I’m bewitched by this hyper-violent fantasy FPS where you feast upon the brains, eyes, and spleens of your brutalized foes

Fantasy FPS Coven opens with you, a young woman living in the 1600s, being burned at the stake as a supposed witch. As the flames lick higher, your screams of agony ring out over the assembled crowd and through the trees of the surrounding forest. Blackness engulfs you, and your end arrives.

And then, for some reason beyond your ken, you’re crawling your way out of your hastily-dug grave, scrabbling against mud and stone, worms and detritus. You have been reanimated, and now you’re breaking through the ground and into the dark night’s damp air. You have been reborn, part dead, part not, and there’s only one thing left to do: You must end those who sent you to your grave, as well as their masters.

Grabbing an axe, you drag your undead body from the graveyard and into the nearby village, realising that you now possess enhanced, unnatural speed. One of the men who burned you has his back to you, milling around a pumpkin patch. You bring the axe down upon his skull, cracking it open. The man drops to his knees, flailing around his cracked cranium with his hands, discombobulated due to his encroaching death, but before he falls, you eat his brain, then spleen, then legs. For you are now sustained by the flesh of your foes, and consuming them keeps the furnace of your revenge stoked.

Many more men die. One dies in a way nobody should ever have to see, being split from head to crotch in two, a fountain of blood spurting forth over your body, weapon and newfound shield. The villagers pose little threat to your demonic zeal, so soldiers come, inquisitors looking to stamp out malefactors. Crossbow bolts slam into your shield, throwing axes are sent flying at your head, but all to no avail—you grab one of their guns and riddle them with holes before gorging on their eyes.

A strange cloud, evoking a giant green will-o’-the-wisp, appears out of the pervading gloom. It shoots off through the forest and, compelled by an unseen force, you follow it, snaking hither and thither until being finally brought before a shimmering portal. Stepping through, a book wreathed in grey, deformed skin, and with a single animated eye on its cover, hovers in midair, begging to be collected.

You do so, and discover it is the Necronomicon, the book of the dead. This tome empowers you further, imbuing you with the power to cast a variety of deadly spells. After stepping through a vast series of graves that stand, like an army, before a monstrous black citadel, you step through another portal, and once more are brought back to the world in which you died.

Dripping with weapons, spells and powers, one of which being the terrifying ability to vomit acid upon your foes, you continue the carnage. Knights charge you, chainmail and heavy helmets donned, but while these men take longer to die, they still end up losing their limbs, they still end up bloody vessels from which you drink with wild abandon. Each spleen, each face, each stomach consumed restores your health on this merry dance of death. You cannot be stopped, will not be stopped.

Other places and, yes, even other times are calling you onward, driving you forward on your bloody, unholy journey. Whatever you may have been once is dead, and what remains is more fearsome than any of those zealots could ever have imagined. They should be scared and pray that their soul is clean, as your judgement is coming.