Guy just wants some cold air and maybe a drink, ends up trapped in the quietest, horniest little horror-comedy grocery store on earth. That’s the vibe here. You walk in, sun burning your brain, and suddenly the outside world just kind of... blinks out. The door locks, shelves feel slightly wrong, lights flicker like they’re trying to flirt, and there she is behind the counter: tiny goth clerk with a stare like she already knows exactly how weak you are. Not the cliché latex dominatrix thing, more like “sleep-deprived art major who could crush your soul with one sarcastic comment” mixed with “MILF energy in training,” if that makes sense. Big tits under a cheap t‑shirt, jeans, zero effort styling, but somehow she looks like a walking fetish ad that forgot to be subtle.

The weird part is, nothing technically “happens.” No actual sex, no naked bodies flying around, nobody jumping your dick. It’s all edging, all mind games, like the game is blueballing you on purpose and laughing. She’ll lean over the counter just a little too far, bend down to grab something so her ass lines up perfectly with your eyes, stretch like she’s in a yoga ad, then act like you’re the creep for looking. She calls you out for every tiny reaction, every stolen glance, like she’s reading your browser history in real time. At one point she casually drops a line about how “guys like you are easy to rewire” and the screen does this tiny flicker and yeah, you feel it. Not jump scare, more like you skipped a frame in your own head. You’re not sure if she’s hypnotic or just really good at gaslighting, but you start clicking through lines faster, waiting for some kind of payoff that never quite lands. It’s a kinetic novel, so no choices, no branches, you’re just strapped into her vibe. That’s kinda annoying and kinda perfect. You keep thinking “ok, next scene she’s gonna finally do something,” and instead she just mocks you, teases harder, leans in with that bored stare and explains exactly how she could make you crawl with a single word. Then nothing. Then a joke. Then she looks straight at you again and tells you you’re breathing too loud.

What got me is how the voyeurism hits without any peepholes or secret cams. You’re just there, stuck, watching her do normal clerk stuff while she very obviously watches you watching her. It flips around, like you become the thing on display. She wipes down the counter real slow, checks her phone, pops gum, types something you can’t see, then smiles in that “yeah, I just changed something in your brain” way. At one point she makes you read signs on the wall, stupid boring rules, but the text starts feeling like commands, like she’s training a dog. She never raises her voice, never goes full “kneel, worm” mode, but you still feel dominated, like your dick is on a leash you can’t see. The humor is messed up in a good way too; she’ll roast your porn tastes, call out your search terms, then switch to dead-serious for two lines and talk about control and consent like a late-night TED talk in a haunted 7‑Eleven, then immediately ask if you’re thirsty. Zero subtle transition. The art is rough but kinda perfect for it, she’s cute and a little off-model from scene to scene, which almost sells the idea your memory is being edited. There’s no big climax, no “and then you bang her” scene, it just leaves you horny, slightly confused, and lowkey worried she’s going to show up in your dreams and make you apologize for scrolling Twitter during the dialogue.

Darci hits like a wet dream that crawled out of your teenage goth phase and learned how to fuck reality. Big tiddy, crow-winged, pointy-eared trouble walking through this moody Avalonian city where every alley feels like it smells of cold rain and dirty sex. She is this tall, black-lipsticked futa elf with thighs like religion and a cock that looks like it has its own backstory. Sometimes she just stands in the mirror of her crappy rented room, eye bags dark as ink, feathers twitching, and you feel how much she hates and loves her own body at the same time. The game lets you sit inside that body, inside her head, while she tries to pretend she is just another freak in a society full of polished liars and quiet monsters.

The first time you walk into the GothHouse, the place feels less like “home” and more like someone mashed a sex dungeon with a student dorm and forgot to clean up the energy. Those girls are not just NPCs, more like walking fetishes with their own scars. There is that pale vampire-esque girl in the corner, huge tits squeezed in a corset that looks one breath away from breaking, who pretends not to stare at Darci’s bulge. Later, when you actually choose to follow her to the shared shower, the way the scene goes from awkward small talk to her on her knees, lipstick smeared on Darci’s shaft, water hissing over skin, feels messy in a good way. It is not some clinical porn flow. She gags once, laughs, then keeps going, and Darci’s crow instincts flare up, claws digging into tile, eyes glowing that sick underworld purple. The sex can switch from slow, clingy lesbian grinding to full-on “pin her against the wall and fuck her brains out” when Darci stops being scared of her own power and actually uses it. The game is at its best when it lets you drag that line between tenderness and corruption with one more thrust.

Funny thing, the story pretends to be about “finding her place in society”, but half the time you are just seeing how far you can push these girls before something breaks. There is that elf priestess type who looks holy until you get her alone behind the shrine and make her moan so loud it feels like prayer turned inside out. Darci buries her cock in her while feathers shed to the ground like black snow, and for a moment the underworld power pulses through both of them, giving you this tiny illusion of romance that the next scene absolutely ignores. Some conversations drag on too long, like the game is trying to be all deep and moody while you are just waiting to see if the big ass demon girl in the kitchen will finally bend over the table. She does, eventually, and the vision of Darci grabbing those wide hips, tits swinging, driving in hard while the demon girl laughs and claws at the wood, that wipes away most complaints. Not all, because yeah, sometimes the pacing stumbles and the “universe notes” feel like reading someone’s tumblr lore between jerk-off sessions. But then there is that quiet night where Darci, exhausted, curls around another goth girl in bed, both naked, soft boobs pressed together, dick resting lazy between warm thighs instead of pounding. It is almost sweet. Almost. Then she wakes up, remembers she is a half-crow freak with hellfire between her legs, and you go hunting again.

Kendra walks back into Al-Mara Academy like she owns the place and also kinda hates every brick in it. She is this vampire witch mix, all sharp eyes, big tits, big attitude, and you can feel she is here to fuck things up and also maybe fuck half the staff. The school used to be her home, now it is more like this creepy ex you have unfinished business with. Her old mentor vanished, there is talk about forbidden rituals, monsters in the basement, and students who look way too innocent until they have you pinned against a gothic column with fangs at your throat. The whole place has this strange vibe where a classroom can turn into a crime scene or a sex dungeon with candles and leather in about two clicks. One path you are asking questions about the rector. Next scene you are on your knees in the staff lounge, tasting someone’s secrets while they pull your hair and whisper spells straight into your ear.

What I like is how regular academy shit mixes with the horny and the strange. You are supposed to teach, right, be this serious professor in dark robes, but five minutes later you have a tattooed monster girl with claws tracing your throat, teasing and refusing to give a straight answer unless you let her ride your face. There is a lot going on under the surface. Racial tension between different magical races, old rules broken, new rules nobody respects, and then Kendra trying to keep her cool while her own hunger is constantly poked. Some scenes are soft, like slow romance in a quiet library, fingers brushing over a spellbook before sliding between thighs under the table. Then the game suddenly goes hard into BDSM, collaring, spanking, ropes glowing with runes, a student calling you “Professor” with that stupid ahegao face while you push deep and she clenches around you and begs for creampie like it is extra credit. The tone jumps from mystery to pure filth so fast it feels almost wrong, but in a good “yeah okay ruin me more” kind of way. Sometimes the investigation stops dead because some tall vampire with a big ass leans over the desk and you just forget you were checking clues and not her panties.

Sex here is not just “scene, cum, next.” It feels tangled with power and identity. Female domination pops up a lot, and Kendra is not always the one in control. Sometimes she has a student on their back, legs wide, nails in their hips while she grinds down and makes them choke on her pace. Other times some older witch presses her face into the mattress, whispers a spell, and you feel her tongue and magic at the same time, like she is rewriting you from inside. Oral, vaginal, messy creampies that drip down pale skin, monster girls with weird tongues and tight bodies that are almost human and not quite. In one scene a shy girl in gothic lace finally snaps, shoves Kendra against a stained glass window, bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, and rides her hand with this desperate rhythm while outside the bell tolls like a judge. And you still have to remember which suspect lied to you earlier. Or not. Honestly, half the fun is getting lost in the academy’s shadows and letting its sick little mix of romance, fear, and wet sheets pull you wherever it wants.

UNDAWN: Shackles Of Eternity feels like somebody mashed a grimdark VN, horny gothic Instagram, and a futa porn doujin together, then actually bothered to give the porn a brain. You play as Rhiannon, who looks like the kind of cold, perfect priestess you’d see on a cathedral mural, except she has a cock and way more emotional damage. The world around her is just ruined faith and half-dead gods, with churches that feel more like brothels for the desperate. Every “holy” symbol looks kinda dirty. You’re basically walking through a graveyard of old beliefs, deciding who to fuck and who to sacrifice, while the game keeps asking you quietly, “You sure about that?” and then shows the consequences in bed later. It’s not a power fantasy where you’re some shining savior. Rhiannon feels like a loaded gun that learned how to think. You get romance, sure, but it’s romance that comes with knives hidden under dresses and tongues in places that definitely aren’t holy.

Sex-wise, the game goes pretty hard on futa on female and actually uses the magic shit for more than particle effects. You’re not just clicking through generic “she sucks you off” lines. You get weird little moments like Rhiannon using a whispering spell to make a nun feel every word along her spine, the text describing this chill that rolls down to her ass while you’re already elbow-deep in groping and fingering. First time you push a cute monster girl up against a cracked stained-glass window and her tail wraps around Rhiannon’s thigh while you rail her from behind, it feels personal in a fucked up way. There’s anal and creampies that don’t feel like checkbox porn tags, more like “oh, you chose to promise her safety and instead you’re filling her ass in a back alley behind a dead chapel, good job.” The harem angle is there but messy, poly in the sense that everyone has teeth. The girls fall for Rhiannon and for each other too, so you end up in these lesbian side scenes where Rhiannon watches them eat each other out, only to join, dick out, and turn the whole thing into a pile of limbs, tongues, and cum. Sometimes it’s tender, slow oral with a shy femboy who looks like he stepped out of a BL mobile game. Sometimes it’s Rhiannon pinning a proud knightess to the altar and pounding her until her prayers turn into begging. The mystery stuff wraps around the porn like a noose. You keep thinking you’re choosing who you love and who you fuck, then slowly realize you’re also choosing who loses their soul piece by piece. And the game doesn’t scream this at you. It just shows you the aftermath in the next “romantic” scene, like a girl who used to be all fire letting you slide into her raw and quiet, because she’s finally broken in exactly the way you helped shape.