The BEST Thing About Each Final Fantasy Game

Unique For The Time

“Final Fantasy” (1987)

When “Final Fantasy” launched in 1987 on the NES, it didn’t just join the RPG scene, it reshaped. At a time when console RPGs were still figuring themselves out, it offered players a surprising amount of freedom, like genuinely a surprising amount of freedom, go back and check it out, it’s still so fun so make all your friends in the game and go on a little adventure with your party of pals, choosing from distinct classes, Fighter, Black Mage, Thief, and more, locking in your strengths and weaknesses before the adventure even began. That kind of upfront customization wasn’t common on consoles back then, and even most games today. It also delivered a sweeping, crystal-driven narrative that felt grand compared to its peers, pulling inspiration from tabletop Dungeons & Dragons while streamlining the mechanics for a limited system. Turn-based battles, an overworld begging to be explored, airships, class upgrades, it felt massive. Most importantly, it treated its world seriously. The score gave it emotional weight, proving 8-bit music could actually move you, and with all those elements combined, it was as unique as a game could get. Not bad for a game literally named as a last-ditch effort.

Series Staples

“Final Fantasy II” (1988)

It’s difficult with these early entries to zero in on the exact best thing about them, they’re smaller scale means you actually take them in as a whole easier than later entries, but what I can say “Final Fantasy II” displayed best, was introducing elements that would define the series for its entire existence. After the first game launched with crazy success, the series ditched the safe sequel playbook and went wildly experimental. Gone were blank-slate heroes; instead, you got named characters with defined personalities and an actual tragic storyline. That emotional, character-driven focus would become a series staple. It also introduced Chocobos, because apparently every fantasy epic needs a giant yellow bird you can rent like a medieval Uber. Cid showed up too, kicking off the long tradition of mechanically gifted Cids appearing in almost every entry. Even the keyword conversation system, clunky as it was, tried to make the world feel more alive. Mechanically, its stat-growth system, where attributes increased based on how you fought, was divisive, but bold. Magic leveled through use, characters evolved through experience, and experimentation was encouraged.

Adventure and Progression

“Final Fantasy III” (1990)

If “Final Fantasy II” introduced elements that would make an epic journey work, “Final Fantasy III” perfected it. “Final Fantasy III” doesn’t feel like a quest. It feels like a pilgrimage. From the moment four anonymous orphans step into the light of the Wind Crystal, the game is obsessed with forward motion, growth, and discovery. It keeps expanding, literally. What starts as a modest adventure across a floating continent slowly pulls the curtain back to reveal a much larger world below. Progression isn’t just narrative, it’s mechanical. The job system, far more flexible than before, turns each new crystal into a milestone. Warriors become Dragoons, White Mages shift into Sages, experimentation becomes survival. Every dungeon demands adaptation. Every boss pushes you to rethink your setup. By the time you reach the Cloud of Darkness, you’re no longer those blank-slate kids from the opening. You’ve grown with the world, and the world has grown around you.

Cecil

“Final Fantasy IV” (1991)

Cecil Harvey is the emotional spine of “Final Fantasy IV,” and honestly, it’s hard to imagine the game working without him. He doesn’t start as a shining hero. He starts as a Dark Knight complicit in questionable orders, wrestling with guilt after attacking innocent people. That inner conflict gives the story weight from the jump. Instead of a blank-slate protagonist, you get someone already flawed, already burdened, already ready to break your heart again, and again, and again. Then comes the turning point. Cecil literally climbs Mount Ordeals to confront his darkness and is reborn as a Paladin. It’s not just a cool class change, it’s character development made playable. That transformation was groundbreaking for 1991. It’s hard to lock down exactly what the best thing about each Final Fantasy game is, but when in doubt I just thought “what’s the first thing that pops into my mind when I think about this game”, and for “Final Fantasy IV”, it was Cecil.

The Job System

“Final Fantasy V” (1992)

If “Final Fantasy V” has a secret weapon, something that makes it stand out between two of the best narratives in the series, it’s the Job System, and honestly, it’s the reason the game still feels fresh decades later. On paper, the story is lighthearted, the villains are dramatic, the crystals explode as usual, but the real magic is how much control you get over your party. You’re not locked into rigid roles. You can turn Bartz into a spell-slinging knight, make Lenna a time-mage-summoner hybrid, or build any nonsense you want. Every job you master lets you carry abilities into another class, which means experimentation isn’t punished, it’s rewarded. I know I’ve said “that freedom was wild for 1987” or “that freedom was wild for 1990”, so I’m gonna avoid saying it again … OH F*** IT, that freedom was wild for 1992. Instead of grinding just for numbers, you grind for creativity. The system encourages tinkering, and replayability in a way few RPGs dared at the time.

The Story

“Final Fantasy VI” (1994)

I made sure I picked something different for every game in the series, but I knew from the start, before even researching, that I was going to give “Story” to my personal favourite game in the franchise, the game that dropped the year I was born, “Final Fantasy VI”. What makes “Final Fantasy VI” unforgettable isn’t just the story as a whole, it’s the sheer ambition of its story. This was 1994, and Square decided, casually, to let the villain win halfway through. Kefka doesn’t just threaten the world, he shatters it, literally rearranging the planet and plunging it into the World of Ruin. That twist alone was bold for the era, but the real strength lies in the characters. Terra’s search for identity, Celes’ despair and attempted suicide, Cyan’s grief, Locke’s guilt, Shadow’s fragmented past, each arc feels fully imagined, and super memorable. There isn’t one singular protagonist carrying everything, the narrative is an ensemble, which doesn’t really happen in Final Fantasy anymore, sure each game fleshes out their characters, but you could genuinely decide who you wanted to put as the main character at any given point.

The Materia System

“Final Fantasy VII” (1997)

This was tough: The story is amazing, If “Final Fantasy VII” had relied purely on its story, it still would’ve been iconic. The characters are dope, but I wanted to highlight the cast of a different game that didn’t have as many elements going for it as this one. Okay, so what was it about “Final Fantasy VII” that I remember the most fondly? It actually didn't take that long to work it out, I just thought “what am I excited to see return in the remakes”, and the answer was the materia system, as this is what made it endlessly playable. Instead of locking characters into rigid roles, Materia turns everyone into a blank slate. Want Cloud as a white mage? Go for it. Turn Aerith into a summoning machine? Absolutely. Slotting colored orbs into weapons and armor feels simple at first, but the deeper you go, the more ridiculous and creative it gets. Linking All to Cure, stacking Counter with Knights of the Round, experimenting with Added Effect, the combinations become a playground. It rewards tinkering, and grinding for seasoned players, and is totally accessible for new players. It rules, and so does “Final Fantasy VII”.

The Soundtrack

“Final Fantasy VIII” (1999)

“Final Fantasy VIII” is divisive, that’s no secret, I personally love it, and I even love the junction system. Others feel differently, but if there’s one thing “Final Fantasy VIII” undeniably nails, no matter how you feel about the actual game, it’s the music. Nobuo Uematsu didn’t just compose a soundtrack, he built the emotional backbone of the entire game. From the haunting choir of “Liberi Fatali” blasting during the opening Dollet invasion to the quiet, reflective piano of “Balamb Garden,” the score does so much of the storytelling heavy lifting. Even when the plot gets… let’s say ambitious, actually let’s say weird, no no let’s say ambitious, the music keeps you grounded. “Eyes on Me” was a bold swing, a full vocal ballad woven directly into the narrative, and it worked. It made Squall and Rinoa’s romance feel cinematic in a way few games had attempted before 1999.

Perfectly Balanced Experience

“Final Fantasy IX” (2000)

“Final Fantasy IX” doesn’t hinge on one standout mechanic, one revolutionary system, or one flashy hook, and that’s exactly why it works so beautifully. It’s balanced in a way the series rarely is. The story is heartfelt without becoming melodramatic. The characters are whimsical, without feeling cringe. The ability system is simple, without feeling boring. The combat feels classic, towns feel alive, exploration feels rewarding, and the soundtrack quietly elevates everything without demanding attention. Nothing overwhelms anything else. It’s a perfectly tuned game, and I say this not as a fanboy! Off the top of my head, it’s only like my 7th favourite Final Fantasy game, I’m just being objective, it rocks. The magic of “Final Fantasy IX” isn’t found in one defining feature, it’s in the harmony between all of them. So when I tried to pick the “best part,” I realised that’s the trick. There isn’t one.

The Combat

“Final Fantasy X” (2001)

If you want to talk about what truly defines “Final Fantasy X,” there’s no question, it’s the battle system (and I’m gonna mentally include the sphere grid in this because they directly affect each other). The Conditional Turn-Based Battle system was a revelation in 2001. For the first time, you could see the turn order clearly and manipulate it with precision. No more guessing when the boss might swing next. Every spell, delay, or haste adjustment visibly shifted the timeline, turning fights into tactical chess matches instead of traditional menu mashing. On top of that, the party swap mechanic meant every character had purpose. Flying enemy? Tag in Wakka. Armored brute? Auron steps up. Vulnerable to magic? Lulu’s got it. Bosses actually demand thought. Even random encounters feel curated rather than filler. “Final Fantasy X” in my own humble opinion, perfected turn-based combat.

The Community

“Final Fantasy XI” (2002)

The only entry on our list that I haven’t actually played, so I had to go and do some research on this bad boy. And you know what? It wasn’t hard to quickly work out what defined this one, because it was plastered all over Reddit: The community. Ask any veteran what really defined “Final Fantasy XI,” and they won’t start with the graphics or the grind, they’ll talk about the people. In 2002, long before party finders and instant matchmaking, progress depended on actual human connection. You needed a group to level efficiently, to survive dangerous zones, to even unlock certain jobs. That reliance forged friendships. Waiting in Jeuno for hours wasn’t wasted time, it was social time. “Final Fantasy XI” wasn’t convenient, and that was the magic. You couldn’t solo your way to legend, you had to cooperate. In an era before social media dominated everything, this MMO quietly built a real, lasting community.

The World

“Final Fantasy XII” (2006)

Strip away the gambits, the politics, the sky pirate swagger, and what lingers in “Final Fantasy XII” is Ivalice itself. This wasn’t just a backdrop, it was a living, breathing place. Cities bustle with layered dialogue and overlapping accents, while the plains stretch into a shimmering heat haze that feels genuinely vast. Zones flow into each other seamlessly, no hard world map snapping you out of immersion, just open space inviting you forward. Hunts send you deep into forgotten corners, and even minor NPCs talk like they have lives beyond your quest. This was the first time a world had felt this rich before, and that was following some grossly rich worlds. “Final Fantasy XII” didn’t just give you a world to save, it gave you one worth wandering slowly, soaking in, but also, hurry up and save the goddamn world you idiot.

The Art Style

“Final Fantasy XIII” (2009)

I’m worried that people who’ve seen my videos are gonna think I’m being passive aggressive by rewarding the art style, because I’ve made it clear I don’t enjoy this game. BUT I MEAN IT! I REALLY THINK THE ART STYLE IS AWESOME. Say what you will about the game as a whole, but “Final Fantasy XIII” is a visual flex from start to finish. In 2009, it looked absurdly ahead of its time. Cocoon gleams with polished white architecture, crystalline highways, and impossible skies that curve like something out of a sci-fi painting. And that’s before you even bring out a summon, good lord! Love or hate the structure of this game that is quoted as getting good around the 25 hour mark (f*** right off), the art direction commits completely.

Its Comeback

“Final Fantasy XIV” (2010)

The most remarkable thing about “Final Fantasy XIV” isn’t a raid, a character, or even a storyline, it’s the comeback. When it launched in 2010, it was a disaster. Clunky systems, baffling design choices, performance issues, you name it. Square Enix publicly apologized, and we thought that was it for a decent modern “Final Fantasy” MMO. Most companies would have cut their losses. Instead, tSquare Enix rebuilt it from the ground up. Director Naoki Yoshida stepped in, listened to players, and did something rare in this industry: he admitted it wasn’t good enough. Then came “A Realm Reborn,” literally blowing up the old world in-lore to justify a fresh start. That reset wasn’t just clever storytelling, it was symbolic. Patch by patch, expansion by expansion, the game transformed into one of the most respected MMOs ever made. Next to “World of Warcraft” there is no MMORPG active now with a higher player count.

The Party

“Final Fantasy XV” (2016)

Making the perfect party in “Final Fantasy” is tough, and there is no formula. “Final Fantasy X” had seven, “Final Fantasy VI” had fourteen. Strip away the open-world errands and uneven pacing, and what truly carries “Final Fantasy XV” is the bond between the four person party of Noctis, Gladiolus, Ignis, and Prompto. The road trip vibe turns what could’ve been a standard save-the-kingdom quest into something intimate. You’re not just fighting daemons, you’re camping under the stars, arguing about directions, taking terrible photos, and listening to Ignis calmly suggest another recipe. The banter feels natural, reactive, and for one of the first times in the series, grounded, and human, even boring sometimes! But in a beautiful way. Prompto geeking out over snapshots, Gladio pushing Noct to grow up, Ignis quietly holding everything together, it builds a believable brotherhood. And by the end of the journey, you feel like you’ve watched these characters grow together, and bond.

The Boss Fights

“Final Fantasy XVI” (2023)

If there’s one thing “Final Fantasy XVI” absolutely refuses to do quietly, it’s boss fights. From the very beginning, they are spectacles. TRULY, my jaw was on the floor, and I don’t say that lightly. That's not true, I exaggerate everything, you guys can see right through me. Ifrit clashing with Phoenix Titan in a mountain-shattering slugfest, Bahamut turning the sky into a laser-lit apocalypse; these fights are breathtaking. Health bars stretch on for days, phases shift mid-fight, music swells into operatic chaos. It’s theatrical in the best way possible, in that perfect “Final Fantasy” way.