News Godzilla Minus Zero Godzilla Minus Zero: First Trailer Sees the Statue of Liberty in Danger And he’s barreling into New York in IMAX, no less By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on April 14, 2026 Image: Toho Comment 0 Share New Share Image: Toho Godzilla is back in the recently released trailer for Godzilla Minus Zero, the sequel to the acclaimed 2023 TOHO Studios film, Godzilla Minus One. The upcoming movie takes place in 1949, two years after the events of Minus One, and centers on the Shikishima family, who we met in the first film. The survivors will face “an all-new calamity,” and also, presumably, Godzilla once again. To that end, Minus Zero will see Ryunosuke Kamiki reprising his role as pilot Koichi Shikishima and Minami Hamabe returning as Noriko Oishi. The movie will also see Godzilla heading to New York, as the trailer shows the monster heading toward the Statue of Liberty in its final moments. Minus Zero comes from Godzilla Minus One writer and director, Takashi Yamazaki, who is also in charge of visual effects. Godzilla Minus Zero will also be the first Japanese movie shot for IMAX screens. The 2023 film was a surprise hit, earning almost $114 million globally, according to Box Office Mojo, and earning an Oscar for Best Visual Effects. Odds are good that Godzilla Minus Zero will do just as well, if not better. The movie will premiere in the U.S. on November 6, 2026. Check out the first trailer for the film below. [end-mark] The post <i>Godzilla Minus Zero</i>: First Trailer Sees the Statue of Liberty in Danger appeared first on Reactor.

Excerpts fantasy Read an Excerpt From The Tapestry of Fate by Shannon Chakraborty Amina al-Sirafi’s quest to track down magical artifacts brings her to the island lair of a sorceress whose woven enchantments are impossible to flee. By Shannon Chakraborty | Published on April 14, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from The Tapestry of Fate, the second installment of the Amina al-Sirafi Adventures by Shannon Chakraborty—publishing with Harper Voyager on May 12th. Amina al-Sirafi thinks she’s struck gold. Tasked with hunting down arcane artifacts for the council of immortal peris, she can savor the occasional rollicking adventure on the high seas with her cherished criminal companions while still returning home to raise her beloved daughter, Marjana. But when Raksh, the spirit of discord with whom she is reluctantly wed, provokes the council’s wrath, Amina is charged with a seemingly impossible quest: steal a spindle capable of rewriting fate from a mysterious sorceress on an island no one can escape.Forced to leave Marjana—who is increasingly frustrated at being peddled what are clearly lies about her mother’s life and her own past—Amina finds her mission almost immediately thrown into peril. But deadly storms, an erratic poison mistress, and old enemies are the least of her worries. For the peris’ story is unraveling, hinting at a far deadlier game whose rules Amina must swiftly puzzle out. A game that sets her against an adversary more cunning and powerful than she has ever faced.A game that not everyone on her crew wants her to win. There are a great many things one can credit criminals with, but the one trait that truly distinguishes the middling from the successful is simple: discretion. And it is discretion that gains you admission to Sarilaglag. You will find Sarilaglag on no map, glean not even the slightest mention in a text. Its name sounds like nonsense and may very well be—for its origins are a mystery. Sarilaglag might have been there in the days of the Persian shahs or perhaps it was only dreamed up in the more recent heyday of the Abbasids, God alone knows best. Indeed, I am likely the first to speak of its existence to an outsider, a betrayal for which a great many bandits would cut my throat—so perhaps keep this account to yourself until I have returned to my Creator. But I suspect the time of that great criminal metropolis on the sea is fading, and it seems a remarkable enough wonder to be remembered despite the anonymity that kept it bustling for so long. As to its location, ah, but the old vow tugs at my heart. You have no doubt worked out that it is in the Persian Gulf, but I shall say no more. There are certain quirks of geography that enable Sarilaglag’s existence, the tides and terrain and deeply inhospitable hinterlands all combining to create a unique gem: a hidden floating town made entirely of boats. Some are ancient and primitive: vast reed platforms that have been built over and decayed so that they are more island than vessel. Others the flashiest racing boats from Iraq and the newest sailing junks from China. However, the majority are houseboats, like those you see in Baghdad, intended to spend their lives tethered in place, a residence more than a mode of transport. They are painted and decorated mostly gaily, with proud banners indicating the type of outlaw they host and boasting their grandest accomplishments. There are hundreds of such boats, tethered to stone columns that jut from the seabed like a drowned forest. It is a maze of dwellings that feels almost like a city—save that the ground bobs without warning and one needs to take a skiff to get from place to place. This mobility is by design; if you’re going to have a central meeting place of brigands, you’re asking for trouble. Order is kept by ruthless agreement and necessity in Sarilaglag, but it is a messy affair, and feuds, duels, and murders run rampant. But the boats allow bands to move apart if they fall afoul of one another and keep the pecking order of power fluid. If a navy or other lawful strangers ever came sniffing, the town could be broken apart, everyone sailing away. And if true order is deteriorating, violent calamity beckoning, there is always the overarching threat of arson. My grandfather told me of such a blaze when he was a youth; those in charge of Sarilaglag deciding its denizens needed to learn how valuable such a safe harbor was the hard way. Either way, it was a notorious place with no notoriety outside its denizens, one where you were watched and studied, judged and made ally or competition. I had visited a handful of times in my prime, taught the route by a smuggler who deemed me worthy when I saved his crew and cargo from a patrol in Bahrain. Pirates occupied a snobbish rank in Sarilaglag, preferring to keep their precious ships apart from the crowded morass of bobbing old houseboats “captained” more often than not by men who couldn’t have hoisted a sail if their life depended on it. At the end of the day, however, it was a place of many, many eyes. Always watching, always waiting. For the law, for an old enemy, for opportunity. With everyone on the lookout, it was extraordinarily difficult to sneak around. There were youths who made a living by spying and selling secrets; boys who could swim like a fish, paint themselves to resemble mangroves, live in a gutter hole for weeks. So, when I poled a skiff down Sarilaglag’s main watery avenue at the height of day, the sun blazing to illuminate my famed leopard dagger and the straight sword at my back, my brightly colored robe of Yemeni ikat and woman’s turban, gazes were drawn, then snatched, so intent that I could feel their weight upon my shoulders. Which was my goal. Indeed, I began to whistle as I passed the outer houseboats, those belonging to lesser outlaws who feigned medical calamity to elicit sympathetic coin (between the animal bladders, the excited self-branding and binding, and the noxious substances they brew to imitate pus, they are a bunch of weirdos best avoided). I pushed my skiff languidly through the pale green water, as though I had few cares and all the time in the world. As though time were not a fragile, precious resource—the days I’d spent fretting and pacing in Baghdad, knowing each additional one made it more likely my ludicrous plot might bear fruit while also fearing it brought further risk to Dalila. I was alone, having rowed out here in the dead of the night to wait in the mangroves for just the right moment. My Marawati, little more than a speck on the horizon, would be along later but was under the strictest orders not to risk the rest of the crew and unleash burning arrows of Rumi fire should anyone approach. Then the first disbelieving whisper curled around my ear. “Is that… Amina al-Sirafi?” It was followed quickly by a second, a third, and then carried in hisses and epithets, both admiring and scornful. “Heard she was swallowed by a sea devil—” “—married a Socotran pirate.” “Fucked the caliph and retired on a pile of gold.” I let the rumors settle around me, feeling old annoyance at the more insulting allegations, but with age had come something else: pride. Vain and sinful, it was nonetheless pleasing to discover that although more than a decade had passed since I last took to the seas as a pirate, I was still remembered. As a terror, as unnatural, as a seducer—yes, but I’d left my mark among the rowdiest and most cunning criminals and that was not a thing lightly done. Buy the Book The Tapestry of Fate Shannon Chakraborty Buy Book The Tapestry of Fate Shannon Chakraborty Buy this book from: At least, that is what I tried to tell myself as I poled into my most daring gamble yet. The whispers continued. I made a show of ignoring them even as I kept a close ear for recognizable voices. For a gaze more vengeful than curious, for a familiar cloak, a profile I might have once stalked. I was both dependent on such hopes and at their mercy. The peri island might have blessed my speed and my senses, but I didn’t like the odds should a determined archer set their sights on my exposed back. They cannot see you sweat. Every part of my plan—from dealing with the Banu Sasan and their unknown aims, to confronting Raksh, to managing the impossible to foresee consequences of my scheme—depended on a level of confidence, nay cockiness, that was absurd. I took a deep breath, and in need of distraction, turned to appreciate the sights around me. It might be the wonders of God’s creation—magnificent mountains, the stunning ruins of ancient civilizations—that we are told to admire and contemplate, but I would argue the absolute ingenuity of charlatans must also be remarked upon. For I have never seen an impulse more creative than that of a huckster looking to part a mark from his money, and as the wonders of Sarilaglag opened up, I could not help but marvel. Canoes full of ingredients to manufacture every sort of counterfeit good, from rhino horn to ambergris, mother-of-pearl to camphor, flitted among the canal of the fraudsters, stopping at a safe distance from the false alchemists—whose madcap chemistry and metallurgy experiments were kept apart from anything flammable. The street entertainers were next: contortionists bending into knots and tucking themselves into jars while acrobats walked tightropes stretching from opposing ship masts and youngsters practiced folding parchment into trick squares and tying blindfolds so the bearer could secretly see. I steered clear of the canal of the beggars, its shadowed, sorrow-filled houseboats smelling of blood and scorched flesh, the desperate ways people maimed themselves and others—including children—to elicit sympathy and coins from strangers when feigned maladies did not work. Beyond were the forgers, the most talented in the world who could imitate any signature, write in rare, nigh forgotten tongues, and who kept parchment and inks from all over creation. They shared space and ingredients with the poisoners, Dalila’s brethren, though she had foresworn earlier visits to Sarilaglag at my side and dismissed these practitioners as incompetent. Across was the avenue of the animals, where an assortment of apes was being coaxed to wear human garments and trained to do everything from pray to “read,” in hopes of one day being passed off as ensorcelled princes in need of money to undo their foul enchantment. On another boat, bears were being berated into dancing and snakes being either defanged and/or charmed depending on their temperaments. Yet even criminals in the abode of deception—where they trained their protégés and took refuge from the law—abided by a code, a form of respect if not fear, and Sarilaglag’s was this: the deeper one delved toward the murky shore of mangroves and razor-sharp rocks, the more lethal the arts taught. Past the mewling bears and contract forgers was the alley of the stranglers, marked by barbed garrotes and silken cords hanging from banners, tallies marking successful kills. The armory boats, those selling blades, bows, and other assorted weapons, were next—along with their deadliest masters. The arsonists followed, those who killed without aim and without care, their deadly conflagrations responsible for scores of murdered souls. In large gondolas cunningly and mockingly made up to appear like temples and hermit dens were the false preachers, those who did not fear God and thus pretend to be any variety of holy men—Sufi mendicants, Christian saints, reincarnations of various Indian deities—to prey on the devout and damn their souls. Beyond—and I wish I was making this up—was the island of women. Yes, all women, for apparently even female forgers are as deadly and distrusted as those who proudly decorate their vessel with bloodied garrotes. It wasn’t a true island but rather a great number of floating platforms whose age had anchored them to the seabed, along with a cluster of houseboats, all overgrown with weeds now tall as trees and mangroves on the western side, throwing it into shadow. There had never been an enormous number of female bandits when I visited; as you might imagine, Sarilaglag attracted violent men, and the code of safe conduct that kept the peace among men did not always extend to the women they often looked down upon. The ones that did make a life for themselves here were thus a ruthless group. I’d been told the Marawati had a standing offer of a berth, but I’d yet to consider it. Even I was afraid of the women of Sarilaglag. Keeping my gaze low, I poled past a floating garden of courtesans practicing card tricks and counterfeiters spreading their tools in the sunshine. A gondola of hijras gawked in recognition and then started laughing. “It is the Sea Leopardess. Aye, Amina al-Sirafi, come sit a spell with us!” “Nay, she best keep going. That bitch cost me my shares in a merchant vessel!” I poled faster. Finally, with another turn of the skiff, I passed the island of women and approached the sole structure not dwelling upon the water: Sarilaglag’s famed meetinghouse. Here deals were struck, gang wars settled, the marriage of crime lords negotiated, and the assassination of princes plotted. The meetinghouse sat high upon a sea wall constructed of green-tinged coral at the foot of a watch tower staffed by a group of extremely well-paid Mamluks who risked death if there was even a whiff of bribery. The building was not overly large but was marked rather dramatically by the severed halves of an old Rus sailing vessel. Legend had it that a crew of the strange northerners once attempted to take over Sarilaglag, dragging their distinctive ships with iron nails and rearing, curled dragon heads across the Sinai, down the Red Sea and into the Persian Gulf, only to be met with the combined force of criminals from Guangzhou to Timbuktu. Their boats were broken and their crucified bodies hung as a warning from the berthing posts. An elder pirate once swore to me that you could still see a fragment of skull with its moldy blond locks plastered to the top of one, though all I could ever make out were some long-dead mollusks among a bird’s nest. The tide had been pulling me toward the eastern bank, but as I glancedup at the watchtower, trying to tamp down my fear, it abruptly gentled. A pleasant breeze tickled my face as a cloud crossed the sun, alleviating the afternoon heat, and the ache in my knee vanished. A whisper—somehow soundless, more like a caress upon my very heart—curled around my nape. Ah, I thought. So you are here. Excerpted from The Tapestry of Fate by Shannon Chakraborty. Copyright © 2026 by Shannon Chakraborty. Reprinted courtesy of Harper Voyager, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>The Tapestry of Fate</i> by Shannon Chakraborty appeared first on Reactor.

News Passenger Buckle Up and Don’t Stop Driving While Watching the Passenger Trailer Backseat driving takes on a new, sinister meaning By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on April 14, 2026 Credit: Paramount Pictures Comment 0 Share New Share Credit: Paramount Pictures “No one outruns the passenger.” That’s what someone ominously says in the trailer for the upcoming horror film Passenger, a movie about a road trip gone horribly wrong, as its log line sums up nicely: A few weeks into their van life adventure, a young couple witnesses a horrific accident that leaves the driver dead. Soon they’re being pursued by a demonic stalker who’s impossible to outrun and follows them wherever they go. That couple is played by Foundation’s Lou Llobell and Jacob Scipio (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent, The Expendables 4). Passenger also stars Melissa Leo (The Equalizer 3, I Know This Much Is True). The film comes from André Øvredal, whose previous credits include The Last Voyage of Demeter, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, and 2010’s underrated Troll Hunter, with a script written by Zachary Donohue & T.W. Burgess. If the trailer is any indication, the movie looks like it has several jump scares mixed in with anti-Christ messaging (we do see a burning church, after all, along with one of the characters unwillingly floating in the air in a messianic pose). I also appreciate the trailer’s cold open, sans music, which gives it a different vibe than most trailers we see these days (complimentary). Overall, it looks like solid horror movie fare, even giving us unverified stats like “130 million people take road trips every year. 15,400 of them are never seen again.” Passenger premieres in theaters on May 22, 2026. Buckle up and watch today’s trailer below. [end-mark] The post Buckle Up and Don’t Stop Driving While Watching the <i>Passenger</i> Trailer appeared first on Reactor.

Books Front Lines and Frontiers Tough Guys in Space: War World by William C. Dietz Welcome to the adventures of Sam McCade: Intergalactic Bounty Hunter By Alan Brown | Published on April 14, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share In this bi-weekly series reviewing classic science fiction and fantasy books, Alan Brown looks at the front lines and frontiers of the field; books about soldiers and spacers, scientists and engineers, explorers and adventurers. Stories full of what Shakespeare used to refer to as “alarums and excursions”: battles, chases, clashes, and the stuff of excitement. I recently heard the sad news that author William C. Dietz had passed away; his name brought back a flood of memories. Starting in the mid-1980s, he was a reliable author of science fiction with adventure and military themes, and I bought a number of his books. His work did not break new ground with scientific and sociological speculation, but he always entertained the reader and kept you turning pages. If I had to compare him to other authors, it would be folks like Lester Dent, author of the Doc Savage pulp adventures, or Edgar Rice Burroughs, whose John Carter books set the standard for planetary romances for decades. News of Dietz’s death sent me down into my basement to search for examples of his work, and the first book I found was one of my favorites, War World, which also turns out to be his first book. Featuring the hard-bitten bounty hunter Sam McCade, it was successful enough not only to be reprinted, but also to kick off a series of three additional books, which were later collected again in two omnibus editions. Possibly to prevent confusion with Jerry Pournelle’s ongoing War World shared world anthology series, the reprint was given the title Galactic Bounty, and the other books in the series shared the word “bounty” in the title. My copy was an Ace paperback original published in 1986, with a cover by “Miro” (an artist I could not identify through an internet search), showing Sam in the cockpit of his spaceship, Pegasus, with his ever-present cigar clenched between his teeth. About the Author William C. Dietz (1945-2026) was an American science fiction author whose work often included military and adventure themes. He was prolific, and wrote over fifty novels in a career that began in 1986 and continued until his death. He was a corpsman who served with the Navy and Marines, and worked in a variety of civilian fields. His longest-running series (of over twelve books) featured the Legion of the Damned, a futuristic fighting force inspired by the French Foreign Legion. He wrote a number of books set in media and gaming universes, including a trilogy based on the Star Wars: Dark Forces video games, and books based on Halo, Mass Effect, and StarCraft. One of his latest original works was the America Rising trilogy, a post-apocalyptic story of war and survival. Bounty Hunters I have always been fascinated by the idea of bounty hunters, people who capture fugitives to collect a reward from the government, or from a bondsman who’s posted bail for the fugitive. I first encountered them in cowboy movies and books in my youth, and it always seemed strange to me that a person who often behaved like an outlaw could be helping enforce the law. Bounty hunters have long been a staple of pulp and adventure fiction, showing up in movies, detective novels, comic books, and science fiction. One of the most famous bounty hunters in science fiction is Boba Fett, from the Star Wars universe, who was introduced in The Empire Strikes Back as an enigmatic and menacing figure with only a few lines and then quickly killed off in Return of the Jedi. But due to fan demand, he was brought back from what had looked like certain death, appearing in comics and novels, and then in The Mandalorian series on Disney+. The bounty hunters of the Star Wars universe became so popular that they were featured in a comic, Star Wars: Bounty Hunters, that ran for several years after its first publication in 2020. While most countries have banned bounty hunting, in the United States the practice continues to this day, with the profession regulated by many state governments, and with practitioners represented by the National Association of Fugitive Recovery Agents. One current bounty hunter, Duane Chapman, gained notoriety by starring in the reality TV series Dog the Bounty Hunter. War World (later retitled as Galactic Bounty) Sam McCade makes his first appearance in a bar, searching for a fugitive: a professional killer named Cadien, who had made the mistake of blowing up a space yacht with the Emperor’s niece aboard. The human Empire is a loosely organized collection of star systems and planets, and without an interstellar police force, often relies on bounty hunters to bring in fugitives. McCade finds and kills Caiden, but not before being wounded himself, and when he regains consciousness, finds himself staring at his old shipmate, now Imperial Navy Captain, Walter Swanson-Pierce. McCade is confronted with an offer he can’t refuse, since he’s broke, and the Empire won’t approve payment of his bounty for Caiden unless he agrees to one more job—and that job is personal. McCade and Swanson-Pierce had both served as junior officers aboard Imperial under a Captain Ian Bridger. And both remember Bridger’s beautiful daughter Sara. But while Swanson-Pierce continued up through the ranks, McCade had been court-martialed by Bridger for disobeying orders during the Battle of Hell, a fierce clash with pirates where Bridger lost his wife and daughter, which is how McCade ended up as a bounty hunter. And now the Empire wants McCade to bring in Bridger. A group of licensed assassins attempt to do in McCade, but fail. The Empire, not the most enlightened of governments, allows people to buy licenses to kill their enemies, although Sam can’t imagine who would pay money to kill him (the incident is rather disconnected from the overall story, but it does break up a passage that would otherwise be pretty exposition-heavy). McCade learns that on the frontier, the Empire has pulled back to let human pirates clash with the Il Ron empire, an aggressive race that is humanity’s biggest opponent in a galaxy full of intelligent alien species. It is a policy that is hard on people on the frontier who bear the brunt of the pirate attacks, but it fits with the Empire’s hands-off approach to governing. But now Bridger has stumbled across something that could tip the balance of power, and it appears that he is willing to sell the secret to the Il Ron. At this point, the automated cart that brought lunch to McCade and Swanson-Pierce explodes, fortunately without seriously harming them (as an author, Dietz is determined not to let the readers get bored). McCade is assigned a Navy detail to assist him, led by the pretty female Lieutenant Laurie Lowe, and consisting of Section Leader Van Doren and a contingent of marines. McCade is given use of a former Navy scout, and more recently a private yacht, called Pegasus, which he will be allowed to keep if he succeeds in his mission, showing just how vital this mission is to the Empire. It turns out Bridger has discovered directions to a planet called the War World, full of artifacts from a now-extinct race humanity calls the Builders. These artifacts could give the Il Ron a huge advantage in their struggles with the human Empire. Bridger has become obsessed with hatred toward the pirates, to the point where he is willing to work with humanity’s arch enemies to enact vengeance on them. Navy Intelligence has traced Bridger to a cargo ship called Leviathan, and when McCade and Lowe approach, and ignore orders to stay away, they are fired upon. They attempt to board, but the tug portion of Leviathan separates from the cargo section and blasts off into hyperspace. McCade is once again wounded, and wakes up in a hospital. They have lost most of their Marine contingent, but McCade, Lowe and Van Doren head toward Weller’s World, a frontier world locked in an ice age, but marginally habitable. There, they face a torpedo attack from Bridger’s team, but survive to find the planet has a remarkably capable local government and military force. The Empire’s hands-off policy has encouraged frontier worlds to become independent, something that may cause problems in the future. There, McCade and company find that Captain Bridger’s daughter Sara had survived her capture by pirates, and has become a member of the world’s government. And now that all the pieces are on the game board, I will leave my recap a bit earlier than I usually do. There are a lot of twists and turns to the plot in this book—sudden reversals of fortune, betrayals, and surprises. To reveal them would take a lot of fun out of the story for those who might want to read it. A good twist is hard to carry off, as the author must foreshadow it well enough that it feels plausible, but not tip off the reader by giving too much information. But Dietz pulls them off very well, and the nature of the War World itself turns out to be the biggest twist of them all. One of my favorite twists is the appearance of a “Treel,” a shape-shifting alien from a race whose world’s predators forced them to develop remarkable powers of mimicry, allowing it to impersonate a number of characters in the book. And, by the end, McCade and the Treel seem to have developed a grudging respect for each other, even though one is a “softie” and the other a “rigid one.” Dietz’s battle scenes are crisp and exciting, and as with Edgar Rice Burroughs, his characters are often captured and must escape. The book also features humorous touches that balance out the action quite well. This book was Dietz’s first, but you wouldn’t know it from the writing, as it reads very smoothly. Sam McCade proves to be an excellent protagonist, a pragmatic everyman with a cigar nearly always clenched between his teeth. He succeeds not so much by being clever, but by being stubborn and durable. Despite his tough and practical exterior, he has a soft heart and strong morals, so he is easy to root for. The end of the book leaves room for sequels, and it is not surprising there were a number of them, and not surprising the books were reprinted several times. Final Thoughts If you are looking for serious literature and artsy prose, then War World is not for you. But if you are a fan of rollicking adventure stories, and looking for something exciting and entertaining, you will find exactly what you want. It is no surprise that War World kicked off a long and prolific career for William C. Deitz, and he will be missed. If you’ve read War World or other works by Dietz, or if you have any recollections of the author, I’d love to hear from you.[end-mark] The post Tough Guys in Space: <i>War World</i> by William C. Dietz appeared first on Reactor.

Blog Bloodborne Bloodborne Is Going to Become a Very Bloody Animated Film It’s not quite a Bloodborne sequel, but it’s a step in the right direction By Molly Templeton | Published on April 14, 2026 Screenshot: PlayStation Comment 0 Share New Share Screenshot: PlayStation In animation, you can have all the gore you want. At least that’s what Sony Pictures says about Bloodborne, which is getting an animated movie adaptation that Variety says “will embrace the carnage that made the game so popular.” In Bloodborne, players control a hunter who explores an ancient city, Yharnam, which is “now cursed with a strange endemic illness spreading through the streets like wildfire. Danger, death and madness lurk around every corner of this dark and horrific world, and you must discover its darkest secrets in order to survive,” as the official synopsis puts it. When it was released in 2015, the game earned glowing reviews pretty much across the board. The Guardian noted its “elegance, precision, humour, and challenge,” with writer Simon Parkin saying that Bloodborne creator Hidetaka Miyazaki “is, perhaps, the medium’s greatest world-builder.” The adaptation is being produced by PlayStation Productions, Lyrical Animation, and gamer Seán McLoughlin, aka JackSepticEye, who Variety notes is “is a gamer who has spent years in the world of Bloodborne, where his digital adventures are tracked by 48 million online fans.” This is, of course, just the latest video game to turn into a potentially massive adaptation. Sony also recently announced an adaptation of Helldivers; The Legend of Zelda movie reportedly has finished filming; The Super Mario Galaxy Movie was just a box-office hit; and, on the small screen, The Last of Us has at least another season, and God of War is in the works—to name just a few. There’s no word on when Bloodborne will hit screens, but be patient: animation takes time. You’ve gotta get all the gruesomeness just right.[end-mark] The post <i>Bloodborne</i> Is Going to Become a Very Bloody Animated Film appeared first on Reactor.