Sword

Aziraphale picked up the sword lately dropped by War, and hefted its weight thoughtfully.

"Gosh, it's been years since I used this," he murmured.

"About six thousand," said Crowley.

"My word, yes," said the angel. "What a day that was, and no mistake. Good old days."

"Not really," said Crowley. The noise was growing.

"People knew the difference between right and wrong in those days," said Aziraphale dreamily.

"Well, yes. Think about it."

"Ah. Yes. Too much messin' about?" "yes. "

Aziraphale held up the sword. There was a whoomph as it suddenly flamed like a bar of magnesium.

"Once you've learned how to do it, you never forget," he said.

***

Good Omens - Saturday