Doom Eternal has some of the best level design I've ever seen. The environments are spectacles of grisly art that channel Giger, Barlowe, and Beksinski.
Colossal demons litter the hellscapes with giant Gundam-like mechs towering over them, speaking of some great war that came before. Demons soar the skies and scour the crumbled ruins of forgotten realms.
Satanic glyphs glow, molten lava burns the universe, and damned souls howl from behind grisly gates right out of a demented Wayne Barlowe painting.
They're all setpieces that frame a larger-than-life experience. The visuals speak to you without saying any words, telling you stories about behemoth monstrosities, about an ancient lore that's older than humanity, about an endless struggle rife with death and mayhem.
There's a grandiosity about Doom Eternal's environments that merges high fantasy, deep sci-fi, and an ultra-revolting style that's all its own. Every level pushes things even farther in an almost absurd yet cinematic way.
The corrupted environments have all the grotesqueness of an 80s horror flick. Mavens like David Cronenberg would be proud, and the sick and twisted minds behind the old-school shock-horror film Society will absolutely love the disgusting, pulsing tentaclescapes the game offers.
At one point, you blast a demon's guts and climb through its body. Another sees you destroying a writhing mass of demon flesh.
In one section, you return to the Great Slayer's ancestral home to fight in ancient interstellar Colosseum, bloodsport-style. It's a brutal massacre that celebrates Doom Eternal's machismo spirit.
The game takes you everywhere. You go to a demon-infested Earth, to the ancient Sentinel city of Argent D'Nur, and to the City of the Damned itself. It's a sprawling epic whose environments keep you captivated and engaged throughout.