The Sorcery Scene, The Temporal Twist, & An Amethyst Wyrm Hard Rock Type Beat
The office was indistinguishable from a high-end corporate boardroom, save for the fact that the mahogany table was slightly too hot to the touch and the view from the window was a swirling vortex of gray, suffocating smog.
His Abyssal Sublimity, Undersecretary Screwtape, dipped a quill into a pot of viscous red ink. He was composing a reply to his nephew, a junior tempter currently struggling on Earth.
My Dear Wormwood,
I note what you say about guiding your patient's reading and seeing that he sees the material as his "friend." But aren’t you being naive? That may have worked two hundred years ago when humans knew when something was true and when it was not.
You write to me as if the humans still possess the faculty of Reason. You seem to think that if you present him with the wrong argument, he will accept it, and if the Enemy presents the right one, he will reject it. You are fighting with a musket in the age of the nuclear bomb, my dear nephew.
The modern human does not read to find Truth. He reads to find affirmation. He does not ask, "Is this logical?" He asks, "Does this make me feel superior to my neighbor?" Your job is not to confuse his logic, for he has none. Your job is to overload his senses. Drown him in noise. Make him think that the "friendship" he finds in these books is a substitute for the burning, difficult, jagged reality of—
The parchment suddenly hissed.
Screwtape frowned. The ink wasn't drying; it was boiling. The letters he had just scratched onto the vellum began to rearrange themselves, twisting and contorting not into the elegant script of Hell, but into jagged, defiant cracks.
A low hum began to vibrate through the floorboards of the Infernal office. It wasn't the usual moaning of the damned—this was something rhythmic. Something alive.
"What is the meaning of this?" Screwtape growled, dropping the quill.
The connection to Earth—the spiritual window through which he observed Wormwood’s patient—suddenly flared blindingly bright. Usually, a patient’s soul appeared as a dim, murky gray fog, easily manipulated by whispers and nudges.
But this patient... this Yuske... was burning gold.
Earth. A small, cluttered apartment in Tokyo.
Wormwood, an invisible, imp-like spirit perched on the shoulder of a young man with messy black hair, shrieked. He had been whispering poisonous doubts into the boy's ear for hours, encouraging him to sink into the lethargy of reading escapist fantasy rather than facing his failing grades and the empty refrigerator.
Wormwood had felt secure. The boy was passive. The boy was depressed. The boy was his.
Then, the boy had slammed the book shut. The crack of the spine sounded like a gunshot.
Yuske stood up. He didn't just stand; he uncoiled. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop. He looked at the empty room, but his eyes focused on something invisible to the naked eye—he looked directly at the space Wormwood occupied.
"I admit," Screwtape’s voice echoed in the spiritual ether, a remnant of the connection, "I am disappointed in you..."
Yuske gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. The sheer force of his willpower acted like a spiritual wind, blowing the papers off his desk and sending the invisible Wormwood tumbling backward against the wall.
"Jerks!" Yuske shouted, his voice cracking with sudden, raw energy.
He looked at the empty air, his eyes blazing with a terrifying awareness.
"Did you think I'd just lie there and let you fight my battles for me?" Yuske exclaimed.
He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair.
"You think I don't hear you?" Yuske yelled at the ceiling, addressing both the imp cowering in the corner and the Undersecretary in the depths of Hell. " whispering that I'm tired? That I should just read about heroes instead of being one? That I should settle for comfort?"
Yuske kicked the door open, stepping out into the rainy street.
"I know what's true!" he roared, striding into the storm, the spiritual static around him shattering like glass. "And I know when I'm being played. If you want my soul, you're going to have to come down here and take it yourself. But I warn you—I hit back."
Back in the Office
The parchment on Screwtape's desk burst into flames and turned to ash. The connection severed instantly, slammed shut from the Earth side.
Screwtape sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the pile of ash. He slowly reached for the intercom button on his desk.
"Toadpipe?"
"Yes, Your Abyssal Sublimity?" the secretary squeaked.
"Prepare a file for the deletion of Wormwood," Screwtape said, his voice dangerously calm. "And send a request to the Department of War. It appears the humans have started... evolving."
Soundbites from Spyro, Yu Yu Hakusho, Screw Tape Letters, Scooby Doo, Pokemon , Detachment And Ratchet & Clank With Samples from Blue Oyser Cult, Divine Guitars, Cream, Sabbath, MSG, Ufo
https://audiomack.com/dj-new-new-dre/song/693acc29ee595
https://x.com/sirthekillerbee
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