In countless myths, the creator was the supreme being.
They created the world, everything in the universe, and even the humans who sang their praises in those myths.
As an outsider, John was not one of God's creations.
He could even be said to doubt whether the humans of this world were creations of humanity.
He was the Critic, questioning everything, with the right to doubt.
Through Satan's battle with the angels, and Aziraphale's miracles.
He could see certain things, truths he glimpsed through magic.
Miracles were God's power.
More precisely, they were the power God had used to create this world.
The invocation of laws.
God's laws.
God said, let there be light.
And light appeared in this world.
Angels could bring daylight into the night, not magical light, but by turning one corner of the world back to daytime.
This sky was young, immature.
Everything traced back to when God had created this world.
Six thousand years ago.
God had tried to become a creator.
He had created this universe, using Heaven as a blueprint and expanding it into a universe.
A small universe.
It lacked the vastness of the world outside, with six-thousand-year-old nebulae floating above the Earth's surface.
Using another Earth as the model for everything, he had created this universe belonging to Heaven.
Hell, Heaven, and the mortal world.
Everything proceeded according to the script, like a creator's game.
God granted angels the ability to invoke miracles. He wrote the script and had angels and demons carry it out.
The Great Flood, the suffering of Jesus, and the final Doomsday War.
From the moment Adam and Eve left the Garden of Eden, both Heaven and Hell had known about the Doomsday War six thousand years ago.
Because the demons in Hell had originally been angels