He stares. Man's inhumanity to man is nothing new. The gorss sins of lust and need and complete lack of connection he understands. Rage and Righteousness likewise have gone hand in hand for ages, and Zarathos has seen it.
Likewise, terrible as it is, its nothing new to Nicholas. He's seen pimps beat their whores and leave them bleeding on the street in the middle of winter because there is no business.
He's seen people, children even, starve to death for lack of care.
He's seen insanity, rage and pride take good men and women.
But this is suffering to try and create something beautiful, when really, its just taking something pure and innocent and beautiful and making sure it can never be that again.
And they howl in anguish together. The Rider's banshee wail and the horse cry of a man who has not been innocent a day in his life.
Somewhere within the Rider, Nick can feel tears welling in his eyesockets, and tiny hisses of steam rise from the empty, soulless holes for it.
He slams his fists on the plastic time and time again, then scratches, burns, and flails, and leaves not a mark.
The wails shake and crack the ice, but the walls and door hold.
And then he realizes he's trapped. Stuck inside this box, while the people who have put what little faith they have in him are out there... with the monster who let these three loose.
The monster who built this hell.
The flames of hell begin to die down, smoke rising from bare bone. A terrible, horrible chill, far worse than 40 below sets into the bones with the realization.
He's driven into hell, and with it comes a horrible truth. Once fallen, an angel can never rise all the way again.
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