It’s shocking how often game developers vanish from the very games they help create. Imagine spending years building a world, designing characters, and coding every tiny detail—only to have your name missing from the credits. It’s a quiet injustice that’s been part of the gaming industry for decades. Sometimes it happens because of internal politics; other times, it’s a calculated move to keep dissatisfied workers from leaving before a project’s release. But here’s where it gets interesting—Necrosoft’s new Persona-inspired tactics RPG, Demonschool, is rewriting that story.
Despite being made by a tight-knit development team, Demonschool proudly lists all 145 individuals who contributed across its multi-year creation journey. The credits don’t just list names—they detail what each person actually did. For example, Brent Porter, the game’s 3D art lead, is credited for handling most of the modeling, rigging, backgrounds, lighting, textures, and even concept art that defined the game’s visual identity. It’s the kind of transparency almost unheard of in major studio productions.
Brandon Sheffield, Demonschool’s director, admits this idea had been simmering since Necrosoft’s previous project, Hyper Gunsport. During that time, they worked with a localization company that refused to disclose which specific translators had worked on the game. The excuse? “That’s the standard” or “to prevent poaching.” Sheffield calls that reasoning nonsense and decided he’d never accept such vagueness again. “Our lead 3D artist left two years ago,” he explained. “But he’s still the first artist credited because his fingerprints are all over the game’s look and tone. Just because someone didn’t stay until the final build doesn’t mean their contribution disappears.”
And this is where Sheffield’s perspective breaks with industry norms. Instead of sticking to minimal or generic credits, he took a more radical, detailed approach. While brainstorming with his team and talking through the issue online, it became clear that every contributor deserved recognition. So as Demonschool neared completion, Sheffield decided: everyone who touched the game—no matter how briefly—would be named. “We had about seven or eight on the core team at any time,” he said, “but we ended up crediting 145 people total. Why should it matter if the credits are long? Everyone shaped this game somehow, and that deserves acknowledgment.”
For some, it was the first time in their careers they’d ever seen their names in the credits. Take Bit Egg, a Thai studio that collaborated with Necrosoft—Sheffield learned that several of their artists were finally getting public recognition. It’s a seemingly small gesture that can change how an employer views those developers—or how fans appreciate the creators behind their favorite worlds.
Sheffield also points out that detailed credits help both fans and industry peers understand what making a game really means. “A title alone doesn’t tell you much,” he said. “If someone’s credited as ‘Artist,’ that could mean anything—from designing icons to painting backgrounds. But if the credits specify they created several enemy sprites and animations, that gives players insight and helps future employers understand exactly what that developer contributed.” Transparency, in this sense, empowers everyone—from aspiring game designers to hiring managers.
But here’s the controversial question: why don’t major studios do this too? Sheffield says he’s not sure if Necrosoft is the first to take this detailed approach, but he hopes it’s not the last. “Sure, it might be tough for a mega-studio like Ubisoft, but even they could apply this method for their core teams,” he argued. “We did it for 145 people, and they have a hundred times the resources. What’s stopping them?” It’s a question that might make some big studios uncomfortable.
The results have been overwhelmingly positive. Developers praised Demonschool’s thorough credits, while players found themselves fascinated by the behind-the-scenes details. Sheffield shared that some fans even discovered things they’d never known—asking, for example, who designed the demonic fish in the game’s fishing minigame. The answer? Gustav Samuelson. “It’s fun,” Sheffield said, “because now the credits aren’t just names. They’re a map of how the game came to life.”
So maybe this is what true recognition in game development looks like—giving everyone their moment of credit, restoring visibility to invisible labor. What do you think? Should every developer, no matter how brief their contribution, have their name etched into a game’s history? Or is this detailed approach too ambitious for the massive teams behind blockbuster projects?
