DeVuego

By the time Luto reaches its conclusion, the lasting impression is not that of having simply completed a psychological horror game, but of having passed through an experience that feels more intimate, more disquieting, and at times emotionally difficult to endure. This is not a work oriented toward immediate entertainment or easily consumable tension. It avoids conventional gratification, eschews spectacle, and shows little interest in accessibility. Instead, it is designed to linger – to settle into the player’s perception gradually and remain there, extending the experience beyond the act of play itself. It is this sustained aftereffect, more than any individual moment, that defines its impact. What stands out most is Luto’s ability to transform a relatively confined space into a layered emotional experience. The house, initially appearing as a deliberately limited environment, steadily expands in meaning and symbolic weight. It becomes fluid and unstable – simultaneously setting, memory, emotional echo, and form of containment. Rather than serving as a backdrop for horror, it functions as its primary expressive medium, shaping not only what the player sees, but how they interpret what they experience. A defining strength of the game lies in its disciplined approach to pacing. In contrast to genre conventions built around escalation and frequent stimulation, Luto relies on accumulation and restraint. Tension is rarely released in conventional peaks; instead, it builds gradually, recedes, and returns in altered form. The result is an experience that is less immediately explosive than it is persistently resonant, designed to persist in the player’s mind rather than resolve cleanly within the moment of play. This same design philosophy, however, also demands significant engagement from the player. Luto is not structured for passive consumption. It requires patience, attentiveness, and a willingness to inhabit ambiguity. Repetition, silence, and interpretative openness are not incidental features but core elements of its design language. Thematically, the game is striking for the seriousness with which it weaves emotional suffering into its very structure. Grief, anxiety, depression, and psychological entrapment are not approached as narrative topics alone, but are embedded into the fabric of the experience itself – expressed through spatial design, pacing, sound, and interaction. This tight alignment between form and meaning stands as one of the project’s most accomplished qualities, underscoring the potential of video games not merely to represent emotional states, but to actively embody them. At the same time, this approach inevitably produces an experience that can feel heavy, even oppressive. The discomfort it generates does not stem from traditional horror mechanics, but from sustained emotional pressure. Luto does not offer catharsis in any conventional sense; instead, it maintains a state of psychological tension that resists resolution. While this choice is consistent and artistically coherent, it also makes the experience inherently demanding. Ultimately, Luto is less defined by mechanical breadth or structural variety than by the precision of its emotional design. It is a focused, often suffocating experience, but one marked by clarity of intent and notable restraint in execution. Above all, it succeeds in articulating a specific emotional condition: the lingering persistence of grief, the cyclical weight of regret, and the difficulty of escaping unresolved psychological states. Its strongest resonance will likely be found with players who recognise these emotional landscapes. While not an easy experience, Luto offers something quieter and more enduring in return: a form of recognition that, for some, may feel uncomfortably personal.

From our perspective, After Us is a bold and imperfect, yet profoundly meaningful creation. It’s not a game for everyone, but it stands as one of those rare experiences capable of leaving a lasting impression—particularly on those attuned to environmental themes and open to quiet introspection. What resonated most with us wasn’t the variety of gameplay—which, inevitably, begins to feel repetitive over time—but its remarkable ability to stir deep emotions through visual and auditory language, all without a single spoken word. It is a world meant to be wandered, not conquered. There are no missions to accomplish, no victories to secure. The game’s true aim is to prompt reflection, to inspire understanding, and to make us feel the weight of irreversible loss and the delicate hope of redemption. Its symbolism is never arbitrary. Every element—be it the animal spirits, the Devourers, the crumbling architecture, or the sudden resurgence of vegetation—serves a distinct narrative purpose. Even the absence of a HUD, the bold use of color, and Gaia’s slow, meditative movements are all part of a carefully considered vision: to transform the video game into a medium of expression rather than mere entertainment. While we cannot ignore its weaknesses—particularly the sections where repetition becomes apparent and the lack of dynamic gameplay may cause detachment, especially among players less inclined toward contemplation—we can only conclude that After Us is a work that urges us to look ahead, mindful of the missteps of humanity’s past. Its true purpose is to cultivate emotional and intellectual awareness—an awareness essential to imagining and building a better future. In my view, After Us strikes emotional chords that few games even attempt to reach. It’s a title that takes risks—and, in the long run, succeeds in them. For that alone, it deserves attention and praise. It’s not a game that aims to please everyone, but it has the power to move deeply those willing to be carried away by its visual language and its silent emotions.

“Oxide Room 104 is a title that, despite its flaws, delivers an engaging horror experience for genre enthusiasts—those who can never get enough of devouring every entry in the category. While there is certainly room for improvement, the game is rich with promising ideas that establish a strong foundation for a bright future for the WildSphere team. Thus, as we await the sequel, Oxide Room 208, originally scheduled for June 2025, my verdict aligns with the critical consensus, awarding the game a well-deserved and satisfying passing grade.”

The Cabin Factory offers a unique horror experience, focusing on psychological tension and atmosphere rather than traditional jump scares. The combination of liminal spaces, implicit storytelling, and industrial settings makes it a memorable title, leaving players with a lingering sense of unease even after the game ends. Despite its short duration, the game deeply engages and unsettles, proving that horror doesn’t need big budgets or elaborate visual effects to be effective. If you’re seeking a short yet intense horror experience, The Cabin Factory definitely deserves a place in your collection.

Abathor is definitely a little gaming gem. A declaration of love from David and Javier Garay towards the arcade classics of the late 80s. The attention to detail makes the game impressive from a visual and sound point of view, embellishing the atmosphere of the title. Unfortunately Abathor has retained anachronistic elements and some naivety that can also be partly corrected. Although the difficulty and the perception of it is also subjective, some mechanics objectively only add artificial difficulty. All in all, Abathor is a good product that deserves to be played, which is mostly aimed at a specific niche. I invite you to at least try it even if you are not “old school” players because its aesthetics and old style gameplay might fascinate you.

Blasphemous is a provocative yet profoundly thought-out and compelling product. With its dark and grotesque characters that often evoke deep sorrow, if not profound revulsion, it knows how to distinguish itself and break away from the stylistic norms of a classic metroidvania, even though it adheres to the rules and techniques of the genre

In summary, this video game playfully satirizes everything, which makes it impartial, yet it also seems to take it personally. However… These developers who ask us to leave our screens while keeping us hooked on them…