Its simple premise and nostalgia-evoking graphics only accentuate an experience that is the perfect fusion of simplicity and brutality. Another deathhead host emerges from the pitch, and its children hunger for you.ĭevil Daggers is an exceptional game.
And then, more chittering, behind you this time. The remainder track you, slow and relentless. Skulls crack, falling to the stone, dissolving into dust. Using the weapon comes as naturally as breathing. One, ten, dozens, hundreds of daggers fly from your fingertips. A quarter turn and it groans, ejaculating the skulls of a thousand gladiators that came before you the swarm is born. The antediluvian arms, massive, heaving, atrophied but alive, praise their dark lords as the monstrosity slowly rotates. Tentacles undulate upward from each skull. Stretching to the ground, supporting the lumbering engine of death, they form an eight-pointed vertex. Four visions of desiccation joined into a single nightmare. It is an exercise to heat your blood and season your meat with the spices of adrenaline, fear, panic, and despair. Here, in the arena, your power is a trifle. In the realm of men, you could destroy nations and rend civilization. You are become death: an endless stream of entropy. Infernal energy radiates a cold, faint hope on to the stones below. Is there an exit other than death? The dagger, glowing in front of you, holds the answer.Įldritch steel and mortal flesh fuse as your fingers wrap around the dagger’s handle. Terrors with the power to pierce the veil and ladle the pain of your inevitable demise to thirsty, greater evils.
What exists beyond the shadows? Only terrors. The arena is an island of cold rock, lit from above but hemmed in on all sides by darkness.
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