A GAME OF SHORTCUTS
Inspiration is a treacherous thing. At its best, it fuels creativity and momentum; at its worst, it completely overtakes a work, erasing any trace of the creator’s own identity. That risk is especially high when paying homage to true classics. Since everyone knows the originals — or at least knows of them — any imitator invites direct comparison, and usually comes up short.
In the unfortunate case of Decay of Logos — the debut title from Portuguese studio Amplify Creations — the guiding stars are painfully obvious: the gameplay and world structure of Dark Souls, the visual sensibilities of classic fantasy adventures, and the emotional aspirations of Shadow of the Colossus. Content merely to stand on the shoulders of giants, Amplify brings no truly distinguishing ideas of its own.
Were it not for its staggering number of glitches, I would have forgotten Decay of Logos almost immediately. Instead, it left a lasting impression — for all the wrong reasons. It is an agonizing experience from start to finish. Hardly anything works as intended, and the few elements that do function often sabotage something else in the process. Bluntly put, Decay of Logos plays, looks, and sounds like dysfunctional, pretentious twaddle. It barely holds together long enough to reach the ending.
You play as Ada, a young elven girl whose idyllic village is razed by knights clad in red armor. After killing one of the attackers, she collapses in grief beside the butchered bodies of an older couple — presumably her parents. This moment propels her into a quest for vengeance, determined to hunt down whoever gave the order. The game unfolds in a semi-open, colorful world viewed through a constantly stalking camera, featuring stamina-based combat and visual storytelling driven by player curiosity. Directions are scarce, guidance even scarcer.
LITTLE ELK FROM HELL
Accompanying Ada is a nameless white elk that happens to wander into the village during the attack. Supposedly, it is of great importance: a combat companion, a mount, a puzzle-solving tool, a mobile storage unit — and perhaps a metaphor for Ada’s soul itself, growing dirtier as the story progresses. In practice, it fails at every single one of these roles.
No matter what I tried to make it do, it misbehaved. When asked to stand on a pressure plate, it circled it endlessly. When galloping down a straight road, it zigzagged unpredictably. When using its saddlebags for storage, items would simply vanish. I lost Ada’s secondary weapon, numerous potions, and unique armor pieces to this creature, forcing me to finish the game without a backup plan.
To keep it calm, I was expected to constantly cuddle it and feed it berries. Friendly NPCs repeatedly remarked on the extraordinary bond between Ada and her companion. A designer confident in their systems wouldn’t need to spell this out — but perhaps Amplify knew they were in trouble. I felt no bond whatsoever, and narratively there was little reason to. Several times the elk drove me so mad that I attempted to kill it, only to discover the game wouldn’t allow it.
RUNNING IS BETTER
Exploration on foot works noticeably better than traveling on elkback, and it’s the only aspect of the game that approaches competence. Amplify has crafted a cohesive world with moments of genuine aesthetic appeal, and some of the environmental puzzles are well-designed and feel appropriate to their surroundings. Unlockable shortcuts help streamline revisits to earlier areas, and this system works reasonably well.
Unfortunately, it’s undermined by a fatigue mechanic. The more you explore, fight, get hit, and die, the more your attributes are temporarily drained. Since restoring them is only possible at a handful of campsites, exploration is constantly interrupted by forced retreats for rest.
Judging by screenshots alone, Decay of Logos appears beautiful — just don’t look too closely at the polygons. There are fleeting moments where the developers’ artistic ambitions shine through. The puppet master boss, along with the eerie foreshadowing of her first appearance, is genuinely excellent. A few other moments reach similar heights. The audio design is also strong, with solid voice acting and atmospheric details like howling winds and the gentle clinking of Ada’s potions.
Each new area opens with an evocative vista: abandoned houses, dungeon entrances, windmills, collapsed towers, old battlefields — all silently telling the story of a fallen kingdom. Collectible echo shells allow you to overhear whispered memories of its former inhabitants, slowly revealing the events that led to its downfall. The zombified remnants of these people relentlessly pursue you, and trying to outrun them is futile.
WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE COMBAT?
Since Dark Souls is Decay of Logos’ strongest gameplay influence, its combat aspires to the same deliberate, weighty duels. Attacks are slow, heavily animated, and drain stamina rapidly. Once you commit to an attack combo, there’s no canceling it — miss, and you’re left wide open. This design makes the game’s unreliable collision detection especially infuriating. Sword swings leave visible arcs in the air, which frequently pass straight through enemies without registering a hit.
Despite their intriguing lore, the bosses are laughably easy. With the exception of the final encounter — which could one-shot me due to yet another glitch — I defeated every boss on my first attempt using the same strategy employed against regular enemies: strafe until their guard drops, land a few hits, back off, repeat.
The game offers little room to develop a personal playstyle anyway. You’re limited to one fast attack, one strong attack, a largely useless parry, a dodge, and a selection of weapons differentiated only by damage, stamina cost, and speed. I never even considered using the three available spells, as casting them permanently drains a chunk of your already scarce health.
A FAILURE AND A "PEKORAL"
Decay of Logos is difficult, but for all the wrong reasons. Its challenge stems from glitches and poor balance rather than thoughtful design. Equipment degrades rapidly, enemies are damage sponges, and you die in just a few hits until your stats eventually catch up. Leveling up — typically one of my favorite aspects of games — happens automatically and invisibly, stripping it of any sense of reward. This encapsulates the game’s core problem: it mimics surface-level qualities of great games without the substance to support them.
Using an animal companion as a shortcut to emotional engagement is one of the oldest tricks in the book. In Decay of Logos, it feels cynical rather than earned. Games like Dark Souls and Shadow of the Colossus achieved emotional weight through the time and effort demanded of the player. Here, ambition is substituted with shortcuts, aesthetics, and borrowed gravitas.
From a mechanical and technical standpoint, Decay of Logos is an outright failure. Future patches may fix some bugs, but they can’t address the fundamental design flaws. The world and lore might be solid in theory, but they lend no weight to the story’s clumsy and hackneyed conclusion.
Without spoiling anything: when the game finally revealed the supposed significance of everything that had transpired, I burst out laughing. I was clearly meant to feel grief. In Swedish, we have a word for this — pekoral: when something so ambitious is executed so poorly that it becomes unintentionally funny. You can’t patch a pekoral into profundity — just as you can’t convince me to ever return to Decay of Logos to see whether its gameplay stopped decaying.
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