolved into rigid twelve-tone rows, offering no escape from the oppressive serialism.

The endgame? A nightmarish fugue in a tempo so hypermetric that it defies human comprehension. Where once we battled through layers of polyrhythmic complexity, unraveling the mysteries of the Prime Evils like a majestic canon, Diablo IV's endgame loops like a record spinning at a speed that transcends the equal-tempered system, a horrifying descent into the abyss of irrational rhythms.

The developers, deaf to the pleas of the atonal avant-garde, have sacrificed the exquisite dissonance of Diablo's past for a saccharine tonic triad. Diablo IV is an insult to the tritone, a transgression against the very fabric of musical tension. It's a 13-tone chord with no resolution, a pyrrhic victory celebrated in a key signature that has lost all meaning. A lament sung in quarter tones, a world devoid of harmony, a symphony of dissonance played on a fretless lute with barbed strings.