The real spirits of evil of which the devils usually described are but shadows.
These spirits have never been
men, and are truly appalling creatures. Even as they shout the most fearful blasphemies, and scream—How
do you like your master, the devil? Blaspheme, you swine, blaspheme!
We are the real gods—the things you call gods
are only figments of your brains, they lash with their whips and spirits fall writhing to the ground beneath these savage
blows.
A period of awful terror begins, and spirits are hunted through great dark spaces without stay or intermission, and they stumble and fall, get up again, run on, heedless of each other in the murky air, never escaping their masters’ whips.
Constant taunts and jeers greet their ears, reducing them to utter despair, and the more dangerous because there is a certain modicum
of truth in it.
Spirits cannot read what is in their minds, as they are able to do with the men in the divisions above.
They
seem able to build up a wall round their thoughts, which they are powerless to penetrate.
They hate with an intensity, which is almost their life to them.

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