“Priests could be feeding you BS,” Magus states while dissatisfied with his status as a sorcerer god, a potentially interesting narrative angle – he’s apparently an atheist but discovers he’s one of the things he doesn’t believe in. Magus won’t explore the concept.
Magus’ non-godly insecurities erect a low class, doltish, somewhat vile sarcasm machine. He exists to soak up praise from a shapely female sidekick. Her purpose is to absorb his vocal abusiveness – abuse forcibly selected via tiresome dialog trees to progress. Magus is the equivalent of a Twitter user; he hates everything. Their relationship is wildly uncomfortable.
Maybe this is not all on Magus, the title character who slings colored magic at his foes as if he were Mega Man. He is the only color in the world, a pale gray, dirty existence flooded with peculiar fantasy monsters who are slaughtered in repetitious droves. Magus does well to accentuate the male god complex. Dying is impossible when paying attention.
There must be some appeal here. Magus’ action RPG trappings boasts armor boosts, health upgrades; the usual and derivative. Material is blasé, built for any simpleton who add or subtract. Praise is due for simplicity at a time when convoluted systems mount on top of systems, but it’s a wonder if Magus himself couldn’t figure out deeper numbers.