Lazuli is that kind of protagonist you usually see as a side joke in hentai: horny mad scientist, weird potions, zero moral brakes. Here she’s the center of everything, and the whole game just leans into that idea of “what if a futa alchemist decided the world is her test lab and every girl she likes is a guinea pig with tits.” The Cumcoction is her proud invention, but it behaves more like a jealous deity than a simple drug. One drop and a shy virgin trainer girl suddenly starts grinding on a table corner; a proud swordswoman wakes up from “just a drink” with hazy memories, cum leaking out of her ass, and a faint sense that she liked it way too much. The story keeps this strange mix of silly and fucked‑up: Lazuli talks about alchemy like a nerd who reads too many grimoires, but then she’s also the same maniac who will jerk off behind a curtain, whispering little comments while a corrupted Hinata worships her cock with both hands and mouth, drool everywhere, eyes shining with that brainwashed devotion hentai artists love so much. Scenes go from goofy experimentation to really mean stuff: blackmail with magically recorded voyeur footage, “accidental” sleep sex justified with bullshit pseudo‑science, and that slow corruption arc where proud heroines from worlds like Naruto, My Hero Academia, Dragon Ball, Fairy Tail, One Piece or Pokémon tumble down from “No, never” to “Fine, just my hand” to “Why does it feel empty when you pull out?” without even noticing how far they fell.

What makes it weirdly charming is how inconsistent Lazuli is as a character. One moment she’s doing an almost tender titfuck with someone like Nico Robin, clearly enjoying the shape of those big soft breasts, carefully smearing cum on them like she’s painting. Next moment she’s using transformation tricks so suddenly Serena or Nessa find themselves with a fat new cock between their legs, panic mixing with arousal while Lazuli explains in that smug voice how “temporary” it is, then pushes them into group sex anyway. The game uses that 2D and 3D mix in a dirty way: sometimes you get a short animated loop of a character like Erza or Android 18 taking anal, her ass bouncing and jiggling, and then it cuts back to static art for the aftermath, thick creampie dripping while Lazuli notes something in her research book. It feels like a porn lab notebook: handjob success rates, mind control side effects, level of groping tolerated before resistance drops. There are cute slices of perv life too, like Lazuli just watching Nami and Lillie masturbate separately under a subtle spell, legs shaking, completely unaware they’re being observed like experimental mice, or a harem scene where Kushina, Hinata and Sarada end up sharing the same futa cock, half from drugged lust, half from Lazuli’s shameless manipulation. The tone never fully decides if this is still “fun” corruption or already full damnation, and honestly that’s what keeps it interesting: you’re stuck in that sticky line where fantasy, mind control, blackmail, anal, vaginal, sleep sex, creampies, big tits, big asses, all blend together into one long, filthy project of turning every famous girl in anime into Lazuli’s personal property, catalogued, studied, and thoroughly fucked.

A husband, a stupid fight, and that sick feeling in your gut when you suddenly notice how short your own shadow looks next to another guy’s. That is basically where this story sits, grinning at you. You follow this poor bastard of a husband who starts the evening thinking he is “the man of the house” and ends up wondering if his wife is getting her pussy filled by somebody taller, thicker, and a lot more confident. The game plays like a teasing lecture about NTR, but not in a cold way. It is like a drunk friend whispering in your ear, “You see that guy talking to your wife? Yeah, that is how it starts.” The visuals sell that uneasy vibe: soft, slow camera-like cuts, those slightly too-long pauses on her lips when she smiles at someone else, her shirt clinging in all the right places, and his eyes squinting like he is trying not to imagine her on her knees, drool on another man’s shaft. The pace is not rushed, it pokes you. You get moments where almost nothing “big” happens, just small looks, off-hand comments, her phone lighting up with a message while she is in the shower and you are left staring at the screen, imagining every filthy word she might be reading.

There is a strong “PSA from hell” vibe, yeah, like some horny officer in a police comedy explaining step by step how your wife goes from “I would never cheat” to getting her ass slapped by a stranger in some cheap hotel on vacation. The husband is technically the male protagonist, but it never really feels like you are in control. You are more like a ghost stuck in his skull, dragged through his jealousy, his twisted fantasies, his humiliation. One scene that hit hard: he is sitting on the bed, replaying his argument with his wife, and his brain starts playing its own porn parody. Suddenly she is there in his mind, bent over the kitchen counter, big tits pressed on the cold surface, some smug bastard gripping her hips while she moans his name instead. The sounds get louder than his own thoughts. Little sticky lip noises, wet slaps, her breathy “harder” that he is not sure she ever said to him in real life. The game leans into that: you never know where reality stops and his corrupted imagination starts. Sometimes you see Sara in normal everyday clothes, then next transition she is in a tight uniform, unbuttoned just enough, or a cheap lingerie set that looks like it was bought for someone else’s eyes. You get flashes of oral, her cheeks hollowed around a thick cock, but it cuts away too soon, almost mocking you. And in the middle of all this, the tone suddenly slides into this weird humor, like a wink to those who know Konosuba jokes and tentacle memes, like the narrator is some half-drunk wiz giving you “NTR survival tips” while the real lesson is just: if you feel it happening, it probably started a long time ago, back when you ignored how she smiled at her “friend” a little too much. The game never holds your hand. It kind of laughs while you squirm.

Mythos feels like somebody smashed together a late night crime podcast, a horny anime parody and that weird urban legend subreddit you scroll on your phone when you should be sleeping, then sprinkled way too many tits on top and said “yeah, this is fine”. You pick if you’re playing as a guy or a girl right at the start, and it actually matters, not just in “pronoun changed, congrats” way. Some scenes twist a bit depending on your body, who stares at you, who you can seduce, whose hand “accidentally” lands on your ass in the train when the lights flicker and the supernatural stuff leaks through. There is this first big moment where you’re at Lisa’s memorial, staring at a photo of your ex who got murdered in some fucked up way nobody wants to explain, and two completely different types of people hit on you almost at the same time: a smug cop with that “I’m totally abusing my badge” vibe, and this soft spoken girl with huge tits spilling out of a tight uniform that should absolutely not be legal in a public place. The game doesn’t stop to tell you “this is a choice”. It just lets you go horny detective or horny victim or both and quietly tracks who you want to bend you over later.

Sex is not just “reward unlocked, here’s generic bouncing”. You’re running around this fake-modern city where vampires are landlords, tentacle things hang out in dark alleys like drunk ninjas and one busty elf professor keeps “tutoring” you after class, squeezing your thigh while talking about mythology like she isn’t about to slide under the desk and wrap her lips around you. There is a scene at a cheap business hotel during a “vacation” that is not really a vacation. You’re supposed to investigate, but instead you spend half the night pinned against the balcony railing by a frustrated MILF who is technically someone’s wife and technically not human and technically doesn’t give a fuck. She rides you slow while the neon signs below blink and you can choose if you pull out or let her take every drop and feel that messy creampie drip down her inner thighs while she laughs and calls you a good little snack. Later the same day, basically in the same clothes, the story casually throws you into this awful netorare-ish angle where you watch through a half open door as a different woman you got close to is getting pounded by some supernatural asshole with a cock way bigger than yours. The game lets you peek, or walk away, or join and turn it into harem chaos. If you stay hidden, you see her begging for more, getting titfucked until her face is glazed and you can’t decide if you hate her, hate yourself, or just want in. And that mood, that messy mix of comedy, jealousy, horror and “fuck it, let’s suck his balls too”, that’s pretty much Mythos all the way through, jumping between murder clues, meme jokes, romance sweetness, corruption temptations and stupidly hot tentacle scenes in the dark where you swear you’re still solving a case while something slimy is filling your ass and your mouth at the same time.

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