Unclean

I’ll admit, I went into *Unclean* expecting another sword-and-spell romp, but Byers’ story hooked me by the throat in the first hour—and not in a fun, escapist way. This is a fantasy that *hurts*. The protagonist, a paladin whose faith is as jagged as his sword, isn’t just flawed; he’s actively *unlikable* at times, and that’s the point. Byers forces you to sit with the cost of fanaticism, and Kraft’s narration sells every second of it. His delivery is eerily calm during the most brutal scenes, like a priest reciting liturgy over a massacre. It’s chillingly effective, though I’ll warn sensitive listeners: the body horror elements (a certain *transformation* sequence in Chapter 7) are *not* for the squeamish. The pacing stumbles slightly in the middle—Byers’ worldbuilding is rich, but a few political subplots feel like detours from the main psychological descent. And while Kraft’s performance is stellar, his female voices occasionally slip into a similar cadence, making minor characters blur together. Still, the climax is worth the slog: a confrontation that’s less about victory and more about reckoning, with Kraft’s voice cracking under the weight of the protagonist’s choices. It’s not a *fun* listen, but it’s a *memorable* one—like a splinter you can’t stop proding.