A dungeon-crawler where you can only move to the beat of the music — the genre-blending roguelike that turned rhythm into combat.

A roguelite where every death passes the castle to a quirky heir — one might be a colour-blind knight, another a flatulent mage. Persistent,…

A roguelite where every single pixel is physically simulated — and your own reckless spells are usually what kill you.

A gothic roguelike where stress, dread, and your heroes’ fraying sanity are as lethal as any monster. Brutal, atmospheric, unforgettable.

A hypnotic, hands-off roguelike where you don’t control the hero — you build the very dungeon that’s trying to kill them.

A roguelike deckbuilder with a vertical twist — defend a hell-train across three floors at once. The thinking player’s Slay the Spire alternative.

Command a starship on a desperate dash across the galaxy — the tense, systems-driven roguelike that launched a thousand imitators.

The platforming roguelike of pure, brutal, emergent chaos — the gold standard the entire genre measures itself against.

The grim, grotesque, endlessly deep dungeon-crawler that more or less defined the modern roguelike — thousands of item combinations and no two runs alike.

A bullet-hell roguelike crammed with hundreds of guns, endless dodge-rolls, and more puns than any game has a right to.

A third-person roguelike where the longer you survive, the harder it gets — frantic, build-stacking chaos that goes from trickle to avalanche.

Poker, but a roguelike — the 2024 phenomenon that hijacked millions of evenings with the simplest “just one more hand” loop ever made.