If chaos had a design intern, The Book of Chaos would be their first—and possibly last—project. This cover is trying so hard to be mysterious and arcane, but instead lands somewhere between “ancient artifact” and “corporate logo for a startup that sells steampunk NFTs.”
Let’s begin with the typography. “THE BOOK OF” arrives in a sleek, stylized font like it’s the intro to a fantasy film… and then CHAOS happens. Literally. The word “CHAOS” bursts into the frame like a diva with a flair for bad design, complete with a treble clef jammed into the S like a musical photobomb. What does it mean? Is this about symphonic sorcery? Did a bard lose control of his playlist mid-battle? Is the real chaos… jazz? The symbolism is unclear, and the execution is so extra it deserves its own key change.
Now, onto the copper medallion of destiny—the spinning seal that looks like it was modeled in a mid-2000s MMORPG loading screen. There are symbols, daggers, and beveled edges galore, all polished to a high CGI gloss that screams “fantasy-themed board game expansion pack cover art.” It’s centered like it’s the boss level. And to be fair, if this seal started rotating and asked for a password, no one would be surprised.
The background is equally chaotic. Crinkled textures, black and silver swirls, random arcane symbols lurking behind everything—it’s like the designer threw in every “fantasy” layer from a free graphics bundle and then hit “emboss” until Photoshop tapped out. And yet somehow, with all that going on, the cover still feels flat. It’s the art equivalent of a movie trailer where they show you the whole plot but forget to make you care.
Even the color palette doesn’t commit. The metallic copper tones fight with the brushed-steel background, while the glowy effects scream “Look! Magic!” but the only spell being cast is one of graphic confusion.
In the end, The Book of Chaos is less of a cover and more of a branding exercise for a mystical escape room that only opens during Comic-Con. It had potential—but it treble-cleffed it up.