Portal’s Swarth is not so much a death metal album as it is a descent into some impossibly ancient engine of ruin, a machine fed by human anxiety and sculpted out of audible decay. If previous albums like Seepia and Outre marked Portal’s gradual slip into the chasm, then Swarth is the moment they vanish entirely beneath the surface—dragging the listener with them. From the opening moments of “Larvae,” it’s clear that Swarth is designed to resist clarity. The production buries riffs beneath corroded layers of distortion, where the guitars heave and spasm like rusted gears grinding against bone. The drums, handled by Ignis Fatuus, feel like collapsing architecture—mechanical and unrelenting, yet prone to sudden, off-kilter shifts in tempo that destabilize any sense of rhythm. The Curator’s voice is a presence more than a performance, rumbling from some indeterminate void with the force of prophecy, or perhaps a curse. Swarth is not for the faint of heart or the casually curious. It demands patience, full attention, and a willingness to embrace what at first feels like madness. But for those who find beauty in the incomprehensible, this record is an unparalleled statement of purpose. Portal do not challenge death metal norms so much as render them irrelevant. With Swarth, they construct their own language of horror—one that communicates directly with the subconscious, bypassing logic and leaving only the echo of nightmares. A monument to dread, and one of extreme metal’s most unique and unsettling creations.