Exekite

A ball of clay rolling down a workshop bench. Everything you roll over sticks to you, every gram makes you stronger and clumsier, and the last gate always wants you small.

The thing hunting you is blind. It hunts sound - your footsteps, your flashlight's click, your breathing when you sprint.

One bouncing slug, and it hurts you too — every shot comes back

Your spells are relics that shatter permanently when used. The strongest one in the cathedral has a single use — power here is a consumable, not a stat.

Every guard is blind to exactly one colour, and that colour is the only thing you can hide in — so cover is never cover, it is cover from one specific person.

One shot per hole — but instead of aiming better, you may reshape the terrain

Seven walks to the lighthouse, and each one is shorter than the last

Every order takes one to three turns to arrive, and both armies can see each other's on the way

You cannot plant or water anything. You have shears — and every branch you cut hands its share of the plant's growth energy to whatever is left.

You cannot jump far. Grab a crease and hinge a whole section of the level in real time — the ledge you could not reach folds down to meet you.

Ten hostiles, four weapons, one 3:00 clock — an FPS about recoil, spread and the reload you started

A 128 BPM circuit: the corners are its bars, and a boost pad only fires if you cross it on the beat

You dig the dungeon yourself, and every block you take weakens the ceiling above you

The ash never stops falling. Dig out your shelter, your well, your crops — and choose what to let it bury.

Your ship has no gun. You tether the debris and swing it.

The tide floods half your buildable land every six turns, so every village has to be two villages

You rotate the board, not the pieces — and then you watch everything fall.

Nine camera feeds and one terminal. The thing in the facility steers away from whichever feed you are watching — so it walks through the rooms you stopped checking.

One button, one arc — and the platforms you land on come back as ghosts to stand on next run

You solve the puzzles by erasing the drawing — and the ink is finite and never comes back.

Time only moves when you travel, and you get twelve journeys. Every request you don't reach in time closes for good.

Your tyre tracks stay in the dust. The line you pack on lap one is grip by lap two and a rut by lap five — and a rut is the fastest thing on the course, if you meant to be in it.

Draw the play in chalk. Your five players run it exactly as drawn — including your mistakes.

There is no build menu — you draw your towers as blueprint lines, and ink is the only currency