Carrion

There’s something deliciously wrong about playing Carrion. Maybe it’s the way your mass of writhing tentacles slithers through vents like a demonic spaghetti pile. Maybe it’s the blood. Buckets of it. Arcs, splashes, screens smeared red like Jackson Pollock went feral. But mostly, it’s how natural it all feels.

Carrion doesn’t ask you to survive the horror. You are the horror.

From the moment you shatter your containment tank, Carrion makes one thing clear: humans are snacks, and you are starving. You glide across walls and ceilings with the grace of a murderous water balloon, dragging scientists to their doom and painting sterile labs in arterial spray. It’s grotesque. It’s beautiful.

And it’s just getting started.

Carrion’s genius is how it plays with power. As your biomass grows, so does your arsenal: invisibility for stealth, harpoons for skewering gun-toting guards, a roar that turns humans into wet confetti. You’re the apex predator in a pixelated playground of meat and metal. But here’s the kicker, despite all that power, the game stays focused and clever. Security drones, flamethrowers, and laser grids put real teeth into your jailbreak fantasy. You’re a godlike blob, sure, but a god that bleeds.

Structured like a Metroidvania, Carrion trades item upgrades for biological evolution. Each new sector you reach means new tools of destruction, all tied to the raw, physicality of your movement. Whether you’re threading through tight vents as a nimble little fleshball or thundering through corridors at max mass, Carrion’s animation and control make every twitch feel viscerally alive. It’s grotesque ballet in 16-bit.

The only thing holding Carrion back from total domination is its thin story. Flashbacks hint at the creature’s origin, but never quite land. Then again, maybe that’s the point. Monsters don’t monologue. They devour.

Still, what Carrion lacks in exposition, it makes up for in style, scream, and splatter. It’s not often you get to be the stuff of nightmares, and rarely with this much finesse.

Carrion doesn’t just put you in the monster’s shoes, it rips out the shoes, devours the feet, and slinks off laughing. A reverse horror gem that earns its place among the greats, one scream at a time.