Lies of P
To confront Lies of P is to wrestle with a broken mirror of the self. In each duel you clash with mechanized puppets, wielding blade and grafted limb, molding and unmaking—to triumph is not merely to kill, but to assert your will over the artifice. The weapon-fusion system (handle + blade), and the “lying vs truth” choices, are not mere gimmicks but existential levers: you craft tools, and you fabricate your identity.
Krat, the city, breathes as a corpse in slow decay: lights flicker against cobwebbed facades, and the ruin of Belle Époque dreams echoes in every corridor. The horror is not just in the grotesqueries but in the silent accusation that the world has betrayed its own promises. To venture through such corridors is to feel both puppet and puppeteer—the game’s atmosphere lingers like an aftertaste of guilt.
The narrative, drawn from the bones of Pinocchio, is bold in its ambition. Yet here lies the rub: the story sometimes strains under its weight, trying to elevate a fable into tragedy. The moral branching and hidden mechanics of Humanity do provoke reflection on honesty, artifice, and selfhood, but occasionally the threads fray: dialogues or revelations do not always carry the force one expects of such portentous themes.
Still, when a boss falls, when the final parry cracks its guard, something profound occurs. You are remade in the fire of challenge. You lie to survive, you bend your truth, you assert your authenticity. That is the core Nietzschean bravura: suffering as creation, falsity as emergence, the forging of the self through trials. Lies of P does not merely invite that gamble—it compels you to stake your essence.
In the end, Lies of P is a somber triumph: a game that wrestles with being, with deception, yet still manages to thrill. Its flaws are real—occasional narrative missteps, uneven pacing—but they do not overshadow its central vision. For those who hunger not merely for spectacle but for a confrontation with truth through combat, this is a rare offering.
Krat, the city, breathes as a corpse in slow decay: lights flicker against cobwebbed facades, and the ruin of Belle Époque dreams echoes in every corridor. The horror is not just in the grotesqueries but in the silent accusation that the world has betrayed its own promises. To venture through such corridors is to feel both puppet and puppeteer—the game’s atmosphere lingers like an aftertaste of guilt.
The narrative, drawn from the bones of Pinocchio, is bold in its ambition. Yet here lies the rub: the story sometimes strains under its weight, trying to elevate a fable into tragedy. The moral branching and hidden mechanics of Humanity do provoke reflection on honesty, artifice, and selfhood, but occasionally the threads fray: dialogues or revelations do not always carry the force one expects of such portentous themes.
Still, when a boss falls, when the final parry cracks its guard, something profound occurs. You are remade in the fire of challenge. You lie to survive, you bend your truth, you assert your authenticity. That is the core Nietzschean bravura: suffering as creation, falsity as emergence, the forging of the self through trials. Lies of P does not merely invite that gamble—it compels you to stake your essence.
In the end, Lies of P is a somber triumph: a game that wrestles with being, with deception, yet still manages to thrill. Its flaws are real—occasional narrative missteps, uneven pacing—but they do not overshadow its central vision. For those who hunger not merely for spectacle but for a confrontation with truth through combat, this is a rare offering.
Mini Review: In the crucible of combat, Lies of P demands your will: each parry, each grafting of blade to handle, feels like forging your soul anew. The world of Krat looms with decadent decay, truths and lies entwined like puppeteer’s strings. You suffer, you persist, you transcend—yet the narrative, though dark and ambitious, sometimes falters under its own weight. Still: a formidable, haunting odyssey.
Watch the Trailer