Coniclysm

Coniclysm is a sci-fi action shooter set in a futuristic universe where players engage in third-person vehicular combat and flight-based battles. The game challenges players to strategically drain energy from enemies to gain abilities, heal, and build defenses while constructing their own domains. As they overpower adversaries and conquer the Source—a central sun-like entity—they eventually confront the reigning ‘God’ in a climactic showdown. Victory implies inheriting divine power, only to perpetuate a cyclical struggle where new challengers may rise, echoing the game’s themes of creation, rebellion, and cosmic rebirth.

Coniclysm: A Forgotten Ouroboros of Cosmic Rebellion

A deep-dive into ZoopTEK’s abstract shooter and its Sisyphean struggle for legacy

Introduction

In the annals of indie obscurity, few games embody existential ambition and brutal design like Coniclysm. Released in 2010 by microscopic studio ZoopTEK LLC, this abstract third-person shooter dared to frame interstellar conquest as a Beckett-esque cycle of creation and destruction. Our thesis: Coniclysm is a flawed but philosophically resonant artifact—a “cosmic ouroboros” that sacrifices accessibility for thematic audacity, leaving its secrets buried beneath unforgiving systems.

---

Development History & Context

The ZoopTEK Enigma

Emerging during Steam’s indie gold rush (2008-2012), ZoopTEK LLC operated with near-zero visibility—no prior credits, no PR footprint. The studio’s silence post-launch suggests either a hobbyist project or a commercial misfire. Crucially, the game’s $4.99 launch price and 150MB footprint (Source: Steam, SocksCap64) reflect era-specific constraints: targeting low-spec PCs (Windows XP/Vista, Shader Model 2.0) during Unity’s ascendancy, yet avoiding its middleware. The tech reveals a bespoke engine prioritizing abstract geometries over realism—a budgetary necessity turned aesthetic virtue.

The 2010 Landscape

Coniclysm launched amidst titans (Mass Effect 2, Red Dead Redemption), yet its “competitive single-player” focus (VGChartz) anticipated the roguelike boom. Its core loop—stealing abilities via energy drains—rhymed with System Shock 2’s plasmid system but framed as cosmic parasitism. A Faustian bargain: innovate within austerity.

---

Narrative & Thematic Deep Dive

The Cycle of Dysphoric Deities

The “plot” hides like an event horizon: players control an “intelligence” (Steam) birthed to usurp a universe’s architect. Dialogue is absent; lore is environmental. Rooms represent self-contained ecosystems, gates act as umbilical cords, and the “Source” (a central sun) emits oppressive sentience. As developer ZoopTEK LLC revealed in 2021 (via Steam forums), victory triggers the Cycle:

1. Usurpation: After claiming the Source’s territory, the “God” emerges—a doppelgänger wielding your abilities.
2. Deicide: Killing it makes you the new Creator.
3. Revolt: Loneliness compels you to spawn a successor… who inevitably rebels.

This Oedipal loop weaponizes futility: players become the tyrant they overthrew. Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence meets Dark Souls’ Gwyn paradox—but without Miyazaki’s handholding.

Ant Colony as Allegory

Enemies—faceless “units” patrolling geometric chambers—evoke Borg collectivism. By stealing their traits (energy drains, shields, attacks), you metastasize from pawn to queen… only to face the hive’s atrophy. “We’re really not kidding” about brutality (Steam)—a warning against anthropocentrism in cosmic design.

---

Gameplay Mechanics & Systems

The Parasite’s Toolbox

The game’s DNA:

• Energy Draining: Hold right-click to siphon abilities from entities (enemies, walls, “energy givers”). Each drain levels that ability—but overuse depletes stamina. (Source: Developer post, Steam)
• Tactical Cannibalism: Drain shooters to gain firepower; drain walls for shields; drain healers to regenerate. Survival demands ecological mimicry—a proto-Prey (2017) mimicry system.
• Permadeath Loops: Dying resets progress but not knowledge. Leaderboards (Store.steampowered) track stats—speedrun-friendly, but attrition-heavy.

The Flawed Godhood

• Obscurity as Cancer: No tutorials bury critical systems. Example: Energy draining heals only when targeting healers (Steam)—unintuitive versus traditional shooter logic.
• UI Abstraction Overload: Stats resemble hexadecimal readouts (VGChartz screenshots), prioritizing ambiance over usability.
• Balance Extremes: Early-game fragility (instant deaths) clashes with endgame omnipotence—yet both strata share the same minimalist controls.

---

World-Building, Art & Sound

Geometry as Theology

ZoopTEK’s visual thesis: sacred spaces as Tron-meets-Escher labyrinths. Neon vector grids demarcate “rooms”; the Source looms like a malevolent dodecahedron. This austerity (150MB assets!) births hypnotic clarity: enemy silhouettes telegraph abilities (e.g., tendrilled units = drainable healers).

Kertsman’s Sonic Apotheosis

Miguel Kertsman’s Time What’s Time album (Steam)—a fusion of glitch-electronica and neoclassical swells—elevates repetition into ritual. Combat pulses with Reich-esque minimalism; the God battle crescendos with Penderecki-like dissonance. Functionally, this is diegetic lore: the score is the Source’s heartbeat.

---

Reception & Legacy

The Silence of the Void

• Commercial Eclipse: No sales data exists, but Steam’s Mixed rating (52% of 17 reviews) and negligible MobyGames traction (11 collectors) signify obscurity.
• Critical Black Hole: No professional reviews (Metacritic, VGChartz); user critiques cite “frustrating” difficulty (Steam forums) and “disappointing” opacity (SocksCap64).
• Developer Resurrection: ZoopTEK’s 2021 forum reply—a 13-year post-launch lore bomb—implies cult intrigue. Players still seek the “end” (Electronic_Bunny, 2021).

Proto-Souls Design DNA

Coniclysm’s indirect storytelling and cyclical nihilism prefigure Hollow Knight’s fallen kingdoms and Returnal’s cosmic loops. Its “ability vampirism” mechanic echoes indie darlings like Shovel Knight’s Crest system—but without nostalgia as balm.

---

Conclusion

Coniclysm is a singularity: too dense for mainstream orbit, too avant-garde for its era. Its genius lies in marrying furious difficulty with existential weight—every death feeds the Cycle’s premise; every victory seeds disillusionment. While its UX crimes and opacity alienated many, the game remains a cosmic-codex curiosity: a sermon about creation’s futility, delivered via punishing shooter liturgy. For historians, it’s fossilized ambition; for masochists, a gnostic riddle. As the developer warned: “Not for the faint of heart.” Few heeded it—fewer conquered it—but its black-hole gravity lingers.

Final Verdict: A 3/5 artifact—flawed, unforgettable, and feverishly bleak.