Brutal Orchestra Death is only the first turn

Every enemy has a color, and hitting it spills pigment of that color. Your party spends pigment to attack, heal and cast, but the tank only holds so much: let it overflow and everyone bleeds, use the wrong color and the caster hurts themselves instead. So every fight becomes a balancing act. You weigh whether to spend red pigment you do not have and take the recoil, or hold back a turn and let the tank fill. There are no random critical hits to bail you out; when a plan works, it is because you read the fight right.

The dead world here is a writhing dump of everything that has ever died, and it looks the part: pale deserts stalked by parasitic fish, storm-wrapped mountains hiding things above and below, and the Garden waiting at the end of time. Monsters crawl straight out of Hieronymus Bosch's paintings, rendered in pixel art with their own animations and splattery deaths. The writing swings between absurd jokes and something genuinely unsettling, often in the same conversation. Nearly every enemy comes with its own battle theme, so the soundtrack becomes a bestiary you can hum.