You check in at this weird, fucked up hotel thinking it’s just another quick jerk break between Discord messages and a half-finished ranked match in Valorant, and then it hits you: everyone here is hot, half-creepy, half-adorable, and technically dead. Not rotting dead, more like “came out of a lab, upgraded with big tits and attitude” dead. They call it relaxation, but it’s basically a cum economy. Your load is the wallet. Every handjob, every messy blowjob, every time you pump some zombie babe’s pussy, the counter goes up and more doors unlock. It sounds dumb when you explain it, but suddenly you’re actually thinking shit like “ok, I need 6 more loads to reach that room with the smug goth girl that looks like Wednesday had a way dirtier phase.”

What sinks the hook in is how familiar a lot of the girls feel, without the game screaming it in your face. One moment there’s a clumsy, brainy girl in an orange sweater who drops to her knees faster than my Wi‑Fi when I open Twitch, and the next you’re staring at a green-haired psychic that basically radiates “I could throw you through the wall, but I’d rather pin you to the bed and milk you dry.” A blonde in blue spandex leaning on the balcony rail like she owns the place, a tomboy with short hair and headphones who’s way too into teasing slow strokes with her hand, a shy chick with glasses who deepthroats like she’s trying to study your DNA. The game doesn’t pretend to be subtle. It just throws familiar faces at you, puts a price on them, and says: pay in cum.

The loop is stupid simple, which honestly works when you’re half-awake after scrolling porn on Xvideos and going “ok, one more thing before sleep.” New day, new girl at the hotel desk or waiting in some shady corridor, each with their own number slapped on like a cheap mobile game microtransaction. Only here, you’re grinding with your dick. Do a few rounds with an early girl, blow your load, watch the counter climb. Hit that goal, suddenly a door you kept clicking before finally opens and there’s a smug zombie redhead licking her lips, asking for “payment.” Sometimes you just sit there staring at the screen because the animation hits that perfect angle and you forget you were supposed to stop after one nut and go back to Netflix. Controls aren’t special, some things repeat a bit too much, and the sound can be slightly off, but then a girl looks up at you mid-blowjob with those big, glossy, undead eyes and you’re like, yeah, ok, fine, one more round.

Raven finally snapped in this one, and honestly, it’s beautiful in the worst possible way. Forget the usual brooding goth mage who saves Jump City and complains about emotions. Here she’s basically turned her room into a magical porn lab and decided the best way to fix her mood is to mass produce more of herself and then ruin every version from the inside out. It starts off almost calm: dark room, candles, that familiar vibe from the tower, and then the camera pans and you realize, oh, there’s not one Raven here, there’s a whole damn lineup. Different outfits, slightly different expressions, same purple hair, same smug “I know exactly what you’re staring at” look. Some of them already naked, some still pretending they’re wearing clothes for a reason. Then you notice the important upgrade: every clone packing stupidly big cock that clearly isn’t there for show. She basically turned herself into both the casting couch and the entire cast.

The pacing is kind of wild. There’s zero build-up to “respectable foreplay.” One Raven on her knees choking herself on another Raven’s dick, smeared mascara, eyes rolling, and in the back you can see two more clones going full anal pileup like it’s a group project nobody planned but everybody passes anyway. It does that thing where the camera lingers way too long on the throat bulge when she’s deepthroating, like it wants you to count how many inches disappeared. And it keeps cutting between angles so you get this weird whiplash: one second you’re watching her being pinned face-first into the sheets, getting pounded in her ass while someone else feeds her cock, next second you’re staring at a Raven stroking herself, waiting her turn, cum already drying on her tits because she got there early. The bukkake scenes hit like a messed up ritual: half-circle of futa Ravens around one poor, smug original, all jerking, then she gets painted completely, white on purple, dripping off her chin, sticking in her hair, and she looks genuinely happy for once. Or possessed. Hard to tell with her.

It leans hard into the whole “I don’t need anyone else, I’ll fuck myself” vibe, which is weirdly on-brand for Raven. She’s basically her own gangbang. Her own harem. Her own humiliation arc. You get anal, oral, stacked penetration where she’s plugged in every hole like some cursed magic artifact, and they don’t shy away from showing that everything stretches and throbs and pulses in a way that’s actually a bit too honest. Some shots are messy as hell, like whoever framed them just wanted to zoom on the veins of that big cock and forgot there’s a whole body attached. And then you get these little moments, like a Raven clone wiping cum off another’s lips with her thumb and then pushing the same thumb back into her mouth, casual as drinking coffee. It’s not romantic. It’s not “sexy story with feelings.” It’s just a goth sorceress locked in a feedback loop of cloning, using, and filling her own clones until the whole room looks like a sticky magic disaster. And somehow, that fits her more than half the “serious” fan stories out there.

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