One duck. One gun. A night that wants you dead.

Five colossal lords sit on the horizon the moment you spawn. They're asleep — for now. Every ninety seconds one of them wakes up, the moon turns red, and it comes straight for you. Bring it down and you'll watch the horizon change: its silhouette collapses into the water, its crown burns out in golden embers. Bring down all five and dawn breaks... into a red sky. That's where the real night begins.

Keep killing, or something worse comes

Your feather volley grows with you. Golden eggs sharpen it, your dash learns to leap, then to shatter the water when you land. Stand perfectly still and the moonlight itself will steady your aim. But don't stop hunting. Hesitate too long and the Moon Wraith comes down — it reads your speed and it's always three steps faster. You can't outrun it. You can only turn around and fight.

The horde does the teaching: ghost ducklings in endless waves, crimson sprinters that outswim you, golden totems that spawn more, duck chains crossing the sky like trains. Feeder ducks swell as you shoot them — fill one up next to the flock and it explodes on your behalf. Statue ducks only move when you look away.

And when you die, you'll know exactly why. The death screen names your killer and how far away it struck from. Every lethal attack has a sound, a ripple, a wind-up. We spent more time on this than almost anything else: when you die in this game, it's never the dark's fault.

Eleven lords of the moon

Each of the five Pantheon lords demands a different answer: a drowned king that strikes from under your feet, a chain mother whose coils strangle the arena, twin eclipses joined by a beam of moonshadow, a flock of thirty-six birds where only one is real, and a moon-swallower the size of the sky. Past the dawn, six more wait in the red — a tyrant whose feathers hatch, an echo that retraces your own path, a glutton that eats your stars.

The night has weather

Seven moon phases rewrite the rules of every run. You don't pick them — you read them in the sky. A full moon quickens every wing. A twin moon splits your volley in two. A dark moon lets your muzzle flash light the fog. Every lord you fell rerolls the moon, so no two nights play the same. And no phase ever touches the fairness of a telegraph — that's a rule we refused to break.

Outlast the night, keep your stars

Survival time is your score. Past the dawn, every lord you kill in the red sky hangs a star above the pond. Die, and your constellation dies with you. That's the reason you'll queue up one more run. Climb the Hall of Fame: solo boards, one-life BROS boards, co-op boards, and lifetime eggs and stars.

Three ducks, one pond

Online co-op for up to three. Downed friends can be pulled back up if you can reach them — and the pond hits harder for every duck still swimming. Co-op boards rank clears and stars before time, because teams that fight deserve the crown.

• 11 bosses — 5 Pantheon lords + 6 red-sky exclusives

• 7 moon phases, rerolled with every lord you fell

• 3 lives — and BROS mode: one life, separate leaderboards, for those who earn it

• Online co-op for 3 with revives, wipes, and team leaderboards

• 18 achievements, Hall of Fame, lifetime eggs & stars

• Full controller support

• 9 languages

DuckShot Bros is made by a two-person team, "People Trying to Live Happy". We started it with one promise to each other: this time, we actually finish and ship.

Somewhere along the way, we got ambitious. Even if it takes a long time, we want to keep making games — and keep making them better. We want to build games that people will love the way we have always loved games, and put them out into the world. That ambition became a plan: keep making, keep growing, toward a future we're genuinely excited about.

We just want to make a good game, and we'll keep patching until it is one. If something ever feels unfair, tell us. We read everything.

Learning it takes five seconds.