Satan

He sniffed.

"What's burning?" he said.

A breeze swept up the dust and dropped it again. The air became hot and heavy, imprisoning those within it like flies in syrup.

He turned his head, and looked into Aziraphale's horrified expression.

"But it's over, " he said. "It can't happen now! The-the thing, the correct moment or whatever-it's gone past! It's over!"

The ground began to shake. The noise was like a subway train, but not one passing under. It was more like the sound of one coming up.

Crowley fumbled madly with the gear shift.

"That's not Beelzebub!" he shouted, above the noise of the wind. "That's Him. His Father! This isn't Armageddon, this is personal. Start, you bloody thing!”

***

Good Omens - Saturday