I cast a shield spell, then dodge behind Scarecrow Jones as my body crackles with shimmering blue light. “Little Runt!” snarls the turncoat as his scythe ineffectually bounces off the barrier. I don’t know what he’s angry about, considering it was his brilliant idea to literally arm me with a rifle before trying to jump my ♥♥♥♥. I show my gratitude with three rounds to his burlapped mug and he crumples to the ground. As I wrench his scythe into my right arm socket, the bones inside grind and ratchet. My elbow jerks backward, tendons clicking as the joint unlocks and folds around the haft. With a sharp *clack*, internal clamps snap shut and lock the weapon into place. The ghost girl hanging on my shoulder laughs. I don’t mind.
--
All is well with the police chief who incarcerated me on sight when I first got here. The beef has been squashed, and I now lie on the operating table, letting the boys in R&D figure out how to turn my blood into steel. Strengthened biceps? Check. Extra stomach lining? Obviously. Enlarged blood vessels allowing for optimal witch juju? Just ♥♥♥♥ me up, fam. Meanwhile, my ghostly friend Clover rides around town on the shoulders of the local newshound, trying to get to the bottom of this mess. Something is rotten in Denmark, and it ain’t just the bloody, cowled townsfolk picketing out in the square. She’s got us doing odd jobs for a nearby coven, which is just fine by me. The lab witch just figured out how to use postal stamps to infuse my skeleton with the very spirit of American greed.
--
On the way to the Occult Institute, Clover and I are jumped by a group of rotters. This is not a slur, that’s the official British term used for the dirty undead epidemic besieging our civilized streets. An ‘Insignificant Butcher’ (Official bestiary terms, not a slur) shambles towards me, arms outstretched, clearly trying to get his filthy paws on my hard-earned shillings. I introduce him to my newly-fitted pump-action shotgun, blasting him in half while fending off a ‘Grave Girl’ with my standard-issue Webley Mk. VI. No, the left arm is not just for show, and no, there will be no handouts. As I fend the rabble off, Clover gleefully throws grenades from over my left shoulder. As a matter of fact I am pushing P: that’s pushing powder down my musket so I may smite another opp. Got a switch and a beam on my blunderbuss, YOUR HOOD’S NOT SAFE! Threepence more in my pockets, read ‘em and weep, peasants. Free my man King George, he ain’t done nothing wrong.
--
Clover is speaking with the director of the Occult Institute. I hear some nattering about power outages, the army, grafting the souls of children onto rotter hosts, ‘high frequency’ and ‘low frequency’ ghosts. I barely notice, as the only frequency I can pay attention to is the jingling of shillings in my suit jacket. We leave him and his plausible deniability to cower in a sarcophagus, and get straight to ghostbustin’.
The Institute is pitch black as we enter, but we have nothing to fear. Clover holds a flashlight to keep tabs on the hitters, and my Blighter’s Eye (not a slur) gleams through the dark. Ghosts are supposedly weak to fire, so I’m wearing my Sunday Best: a refined late 18th century tailcoat, paired with a crisp white ruffled cravat. I fish through piles of dosh and find what I’m looking for: More severed eyes. Releasing a few into the air, they flare to life, bathing the room in a sickly glow. I send a text to our journalist friend back in Penwyll. This is gonna be a JUICY scandal.
--
In the upper floors of the asylum, the malformed staff have made themselves into a real nuisance. Why tommyguns were covered by the research stipend, I have no idea. Still, they make for excellent arm attachments. As I socket my new toy into place, a blood-red painting on the wall catches my eye. Reaching out to touch it, I’m instantly transported to a quaint little Victorian mansion. The floors are soaked in a fine mixture of blood and scum, and the furnishings are covered wall-to-wall in what I can only describe as flattened, browning human corpses. Simply *smacks* of new money. A model house sits in the centre of the exhibition, labelled: Mostyn House.
The next hour is a blur, slicing my way through a labyrinthian tangle of gaudy decor: Tacky suits of armor, ugly wallpaper, and tasteless nude busts. As I do, images begin to flash through my mind: Silvered portals ringed with glass, leading to worlds of endless night. Chained horrors, rising up to meet walls oozing with blood. An empire of ghost coke and flash photography. A girl in a frilly blue dress, wielding a Norse shield and a lead pipe. I don’t know what any of this means, but I’m shaken from my stupor when another painting whisks me back to the Occult Institute. Before I can process any of this, I am bludgeoned in the back of the head by a massive homunculus.
--
Clover drags my shattered joints back to an Ichor Fountain, and as lifeblood mends my limbs and pours into my brain, my gold coils light up with a single word: Nightingale. I heard it earlier, and though she was nothing but a famous witch then, she now sits in the center of two mysteries: The Mostyn House Labyrinth and the Occult Event. There is only room for one mysterious arcane girl in Penwyll, and with the help of the local press, I will find answers for Clover’s phantasmal predicament.
And I will slot as many firearms into my forearms as it takes.
-----
Withering Rooms was my sleeper pick for game of the year back in 2024, and so you know I was chomping at the bit for the sequel release. I’m very happy to say that Moonless Formless continues to deliver.
The atmosphere oozes from the walls, just like the original game. All the hits are here: crunchy footsteps, off-kilter piano, that jarring voice filter on the mumbling amnesiac pistolmen. If you played any of Withering Rooms, you know just how immersive the game is. I felt like I was back in Mostyn the moment I started to pilot Mr. ‘Munculus.
Aesthetically, some really nice touches have been added, too. The fixed camera angles at certain points give some much-needed spectacle to certain moments in the game. The map screen is really nice, and definitely necessary considering the scale of the game compared to Rooms. The soundtrack has even more sauce (Electric Guitar? In my tutorial boss?), and added rhythm to suit the game’s action.
Speaking of which, this is the Actionized Sequel, and there has been some serious sauce put into it. Gameplay was not my primary concern with the original, but I'm happy to see how much has been smoothed out regardless.
Gone are the charmingly janky dodge rolls, replaced with a smooth little Bloodborne dash that really lets you respond to enemy attacks the way you wish you could back in the original. There is no more ducking into closets to avoid monstrosities - you are now a walking arsenal, act like it. The lead pipe still ♥♥♥♥♥ just as hard.
While I miss the awesome curse mechanic from the original, having a refilling mana bar is infinitely smoother than sitting around candles to slowly regen your juice.
The doll system is really cool, letting you do all sorts of fancy maneuvers like casting spells while dodging, or throwing grenades while holding up a shield. Where it really shines though is the upgrade system. You can upgrade each arm separately, letting you run entirely different builds for different hands.
Having one hand be responsible for quick bleeds from a pocket knife while another lugs around a candelabra is awesome, and with how much fun builds were in the original, I can’t wait to see what other wacky shenanigans you can put together. An understated addition is also arm talismans - perks you can slot into each arm socket that are active when wielding its respective weapon.
Hats off once again to Moonless Formless for releasing yet another wildly unique game, entirely in Early Access. Hats on to my puppet though, cause I need that extra HP.
