He has to work desperately for a time. His hand doesn't want to work right with the tool. He's losing consciousness and he knows it. Its only that work like this is second nature that carries him through.
The vent crashes away, and soundproofed room that it is, no one sees, no one hears. Their own security measure damning them.
He crawls for a time, almost losing it, before he feels himself pass the wards. His hands light, and at first, its all he can do but to warm himself by hellfire - a thought that would disturb many, but for now, its comfort.
And then the pentagrams alight with unholy fury, and he burns, then tears through the vent, dropping himself into an elevator shaft.
With some work, he finds it leads to a maintenance tunnel - a way back to the surface. A way to get to the rooms along the way so they can be maintained. A way to save the victims.
And then his eyes light up with unholy fire. He's made a devil's bargain today. That he had little choice in the matter is no matter. The wicked must pay before the innocent go free.
Leaving the victims to their fates a little longer, and the Champions to whatever awaits them, the Ghost Rider turns and goes deeper, not upward.
An iron door is torn viciously off its hinges with a damned shriek as he enters the artist's room. He tries to use the shock and awe of the moment to catch the man's eyes. A single moment that will leave him forever bathed in the results of his own "art."
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