It starts as a vine.藤蔓植物向往黑色钻石点缀的太阳， You sit back and watch it, chasing the black, diamond-studded sun, and a fluttery golden angel taunts its path. 旁边金色翅膀的天使嘲笑它。Then you realize that this is the game, and you follow that path with your cursor.沿着标志移动光标 The vine curls. As it curls up toward the angel, a leaf sprouts in its wake, catching it, or maybe the angel eats it, then it grows dark. 植物卷曲指向天使，或许被吃掉，变得黑暗。A second vine is emerging. This is going to get more interesting.那样又一棵藤蔓萌发。
Phyta, while sounding like a homophone for fighter, is much more graceful than that would suggest. It's an art game that, like the best of them, bothers to actually be a game and offer some depth of play. Your objective is to somehow deal with the series of angels that come on-screen.处理天空中的天使 Most of them you have to feed; later you have to suffocate them beneath the incessant screen scrolling. 用植物吸引他们进食，憋死这些家伙——体验金钱使人堕落。下方屏幕不断滚动，又会有新的天使出现。 As you do, your black sun cursor becomes more intricate, then resets, leading to another series of angels with more ornate patterns draping down like frozen gold drops. Gold drops people.
Visually this game is a wonder, combining a relatively simple set of monochromatic shapes with haunting light shaders and the uncanny furling (or is it unfurling?) of the vines. However, the increasing number and complexity of the vines as the game progresses is not merely a visual reward; their tendency to warp and curl, to stop short and speed along with the hold of the mouse, all culminate in a game that fuses it aesthetics with its mechanics into a lava-lamp impressionism. If this direction of game design continues to evolve, nobody will need drugs anymore.