There is something a bit fucked about walking into “your” apartment and your first real conversation is with a ghost that wants to blow you. Not in a fun, fluffy hentai way either. The game sets you up as this unlucky guy from the Devos bloodline, and the place already feels wrong before anything actually happens. Lights flicker, those cheap 3D shadows slide over the walls like they know your name, and then, boom, you look in the bathroom mirror and there’s a pale thing behind you that looks half depressed boy, half succubus. It smiles, and you’re thinking “ok, jumpscare?” but no. It kneels. That whole scene is animated with this weird slow hunger, and it’s honestly more uncomfortable than most horror movies on Netflix. In a good way, if you are into that mix of dread and dick worship.

The story pretends to be about solving a family curse, reading notes on your tablet, digging through old messages and voice memos your father left you, trying to understand who started all this paranormal shit. But the game keeps distracting you with horny ghosts and monster girls that do not respect personal space. You open a locked door with this simple puzzle and a ghost girl with empty eyes rushes up to you, sniffs your neck, then quietly asks if she can “taste living seed again.” That escalates fast into you pinned against the wall, her mouth deep on you, gagging and drooling, then suddenly she shifts on top and you are buried inside her while the UI is still pretending you’re investigating clues. At one point a femboi spirit in tattered underwear crawls out from under the bed, wraps your waist with this thin, shaky body, and just sinks down on you, riding in total silence while distant knocking sounds start in the hallway. Your MC is trying to ask “who cursed the Devos line?” while he is balls deep in a ghost that keeps tightening around him like it wants to drag his soul out through his cock. The game does not fade to black, it shows creampies in full detail, cum spilling from ghost holes that are not even supposed to be physically real. And then, after all that, the apartment goes quiet again, and you’re left scrolling through old diary pages on your phone, dripping, trying to pretend this is still about “mystery” and “romance” and not about how many times the dead can milk you before you finally understand why your whole bloodline is cursed.