You wake up in a world that feels too heavy with history, like the air itself remembers every god that ever fucked, lied, or loved here. It’s not some shiny Olympus on a postcard - it’s cracked marble, sweat, and the smell of skin after lightning. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be mortal or divine, but everyone who looks at you seems to want to find out by getting under your clothes. The game doesn’t waste time pretending it’s about heroism; it’s about hunger, the kind that makes your chest ache and your hands shake when someone whispers your name like a prayer. You make choices, yeah, but half the time it feels like the choices are making you - pulling you toward lust or rage or something that tastes like both.

There’s this one scene - I can’t forget it - where you’re standing in front of a goddess who’s pretending to be human. She touches your face like she’s remembering it from another life, and then suddenly she’s pressing you against the wall, and it’s not gentle. The writing doesn’t flinch; it lets the moment breathe, dirty and holy at once. That’s what got me. The sex isn’t just there to get you off (though it will, trust me), it’s tangled with the story, with the idea that desire is a kind of truth. And sometimes it’s ugly. Sometimes you hate what you want. But the game doesn’t judge. It just watches.

I kept thinking about how the gods here aren’t better than humans - they’re just more naked about their madness. The jealousy, the possessiveness, the way they look at you like you’re both prey and prophet. It’s messy, mythic, erotic as hell. The music hums low like a heartbeat, and every choice feels like it could ruin you or make you divine. Maybe both.