No!
No!
No!
The Rider blasted the plastic with the flames of hell... to no avail. He could feel the magical rituals performed on them by some dark sorceror, likely at great cost, repelling the hellfire.
Even the barbed chains don't scratch them.
Flaming hands ball into skeletal fists, and the rider hammers at one of the walls. It doesn't even have the good grace to scratch or char, no way to mark it even to hide the vision before him.
He howls at Vengeance denied. If they could hear him, the sinners would feel their very souls at peril for these sins, and yet the room is obviously soundproofed too, as they carry on.
The Rider's eyesockets burn with an unholy light, looking in on one of the scenes and sinners, unable to look away, close enough to feel the horrible stench of the evil that lays beyond, just out of reach.
And only then, for the first time in forever, does he begin to feel the chill reaching out for his bones.
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