Every Final Fantasy ranking is wrong. Mine included.
The franchise spans thirty-seven years, sixteen mainline entries, and approximately four hundred spin-offs (I stopped counting after Crystal Chronicles), and no two fans agree on which game sits at the top. This isn’t a failure of critical consensus; it’s a feature of the series itself.
Final Fantasy reinvents itself so aggressively with every entry that comparing them feels like ranking different genres against each other.
Is VI better than XV?
You might as well ask if jazz is better than hip-hop. They’re doing different things.
That kind of debate isn’t unique to RPGs either. In competitive communities like CS2, players constantly argue over maps, weapons, and playstyles, not because there’s a single correct answer, but because everyone values different aspects of the experience.
That kind of debate isn’t unique to RPGs either. In competitive communities like CS2, especially on platforms like Pley.gg, players constantly argue over maps, weapons, and playstyles, not because there’s a single correct answer, but because everyone values different aspects of the experience.
But we rank them anyway, because that’s what fans do. And the arguments we have about those rankings reveal something interesting about what different players value in an RPG.
Some people want narrative ambition. Some want mechanical depth. Some want world-building.
Some want a soundtrack that makes them cry on public transit. Final Fantasy, across its history, has delivered all of these things, just never all at once in the same game.
The nostalgia trap
Here’s the uncomfortable truth that every ranking must acknowledge: the Final Fantasy you played first will always feel special in a way that no objective analysis can replicate.
If you started with VII, the Midgar opening is burned into your brain as the template for what a JRPG should feel like.
If you started with X, Zanarkand’s destruction is your baseline for emotional storytelling. If you started with IV, the Dark Knight to Paladin transformation defined character development for you before you knew what character development was.
This same nostalgia shows up in Counter-Strike as well. Many CS2 players still compare everything to earlier versions like 1.6 or Global Offensive, not just on mechanics, but on how those games felt when they first experienced them.
I started with IX. Vivi, walking through the gates of Alexandria for the first time, felt like walking into a world that existed independently of my participation in it. That feeling has colored every subsequent Final Fantasy experience.
I judge each game partly on whether it achieves the same sense of discovering a living place. That bias is real, and pretending it doesn’t exist would be dishonest.
The rankings that try hardest to be objective are usually the least useful, because they strip away the personal context that makes the evaluation meaningful.
The mechanical evolution nobody talks about
Most Final Fantasy rankings focus on story and characters. Almost none adequately address the mechanical evolution across the series, which is genuinely fascinating when you trace it from start to finish.
The original Final Fantasy is a dungeon crawler with class selection.
II introduces a use-based skill system that was decades ahead of its time and poorly balanced.
III perfects the job system.
IV abandons customization entirely in favor of fixed character roles and introduces ATB.
V brings back the job system with an absurd level of depth.
VI gives every character unique abilities plus a shared magic system.
VII introduces Materia: a modular ability system that’s been copied by dozens of games since.
This constant reinvention is why ranking the series mechanically is almost impossible. Is V’s job system better than VII’s Materia? They’re solving different design problems.
It’s similar to how CS2 evolves through balance updates and meta shifts. What works in one version of the game isn’t necessarily “better,” it’s built for a different design philosophy and player expectation.
For anyone interested in a ranking that actually grapples with these mechanical distinctions alongside the narrative ones, https://icicledisaster.com/every-final-fantasy-ranked/ does a thorough job of weighing gameplay systems, story, and cultural impact without pretending objectivity is possible. It’s one of the more honest attempts I’ve seen at this impossible task.
The divisive middle entries
The games that generate the most argument aren’t the ones universally loved (VI, IX) or universally dismissed (II, the mobile games). They’re the middle entries: the games where reasonable people disagree violently.
VIII is the ur-example. The Junction system is either a brilliant deconstruction of RPG progression or a broken mess that punishes you for playing the game. The Draw mechanic is either a meditative resource-gathering system or an exercise in tedious menu interaction.
Squall is either a realistically written teenager struggling with emotional vulnerability or an insufferable protagonist.
There is no neutral position on VIII.
This kind of divide is something CS2 players know well. Whether it’s weapon balance, map design, or playstyle preferences, strong disagreements often come from players valuing completely different aspects of the experience.
What the remakes revealed
The Final Fantasy VII Remake project revealed something essential about the original game: its reputation was built as much on what players imagined as on what the game actually showed them.
The Remake filled in those gaps with detail, and the result was simultaneously more precise and less open to interpretation.
We’ve seen similar reactions in CS2 with the transition to the Source 2 engine. The improvements are clear, but changes in feel and presentation sparked debate because players had strong expectations tied to earlier versions.
The soundtrack question
If you ranked Final Fantasy games purely by soundtrack quality, the list would look completely different from any gameplay-based ranking.
The same idea applies in competitive games. In CS2, elements like sound design, atmosphere, and even crowd energy in esports can shape how players experience the game, even if they aren’t strictly mechanical.
Why do we keep ranking
The reason Final Fantasy rankings generate such passionate discussion isn’t that fans disagree about quality. It’s that each game in the series represents a different vision of what an RPG should be.
Putting VI first is a vote for narrative ambition. Putting V first is a vote for mechanical depth. Putting XIV first is a vote for evolving experiences.
The same applies to CS2. When players debate strategies or metas, they’re really expressing what they believe the game should prioritize.
The accessibility revolution
One thing modern Final Fantasy entries do better than their predecessors is accessibility.
Similarly, the CS2 ecosystem, including communities like Pley.gg, has made it easier for players to engage at different skill levels without removing the depth that keeps competitive players invested.
Final thoughts
The Final Fantasy series will continue generating rankings, arguments, and passionate defenses of every entry.
CS2 will too.
That’s not a problem to solve. That’s proof that both communities still care — that players are invested enough to argue, compare, and revisit what these experiences mean to them.
As long as that’s true, both Final Fantasy and CS2 are doing exactly what they’re meant to do: giving every player a different reason to love them.
About the author:
[Icicle Disaster] has ranked Final Fantasy more times than he can count, and each ranking is different from the last. He started with IX, peaked emotionally with X, and has accepted that his bias toward both is permanent, much like any long-time player’s attachment to their version of Counter-Strike.
