The Chant Soundtrack (DLC)

My first hour with The Chant had me genuinely unsure whether I was playing a decent horror game or an interesting failure wearing a decent horror game's jacket. Brass Token, a small Vancouver studio making their debut original IP, set the whole thing on Glory Island, a remote spiritual retreat that cracks open a dimension called the Gloom after a group ritual goes badly wrong. The setup sounds B-movie schlocky, and it partly is, but the 1970s cult backstory threading through the island's history gives the narrative more texture than you might expect going in. You play as Jess, a woman already carrying serious trauma, and the game ties that personal backstory directly to the mechanical systems in a way that actually lands. The standout design choice is the three-meter survival system: Mind, Body, and Spirit all deplete independently and interact with each other. Body is your health, Mind tracks Jess's mental state as she spends time inside the Gloom, and Spirit fuels abilities and can be spent to top up your Mind when panic starts creeping in. Run your Mind to zero and Jess locks into a full panic attack, unable to fight, just waiting it out. It creates moments of real tension, especially early on, though the upgrade system progressively deflates that tension by making Jess too capable too fast. By the midgame, the survival angle mostly disappears. Combat itself is melee-only, built around crafted weapons like sage sticks, witch sticks, and fire lashes, plus throwables such as salt and fire oil that double as traps. Fire hits hardest against most enemy types, which gives scavenging runs actual purpose. Boss fights are a genuine highlight, requiring you to read attack telegraphs and lean on Gloom abilities, and they stand out against the otherwise straightforward enemy encounters. The Gloom itself is visually inventive. Each section is color-coded to match a crystal belonging to one of the retreat members, and unlocking each area ties to helping those characters work through their own psychological baggage. It is a clever structural idea that keeps the small map feeling varied. The psychedelic aesthetic, all prismatic creatures and shifting neon mist, is backed by a Paul Ruskay soundtrack that leans hard into late-70s horror film territory. Sound design is consistently strong, the voice performances are above average for the budget, and the atmosphere the game builds in its first third is legitimately unsettling. The story branches across three endings depending on how you play, specifically how you balance combat versus exploration and which stats you prioritize, which is an interesting way to encourage replay without forcing explicit dialogue choices. The rough edges are real though. Performance on PC can stutter when enemies are on screen, texture pop-in happens regularly, and the combat, while functional, feels sluggish against the pace the game wants to maintain. The difficulty curve collapses once you understand the crafting loop, and the supporting cast, despite interesting individual setups, gets limited screen time before the horror takes over. At roughly six to seven hours for a single run, it is a compact experience, but the mixed Steam reception (76% positive) reflects a game that divides players cleanly: those who click with the atmosphere and forgive the mechanical shortcomings tend to like it quite a bit, while those expecting a polished survival horror with real teeth will be left cold. For what it is, The Chant does one thing exceptionally well: it builds a specific, strange mood and commits to it. If 70s cosmic horror, psychedelic visuals, and a protagonist fighting her own psychology alongside demons sounds like your night, this will scratch that itch. If you need the combat and difficulty to hold up alongside the concept, look elsewhere.

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