đť First rule of being a ghost: go up
You pop into existence like a soap bubble with attitude, a pale wisp in a world that points straight to the ceiling. Ghost up doesnât politely explain itself; it winks, drops you on a narrow ledge, and dares you to rise. Platforms tilt, lanterns hiss, chains creak, and the sky is a staircase someone forgot to finish. One button says jump, another says dash, and somewhere in your spectral ribcage a little compass keeps whispering higher. Miss a ledge and you fall with the elegance of a melancholic leaf; stick a perfect chain and you rocket through the night like a secret.
đŞ Floaty, but precise (youâre a ghost, not a cloud)
Movement is buttery in the best way. Tap jump for a crisp hop, hold for a hang-time drift that lets you nudge midair with tiny fingertip corrections. The dash is your spicy exhaleâshort, snappy, and wonderfully abusable when chained off walls. A gentle glide on the rear trigger slows descent just enough to thread painful gaps without turning the game into a feather simulator. Itâs forgiving where it should be (buffers on late jumps, coyote time that feels generous) and honest where it counts (bad angles still mean âwhoops, try again, floatfriendâ).
đŽ Levels that climb like stories
The first stretch is all attic bones and broom-closet bravado: wooden beams, dusty chandeliers that swing as if remembering parties, windows that cough moonlight. Then the route leans into operaâbell towers with gears the size of gossip, scaffolds that move on a schedule you learn by ear, gusts that treat you like a kite with strong opinions. Past that, rooftops stack into a jigsaw skyline where weather becomes a co-author: rain slicks edges, snow adds a napkin-thin margin to every landing, and dawn paints outlines that make risky jumps look like invitations. Nothing feels mean; everything feels like a dare phrased politely.
𧊠Obstacles with personality, not pettiness
This city loves contraptions. Lanterns flare when youâre close, shrinking your glide window unless you time the pass between breaths. Chain-swing knots loop in lazy ellipses and can be used as launchpads if you catch them on the upswing. Gargoyles spit short cones of frost that stall your drift for a heartbeat; plan for the hiccup and suddenly the âproblemâ becomes a timing gift. Even the bricks are chattyâsome crumble under soft feet, others hum faintly to say âIâm here for two hops, tops.â Once youâre listening, the route becomes a conversation you can win.
âď¸ Checkpoints that respect momentum
Youâll hit shrinesâlittle braziers glowing with cold fireâthat save progress without killing rhythm. Miss a sequence, blink back a few screens, inhale, and boomâyouâre back in tempo before your brain can sulk. The climb is long but snackable; five minutes buys a confident new segment, fifteen unlocks a skyline you didnât know your thumbs could deserve. Speed fiends can disable shrines for full runs because bragging rights taste better when a little unhinged.
đŻ Score that applauds style, not just altitude
Vertical meters are the headline, but the score system is a poet. Chain three perfect landings and a quiet halo hums around you, feeding a multiplier that purrs until you bungle. Thread a lanternâs hot cone with a hair-width to spare and the UI flickers a tiny âclose callâ sparkle like the city itself winked. Ghost shardsâglassy motes tucked on rude linesâtempt detours that teach better routes. Take them when youâre feeling clever; leave them when your thumbs ask for mercy. Both choices are valid, which is why runs feel personal.
đ Skins and trails for haunt couture
You can be a classic sheet with mischievous eyes, a Victorian wraith with a collar that swishes when you dash, or a neon sprite who leaves a dotted line of starlight like a chalk sketch across the night. None of it messes with hitboxes; all of it feeds the highlight reel. Trails are especially deliciousâsoft comets, drifting calligraphy, or silent snowfall that falls upward (of course it does). Style is a stat for the soul.
đ Sound you can climb by
Headphones? Recommended. Chains groan in exact loops, bells pre-chime a fraction before gears shift, lanterns hiss louder just before a flare. These little cues become metronomes for success. Your dash exhales with a crisp âshffâ that ends precisely when its safety frame does; listen and youâll stop face-checking gargoyles. The soundtrack swells as you commit to long sequences, then thins to let SFX carry the coaching. When you stick a six-move chain, percussion pats your shoulder like a proud ghost dad.
đŤď¸ A world that tells stories in silhouettes
No cutscenes needed. Posters peel from brickwork showing a festival that never happened. An empty rooftop tea table waits beneath a wind-tossed parasol. Painted arrows from long-gone climbers point to shortcuts youâll trust or ignore based on mood. A tethered balloon bobs against the sky; if you bounce it just right, it gifts a silly amount of height. These are not puzzles so much as rumors. Follow them and your route becomes folklore.
đ§ Modes for brains with different weather
Classic Climb is the default: checkpoints on, vibe strong, improvement loud. Time Trial slides a clock into your peripheral, turns lantern flares more predictable, and transforms âcleanâ into âchefâs kiss.â Shard Hunt scatters optional collectibles on the grumpiest lines so you explore corners you would otherwise only see while falling. Endless Spire? The city says hold my candelabra and procedurally assembles a forever-tower that gets playful and a tiny bit unhinged the higher you wander. Daily Ascent swaps in a new seed each day, perfect for âone glorious run before breakfast.â
đ ď¸ Assist without shame, challenge without spite
Toggle a slower fall if youâre learning. Add a second of post-dash invulnerability if your reflexes are sleepy. Reduce flash on lantern pops, thicken outlines for tricky edges, or switch on color-blind symbols for hazard tells. On the flip side, crank Hard Haunt to remove coyote time and halve your glideâsuddenly every ledge is a thesis defense and youâre the professor and the student. The point is choice, not punishment.
đ Micro-chaos, macro-calm
Yes, you will biff jumps in the dumbest ways. Youâll bonk a lantern because a pigeon flapped at the corner of your eye (rude). Youâll forget the dash exists for three glorious seconds and invent a novel method of plummeting. Itâs fine. The reset is instant, the checkpoint is kind, and the very next attempt turns embarrassment into textbook. When you nail the same section clean, youâll grin at nobody and everyone.
đĄ Tips youâll pretend you discovered alone
Look where youâll land, not where youâre launching; your drift follows your eyes. Dash on exits, not entries; speed you keep beats speed you brag about. Tap-glide to erase tiny horizontal mistakes without losing vertical zeal. If a chain feels cursed, break rhythm on purposeâone micro-pause resets the roomâs mood. Use lantern heat as timing, not fear; pass at the hiss peak for the fattest window. And when panic invites you to mash, pick two verbsâjump, dashâand let everything else wait its turn.
đ Why Ghost up belongs in your Kiz10 rotation
Because it hits the arcade trifecta: simple verbs, juicy feedback, infinite mastery. Five minutes buys a new skyline checkpoint and a personal best that makes breakfast smug. An hour becomes a highlight reel of ridiculous saves, secret routes, and a final rooftop arrival where the wind feels like applause. Itâs cozy without being sleepy, hard without being cruel, and stylish in that quiet way where your hands do the talking and your heart does the cheering. Up you go.
Roller Coaster 
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