Can’t lie, I clicked expecting another copy-paste anime mashup with the usual stiff models and dead-eyed moans, but this one hits different. There’s a sadness under all that skin, like someone coded their fantasies too carefully, you know? I found myself staring at Raven’s face - Batman’s Raven - and thinking, “she shouldn’t be looking at me like that,” while still dragging her into position anyway. Unreal how fast guilt turns into hunger when the animation breathes just right. And maybe it’s because of the Illusion engine doing its sneaky physics thing, or maybe because the transitions are almost clumsy, like real people fumbling with clothes and patience. It’s messy, which makes it hot.

The scenes jump from universes without pretending to make sense. One second I’m in some broken-down Capsule Corp lab, Bulma smirking like she *planned* to get caught; next, Yoruichi’s toes press against my chest, laughing, telling me to look up. I did. Of course I did. The voyeur mode feels wrong in the best possible way - it doesn’t even give you fake morality options, just lets you watch. But then again, maybe that’s lazy design. Or genius. Hard to tell when your brain’s half-melted. The weird part? The sound mix changes depending on position, so D.Va sounds distant if she turns away. I swear no one ever gets audio that intimate, not even those overpriced VR patches on Steam.

Anyway, I could say it’s perfect, but I won’t. Some things twitch too mechanically - the faces sometimes freeze mid-expression, like they remember they’re code. Yet that’s also the charm. You see the seams, and you keep touching them. Like rubbing a wound for pleasure. Half the cast shouldn’t exist in the same space - Orihime beside Tifa beside Samus - but here they crowd my screen like they’ve been waiting forever. Maybe that’s why it works: it’s absurd, obscene, familiar, and somehow lonelier than expected. I closed the browser and immediately reopened it. Couldn’t help it.

I swear this game messed with my head more than any so-called “psychological” visual novel ever did. You wake up rich, spoiled, surrounded by girls who look like they stepped straight out of some fever-dream crossover - like, imagine Asuka Langley arguing with Hinata about who gets to sit closer to you at breakfast, and then Merlin just casually walks in wearing nothing but a towel that doesn’t even try to do its job. It’s ridiculous, yet there’s something weirdly believable about it. Maybe because the dream logic fits too well: everything looks perfect, but your brain keeps whispering that something’s off. I liked that uneasy feeling until it got buried under all the moaning and skin. Then again, maybe that’s the point - when reality breaks, people reach for pleasure first. Or I’m overthinking pixels again.

There’s this scene - I won’t spoil too much - but you’re supposed to choose between helping Yor Forger study or letting Jinx drag you to her room. I picked Yor, thinking it’d be wholesome. Yeah, right. Five clicks later she’s on the desk, glasses half-off, saying things no spy should ever say. The animation isn’t flawless; sometimes her eyes lag behind her face, which made me laugh when I shouldn’t have. But that glitchy charm stuck with me longer than any of the polished stuff. And the sound design? Way too real. My cheap headphones couldn’t handle Tsunade’s voice purring through them. Still, I kept replaying the same moment like an idiot chasing déjà vu.

Funny thing: I started playing for the sexy chaos, but ended up stuck thinking about that blank-memory setup. Like maybe the main guy deserves the confusion. Maybe we all do. It’s a horny game pretending to be philosophical - or a philosophical game pretending to be horny. Doesn’t matter. When Nami whispers something about “remembering the wrong things,” I actually paused. Then I unpaused, because, well… she was already moving.

I don’t know who came up with the idea to mash Makima, Zelda, and Tsunade into the same world, but whoever it was probably spilled beer on their keyboard halfway through writing the script - and that’s what makes *D20 Magic Dice* feel alive. It’s messy, horny, strangely sentimental at times, like watching late-night anime reruns after a breakup. You’re talking to this dice thing (yeah, an actual dice), and before you even realize it, it’s making your thoughts real. Not just the good ones. I rolled a 3 once and ended up in some half-lit tavern where Widowmaker was arm wrestling Rumi for no reason while Zelda flirted with the bartender. I think I lost track of the main plot two minutes in, but it didn’t matter. The game doesn’t care either, it just keeps throwing beautiful chaos in your lap, all soft skin and heavy breathing mixed with dumb jokes about mana points.

What I liked most is how it doesn’t pretend to be clever. The dialogue’s sometimes broken, and the pacing jumps like old VHS tape - one second you’re teasing Ada Wong, next second Tsunade’s lecturing you about responsibility while sitting on your lap. There’s some strange comfort in that inconsistency. I did wish there were more sound options though; moans hit too loud compared to everything else, made me lower volume quick before neighbors got curious. And yet, when Makima whispers in that weirdly calm tone, you kinda forgive every bug. Maybe nostalgia blinds me - I grew up on janky flash hentai crossovers, and this feels like one resurrected from 2009. The dice mechanic almost feels secondary to the conversations, which twist between sincere and absurd so fast it makes you laugh mid-erection.

Sometimes I forget which universe I’m even in - Naruto? Overwatch? Who cares. The worlds blur, the clothes vanish, and someone says something about destiny while you’re trying not to roll another damn six. Three words? Chaotic, filthy, affectionate. Dare to play it alone, or invite company?

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.