As the average age of video-game developers and players has crept upwards, everyone has started to expect more from their characters. In the last decade, formerly two-dimensional avatars from Lara Croft to Wolfenstein’s BJ Blazkowicz have been retrofitted with backstories and motivations – with varying success.

On the face of it, Kratos, the vengeful god who powered the excellent (and gratuitously violent) God of War games of the 00s, is an absurd candidate for such humanisation. Until now, his sole character trait has been angry. He has retired to Scandinavia, is recently widowed and father to a tweenaged son who knows nothing of his god-slaying, blood-soaked past in Greece. He and the boy set out to scatter his wife’s ashes from the top of a distant mountain, getting unwillingly caught up in the affairs of Norse gods along the way.

This God of War wants us to see Kratos as a person, rather than an instrument of extraordinary violence. The game not only pulls this off, but turns Kratos and his son’s journey into one of the best games of recent years: a deft intertwining of relatable familial drama and awe-inspiring mythological epic.

The combat is not as comically overblown as it once was, but this is still a very violent game, with deliberate, intense fights against creatures ranging from the frozen undead to building-sized monsters. It is exhilaratingly brutal: every hit has heft, and most enemies are a threat. You can unfurl an arsenal of attacks with bare fists, a shield and an ice-imbued axe that, once thrown, flies back into Kratos’s hand with a satisfying thunk. His son, Atreus, who blinks back tears while hunting a deer in one of the game’s first scenes, gradually becomes more accomplished with a bow and helpful in confrontations.

This is a story about what it means to be a god, but also about what it means to be a man

When not fighting, you are exploring the reaches of Midgard on foot or by boat, finding temples and ruins that take inspiration from Norse mythology. Treasure chests and mythological texts are hidden in places that need brainwork rather than brawn to unlock, encouraging the player to look around and feel present in the world. The axe is frequently put to alternative use in these puzzles, freezing mechanisms in place or thrown to flip switches or destroy sigils. Comprehending God of War’s memorable places is as satisfying as sinking the axe into a demon’s skull – alternating between thinking and fighting gives God of War a rhythm that can be absorbing for hours at a time.

The game is one continuous shot, with no interruptions; irritating necessities such as loading screens are hidden so effectively that you barely realise they are there. This cinematic commitment to Kratos’ point of view enhances the story’s efforts to humanise him. You walk in his boots, flowing between combat, story scenes and exploration without interruption. There are abundant moments of outstanding beauty: canoeing beneath the rusting legs of an ancient statue of Thor and on to a lake; traversing the bodies of fallen giants; entering a temple to find cavernous, treasure-packed chambers, resplendent works of virtual architecture. It is among the most visually impressive games made – so much so that rendering it makes the PlayStation 4 sound as if it’s about to expire.

Every hit has heft … God of War on PS4. Photograph: Sony

God of War’s world is enormous – set aside at least 30 hours to explore it – but it is devoid of the busy work that plagues similarly ambitious games. Every diversion from the main story is an adventure rather than a task, making exploration worth your while for more than the treasure; some of the best stories here are hidden. The mythological setting imbues this world with mystery. Players feel like archeologists, learning more about the fiction with every foray into an unexplored corner of the map.

God of War is a story about what it means to be a god – traversing realms, killing mythical monsters, exerting power, exploring the boundaries of possibility – but also about what it means to be a man. Power and masculinity are intertwined, and Kratos’s desire to protect his son from the realities of both is unexpectedly touching. Atreus is far from the irritating sidekick he might have been, complementing Kratos’s gruff and humourless dialogue with quips and endearing observations, turning his father’s intense seriousness and inability to find humour in anything into a running joke. Their dynamic changes shape more than once over the course of the story, and their relationship involves a lot more demon blood and magical artefacts than the typical parent-child relationship, but Kratos is still a distant, emotionally remote father trying clumsily to reach out to a son who feels unwanted.

It is rare to play a game so accomplished in everything it sets out to do. God of War is a standard-setter both technologically and narratively. It is a game that, until recently, would have been impossible.