Demon Girl Catharsis

CW: Domestic Violence

Brush Burial: Gutter World  was already occupying space in my mind due to its idiosyncratic style and BDSM-flavored kill animations, but will now forever occupy the halls of my brain as "the game I played around the time my housemate punched me in the face.".

I would like this essay to be less about me, however. The issue with personal essays is that unless they illuminate some mystery of human existence and culture they are ultimately navel-gazing exercises. I always urge writers to be introspective without excess, because to concern oneself wholly with the personal leads to egoism and narcissism— plus, the best type of writing is the one that does not fuel one's own self-perception but shares some Truth about the World from the unique perspective only the writer can provide.

But every now and then, something so horrific happens that the mind cannot go anywhere but inward. I am attempting to write this out with care, to infuse the game I am writing about with some light outside of my recent traumatic experiences, and to save myself from the potential social repercussions of what I am about to write about.

A man I considered a friend punched me in the face, hitting the eye in which I have already lost enough vision to be considered legally blind. It left me with a purplish wound and a bloodshot cornea. I feel like a monster, not just because of my unsettling, wounded physical appearance, but because someone I trusted thought that the proper response to anger, sadness, hurt, and confusion was violence.

There are many out there who will shout "Protect the Dolls" in public, but will engage in unhealthy mental gymnastics to justify a trans man beating up a trans woman as an act of rightful self-defense. I am well-versed in the ways social capital and transmisogyny ebb and flow in the social media landscape, and I have long abandoned the idea that people lacking in critical thinking will ever be able to consistently frame their political and moral values through the inane consumption of Instagram and Twitter, or have the accountability necessary to indicate when they've sacrificed the tenets of their heart for practicality, superficial friendships, and damage control.

I do not have a reputation to uphold because I am already a demon girl. People think I am generally weird, off-putting, and ugly. I'm a clocky trans girl with a weird accent, a masculine voice, and visible eyebags that stretch to my cheeks. Those that dislike me will side with my abuser, because I deserve the punches due to my mercurial nature. Those I trust and love will of course defend and care for me. There is no point in playing "he says, she says." They are empty words for empty discourse. 

Brush Burial’s protagonist, Fennel, is a dommy mommy demon girl with a fat ass and a forked tail. She is self-assured and confident in her assassination skills, and almost revels in bloodshed and violence. She's an inspiration, and has won my undying affection through the ways she coils around enemies and snaps their necks and backs with her meaty thighs.

At least in the world of Gutters there is no hypocrisy, there is no assumption or indication that Fennel needs to be defended but is instead relentlessly attacked. She is already ostracized, she looks like no other creature out there and people make it clear she is hated. One small mistake and a horde of leather-donning gangsters assail her with swords and gunfire. If she were to get punched in the face, and receive a bloody, swollen eye, she has seven more from which to see.

The game itself is a tour de force of level design: three compact missions and one expansive one, every single one dense as all hell, full of various stealthy and violent methods to play with and a primary target that must be eliminated.

The trick of the game is to balance out the stealth-em-ups with the beat-em-ups. Positioning is key if you go with a full frontal assault—while Fennel can equip swords, hatchets, and single-load blunderbusses and pistols, most of the killing is done by countering attacks and engaging in the protracted, beautifully-animated grappling kills, which can open yourself up to some damage should nearby enemies interrupt your grapples.

Fennel is not just an empty vessel for violent chiropractic techniques. She has her own defined personality. While bloodthirsty, she is still kind—merciful, even—and she has the capacity for love. If a monster girl can find romance in a world of sewers, we do not have to wait until the next world: love is still possible in this one.

It was the domestic moments that ultimately endeared me to Fennel—the “I love yous” softly spoken between her and her lover; her cozy and comfortable abode to which she returns after the conclusion of each mission. If an assassin can find a safe and loving home, then I might just have a shot in finding one myself.

It is through these tender moments that Brush Burial: Gutter World manages to escape a potentially harmful trope, in which women are only seen as powerful, independent, and competent through their ability and propensity for violence. Fennel is just as capable of breaking bones as she is buying someone grog. Her inclination towards violence is in proportion to the player's, further modulated by the player's skill.

I tried to be as stealthy and non-violent as possible, but no midlevel saves in these complex maps means shit sometimes hit the fan and I was forced into chaotic brawls. I slowed down time and whipped my enemies silly, I held their throats in my legs until I heard a satisfying snap. Throughout its power fantasy, Gutter World remained cathartic as all hell, and has served as a great stress-reliever for a victim of physical violence.

It is through violence that players exercise agency in most videogames, and power fantasies abound as a result. When tensions were building in my household, I played the sequel to Brush Burial and was fully on board for the power fantasy of embodying a violent monstergirl with incredible talent and strength, mostly because of the respite such an experience could provide me.

Violence against women is so commonplace, yet easily brushed aside. What hurts more than the punch was how my former housemate managed to use his social capital and the stripping of contextualization to escape accountability. I have the black eye, yet I am the one socially ostracized. And I ask, what options do I have? What do I do from here? Where do I channel all my rage? While most videogames engage with heteronormative or masculine power fantasies, I do not see much harm in engaging in the experience of being a femme fatale. If I lack the ability, the intent, or the willpower to punch a man who punched me, at the very least I can take my leave to kill as many virtual men as I can. It's my power fantasy, and I can cry if I want to.

To those familiar with being disempowered, such a fantasy presents an opportunity to regain agency, and, if not, at the very least can offer catharsis to an ailing soul. Every snap, every crack, every man or woman or deer-creature I squash between my thighs did nothing for me materially, but provided me with a much needed release.

To the developer of Brush Burial: Gutter World, a million thank yous for creating a work of art that helped me through difficult times (and for sliding me a review code). To the one who punched me, I have nothing to say except the message the game introduces itself with:

I have UNCONDITIONAL PATIENCE for your mistakes, AND SO SHOULD YOU.

GO AHEAD AND DIE.

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