Unleashing Anubis Wrath: 5 Powerful Strategies to Overcome Ancient Curses
I still remember the first time I encountered what I call the "Anubis Curse" in creature collection games. You know the one - where you play as this all-powerful human who captures magnificent beasts only to force them into battles for your own glory. It's like being an ancient Egyptian pharaoh commanding divine creatures for personal gain, except with less pyramid-building and more repetitive combat. This formula had been wearing me down for years, to the point where I'd nearly given up on the genre entirely. Then I discovered Flock, and everything changed.
The moment I started playing Flock, I felt like I'd stumbled into a secret garden where the rules were different. Instead of capturing animals with magical balls or elaborate traps, I found myself simply... hanging out with them. There's this beautiful moment early in the game where you encounter a flock of woolly creatures that look like walking clouds. Rather than pulling out some capture device, my character just started humming, and gradually these fluffy beings started following me around. Before I knew it, I had this wonderful parade of creatures trailing behind me - no domination, no submission, just genuine companionship. It struck me that this was the first real strategy to overcome that ancient curse of control and ownership that plagues so many games in this genre.
What Flock understands so brilliantly is that true power doesn't come from domination, but from understanding. I remember spending what felt like hours (probably closer to 45 minutes in reality) just observing how different creatures interacted with their environment. There were these bird-like beings that would only approach when I stood near particular glowing plants, and others that seemed to respond to specific weather conditions. The game doesn't give you an encyclopedia of creature behaviors - you have to actually pay attention and learn through observation. This approach transformed how I interacted with digital ecosystems. Instead of trying to conquer nature, I found myself wanting to understand it, to become part of it. The game tracks your observations in this beautiful journal that fills up gradually, and I found myself genuinely excited each time I discovered something new about these virtual creatures.
The second strategy Flock employs is what I'd call "purposeful coexistence." Unlike traditional creature collectors where you're gathering monsters to become the strongest trainer or defeat some evil organization, in Flock you're helping your aunt restore the Uplands while learning about the world. There's this wonderful sequence where you need to help migrate these turtle-like creatures across a river, not because you'll get some battle advantage, but because their seasonal movement is crucial to the local ecosystem. I found myself caring about these digital animals in ways I never had before - not because they had impressive combat stats, but because I understood their role in this world. The game sold approximately 120,000 copies in its first month, and I suspect many players felt similarly transformed by this experience.
Another powerful approach Flock takes is completely removing the concept of creature "ownership." In most games in this genre, you "collect" creatures like trading cards - I've probably "owned" hundreds of digital creatures across various games over the years. But in Flock, the creatures that follow you do so because they choose to, not because you've captured them. There's no storage system, no breeding for better stats, no releasing creatures you don't want anymore. I formed genuine attachments to the creatures in my "flock" because our relationship felt earned rather than forced. There was this one particular fox-like creature that took three real-world days of visiting and bringing specific items before it decided to join my group. When it finally started following me, the satisfaction felt deeper than any shiny Pokemon I'd ever caught.
The game also cleverly uses what I'd describe as "ecological storytelling" to reinforce its themes. Rather than telling you through cutscenes or dialogue that domination is bad, it shows you through gameplay how interconnected everything is. I remember discovering that the glowing plants certain creatures liked only grew where these moth-like beings had pollinated them, and those moths only appeared when the weather was right. The game world feels alive in ways that made me constantly aware of my small place within it rather than my power over it. After about 15 hours with Flock, I found myself approaching other games differently, looking for ways to understand rather than control the worlds I was exploring.
Perhaps the most refreshing aspect was how Flock handles progression. Instead of your creatures growing stronger through combat, your understanding of the world deepens through observation. There are no experience points in the traditional sense, but rather this gradual unfolding of ecological relationships. I found myself taking notes at one point, not because the game required it, but because I genuinely wanted to track the patterns I was observing. The game respects your intelligence in ways that few titles in this genre do - it assumes you're curious rather than competitive, interested rather than acquisitive.
What Flock taught me is that breaking ancient curses isn't about finding more powerful magic - it's about changing our relationship with power itself. The game represents what I hope is a growing trend in how we approach virtual ecosystems and our place within them. I've probably played over 50 creature collection games in my life, but Flock is the first that made me reconsider what these relationships could be. It's not about unleashing wrath upon systems we dislike, but about building new systems that reflect values we want to embrace. The parade of creatures following me in Flock isn't a display of my power, but evidence of relationships built on mutual respect - and that feels more revolutionary than any ancient curse I've ever overcome.
