Let me set the scene: I saw screenshots. I saw trailers. I saw giant monsters in a frozen wasteland and thought, “Yes. I am ready to scale god-sized beasts, feel small and heroic, and maybe cry a little.” What I got was an accidental comedy about a freezing, fumbling acrobat with the upper body strength of a wet noodle and the survival instincts of a dropped burrito. Praey for the Gods is what happens when someone says “Let’s make our own Shadow of the Colossus,” but forgets to bring polish, pacing, or functioning physics to the party. The climbing system—aka the entire point of the game—feels like trying to do parkour on a greased Slip ’N Slide during an earthquake. You grab on, start climbing, and suddenly your character is breakdancing on the boss’s clavicle while your stamina drains like it owes someone money. Half the time you fall off because of a glitch. The other half, it’s because you got sneezed off by a gust of wind and couldn’t even rage-quit properly thanks to the janky menu. And then—because someone out there hates joy—they slapped on a survival system. Hunger. Cold. Sleep. Inventory micromanagement. I signed up to fight gods, not manage my character’s caloric intake. I spent more time foraging for snacks than fighting anything. It’s like trying to slay dragons with a FitBit constantly reminding you to hydrate. The bosses? Occasionally cool-looking, but they fight back with terrible camera angles and unpredictable bugs more than with actual challenge. One launched me 300 feet into the sky. Another just sort of collapsed mid-fight like it forgot to finish its animation. I didn’t feel victorious—I felt like tech support.

It’s got ambition. I’ll give it that. The world wants to be mysterious and epic. The music tries. The snow is... snowy. But everything else feels like it’s held together with duct tape and half-hearted optimism.