SaGa revels in making the player feel as though his chances are running out. Final Fantasy makes a young player walk around in circles for six hours to save up enough money to buy a Silver Sword, which will make the Marsh Cave objectively 30 times easier. The Final Fantasy player feels much like a young boy being given an electric guitar; he knows that, with practice, he can one day rock the Budokan. The SaGa player, when the bus ride ends and he's home after work sitting against the balcony door with a cigarette and a bottle of beer, feels like an aging hipster who has, literally, one last chance to impress a crowd with his rock and roll.
SaGa revels in making the player feel sick and lonely. In its fourth world, the post-apocalyptic one, non-player characters are set up like stick figures or finger puppets; members of a resistance group, they are raging against Suzaku, a giant malicious phoenix who eventually, over the course of four hours, devours and destoys them all one-by-one, as we learn their names. No doubt Kawazu thought this was funny. It's not funny. It's mean. The ten-year-old me wanted to wag my finger at Kawazu like I was his mother and he'd just pushed a kid down the stairs at school. It was a naughty thing to do, and the game just kept doing it, again and again. Surprises heaped on surprises until the story, which no one really cared about in the first place (we were just gaining levels on the bus, see), had contradicted itself into nothingness.
So the tower goes to Heaven, and the being at the top is evil? Okay? Though he's not really the real god -- the other guy is, and he's evil too? The player's so numerically being in control of his characters progress turned out to be a sneering curse as well, like, "Yeah, you thought we'd keep giving you these hit-point upgrades, huh? Well! No! 600 is all you get! Now you're weak, and the monsters are strong! You'd best start running!"