There is a particular kind of promise that hangs in the air whenever a game introduces itself as a Metroidvania. It’s a promise built from memory: torch-lit corridors, locked doors that laugh at you until hours later, the quiet satisfaction of realizing the map has been folding in on itself the whole time. Chasm, developed by Bit Kid, walks straight into that promise with confidence, and then quietly asks whether familiarity itself can still be a form of discovery. Shall we ‘dive’ in? (Since it’s a Chasm, you know).
At first glance, Chasm feels like a game that knows exactly where it comes from. Pixel art, medieval fantasy trappings, a lone protagonist stepping into the unknown: all the classic aspects are there. But rather than treating those elements as sacred relics, Chasm treats them as building blocks. What emerges is not a revolution, but a careful, thoughtful remix. And one that understands that sometimes the most interesting thing a game can do is interrogate the spaces between what we remember and what we actually experience. And I applaud Chasm for it.
This is a game about descent in every sense of the word, down into a town in trouble. Down into shifting caverns and down into a genre weighed down by decades of expectations. And like any good descent, the question isn’t whether you’ll reach the bottom, it’s what you’ll learn along the way (okay, that was the last punny cliché for this year).
A town on the edge, a hero without a name
Narratively, Chasm keeps things restrained for a reason. You arrive as a recruit, sent to investigate why contact has been lost with a mining town. The setup is almost aggressively straightforward, pushing you towards the Chasm and kicking you in like ‘This is Sparta’, and that’s by design. This is not a game interested in grand speeches or lore dumps. Instead, it lets its story emerge through atmosphere, implication, and the slow realization that something is deeply wrong beneath the surface.
The town itself acts as a narrative anchor. Its residents are wary but hopeful, worn down but not yet broken. As you venture deeper into the caverns and return with new tools, shortcuts, and answers, the town subtly evolves. New characters appear. Old ones open up. The sense of place strengthens, even as the world below grows more unstable. What Chasm does particularly well is resist the temptation to over-explain. The mystery isn’t spoon-fed; it’s allowed to linger. You are not the chosen one of legend; you’re a capable individual responding to a problem that keeps getting bigger. That grounding helps the stakes feel personal rather than epic, and it aligns neatly with the game’s mechanical focus on incremental growth rather than explosive transformation. And it felt like a breath of fresh air. In many ways, the story functions less as a narrative engine and more as connective tissue. It gives meaning to exploration without demanding the centre stage, allowing the act of play itself to remain the primary storyteller.
Steel, skill, and the shape of the world
At its mechanical core, Chasm is a game about movement, combat, and spatial mastery. You run, jump, climb, and fight through a labyrinth that constantly tests your understanding of both your abilities and the environment. Combat is deliberate rather than flashy, focusing on positioning, timing, and enemy patterns over button-mashing. And yes, weapons come in familiar categories, like swords, spears, and magic, but like with a good Metroidvania, each feels tuned to a slightly different rhythm. Choosing how you engage enemies becomes a question of preference as much as efficiency. Do you keep your distance and poke safely, or dive in and risk damage for faster clears? The game rarely forces a single answer, keeping encounters flexible without becoming trivial.
Progression is satisfyingly natural. New abilities don’t just open doors; they recontextualize earlier spaces. A ledge that once mocked you becomes a shortcut. A hazard becomes a stepping stone. This feedback loop, the joy of returning strong, is the beating heart of the Metroidvania genre, and Chasm understands that heart well, especially in an oversaturated genre. What distinguishes it is its semi-randomized dungeon structure. While major landmarks remain consistent, room layouts shift between playthroughs (by the ‘seed’ way). The intent is clear: to preserve the thrill of exploration even for returning players. In practice, this works unevenly. The variation adds freshness, but it can sometimes soften the impact of carefully crafted level design. Still, the gamble is admirable, and when it works, it reinforces the game’s central theme: the unknown is never fully conquered.
Pixels, memory, and the Metroidvania lineage
Visually, Chasm embraces a detailed pixel art style that feels both nostalgic and precise. Animations are fluid without being showy, and environments are layered with depth and texture. The caverns feel ancient and unstable, while the town above carries a warmer, more grounded tone. Colour is used thoughtfully to guide the eye and communicate danger, safety, or intrigue. The art direction wears its influences openly, and that’s not a weakness. There are echoes of Super Metroid in the way spaces unfold, of Castlevania in the gothic flourishes, and of more modern entries like Axiom Verge in the commitment to mood over spectacle. But Chasm doesn’t collapse under the weight of those comparisons. Instead, it uses them as a shared language, trusting players to bring their own history into the experience.
What’s particularly effective is how the art supports readability. Enemies are distinct. Hazards are clear. Platforms communicate their function at a glance. This clarity is crucial in a genre where frustration can quickly overturn satisfaction, and Bit Kid shows a strong understanding of how visual design and gameplay must reinforce each other. In the broader Metroidvania conversation, Chasm positions itself as a respectful participant rather than a disruptor. It doesn’t seek to redefine the genre, but it does argue, quietly, confidently, that refinement and sincerity still have value.
A descent worth taking
By the time the credits roll, Chasm has revealed itself as a game deeply comfortable with what it is. It doesn’t chase trends or attempt to outsmart its predecessors. Instead, it focuses on delivering a cohesive, thoughtful experience built on solid mechanics, atmospheric presentation, and a genuine love for exploration. Its ambitions are measured, and that restraint is part of its strength. While the procedural elements may not resonate with every player, they reflect a willingness to experiment within established boundaries. The result is a game that feels alive, slightly unpredictable, and consistently engaging.
Chasm may not redefine the Metroidvania genre, but it doesn’t need to. What it offers is something arguably more difficult: a reminder of why the genre works in the first place. The thrill of discovery. The satisfaction of mastery. The quiet pleasure of returning to a familiar space and seeing it anew. In a medium often obsessed with novelty, Chasm finds meaning in refinement, and in doing so, earns its place among the tunnels, towers, and twisting paths that players will gladly descend into again.
