The lowly imp hath threaded on the same road for several days, seemingly stranded in the rural depths of a random desert in North America.
As he reached yet another roadside village with a few houses made of cheap aluminium roofing and plywood, a visibly exhausted man draped in black leather appeareth out of practically nowhere, followed by yet another redneck the imp hath seen, except he didn't remember them having the ability to teleport like that.
The imp quickly turneth off the flames in his ladle and bolted straight towards the cover of one of the houses. "Kheeek! A trap!" He whispered, yelling into hisself.
He feareth to be exorcised by the strange men with powers.
So far away to his destination--the gateway to Hell that humans prefer to call 'Yellowstone' as if a strange euphemism to sulphur--the imp wondered if his journey hath came to its conclusion. He skittles away around the house, hopefully out of sight.