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 h...