Dead Cells didn’t ask for my consent — it simply became the standard by which I judge all other video games. I booted it up “to try it out” and suddenly it was night time, my responsibilities were gone, and my soul was bound to a headless protagonist with better movement than I’ll ever have in real life.

This game is pure kinetic joy. The movement isn’t just smooth — it’s telepathic. I think about dodging and my character is already rolling, sliding, critting, and styling on enemies like they personally offended him. Combat flows so well it feels choreographed, like every run is an improvised action movie where I’m the stunt double and the director hates safety regulations.

The weapon pool is comically deep. There are builds that make you feel like an untouchable god and others that turn you into a glass cannon powered by confidence and bad decisions — and somehow all of them work. I’ll find one slightly upgraded weapon and immediately go, “Yes. This is my new religion.” The synergies are so good they should be illegal in several countries.

Visually? Dead Cells is gorgeous in that smug, effortless way. Every biome is dripping with atmosphere, color, and enemies whose sole purpose is to remind you that you are not special. Animations are clean, readable, and stylish — every hit lands with intention, every death with dignity. The soundtrack doesn’t just accompany the game, it possesses it. I have fought bosses harder because the music told me I could.

And the progression? Chef’s kiss. You’re constantly unlocking new toys, new paths, new reasons to believe you’ve finally figured it out. The game lets you feel smart, skilled, powerful — right up until it humbles you with surgical precision. It’s fair, it’s demanding, and it never wastes your time. Failure isn’t punishment here; it’s education delivered via violence.

Dead Cells isn’t just replayable — it’s addictive in a respectful way. Every run teaches you something, every death sharpens your instincts, and every victory feels earned. This is what happens when a game trusts its players and then dares them to rise to the occasion.

I don’t recommend Dead Cells.

I insist.

12/10 — this game could run me over and I’d say thank you.

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