Once again, the door shut behind the Ghost Rider, trapping him on this new level. Here he found the first living victims of this literal hell. Only eight of them amongst statues with vistages twisted in horror. The people were fat and naked.
Innocents chained to the floor, unable to pull their bodies away from the pit of black slush and their own vomit induced by the smell. They cried and begged for release when they saw the rider. Trapped only for a few days, but long enough that anyone, anything would be better than where they were now. And they were all so, so hungry.
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