There is this strange, heavy feeling when the game opens, like walking back into an old porn folder you forgot, but someone has replaced all cheap hentai with something that actually stares back at you. You are this ancient thing, Iraáil, a vampire god-thing, whatever, but tired as fuck. Not the sexy edgy teen vampire tired, more like “I’ve seen too much blood and too much bad sex and I’m bored of both” tired. The game sits you in that mood right away. You’re not chasing girls in school uniforms, you’re walking into the ruins of your own family, and everyone in it either wants to fuck you, kill you, or cry when they see you, sometimes all three in same scene. The writing leans hard into that mix of horny and awful. One moment you are licking blood off someone’s throat while their lover watches and shakes, half terrified, half desperate to be next, and the text lingers on the taste, the smell, the way their body softens under you. Then, in the next line, it hits you with “this is your child’s descendant” and suddenly your dick and your conscience are in the same small coffin.

What got me is how the erotic scenes never feel like they are in a separate folder from the rest. You make a small choice, like putting a hand on a shoulder instead of around the throat, and three scenes later someone is either on their knees for you, or sobbing and calling you a monster while still grinding against your leg. The game keeps score in this weird fear and love way, but it never throws a big popup, it just quietly warps how people look at you. There was this one moment where I chose to be “gentle” with a worshiper in a temple, just to see what the soft option looks like. It still ended in cum and blood on the floor, but the whole vibe flipped. Instead of them begging you to hurt them more, they were whispering that they missed you, like some fucked up immortal ex, and I actually paused, alt tabbed to Spotify, changed the playlist, came back and just stared at the text like “why am I sad with my pants down.” And the horror parts, they are not jumpscares, more like that slow “oh, I really did those things, huh” realization. When your progeny strips for you, showing bite marks you gave generations ago like holy scars, it’s hot in that dirty, stomach twisting way. You want to click further, you also want to close the browser and go touch grass. But you don’t. You pretend you will be kinder this time, then pick the cruel dialogue anyway, just to see how deep the rabbit hole of this fucked up immortal soap opera goes. The game remembers. The characters remember. Their bodies remember you most of all.