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Realization comes flooding back to him. The world, the deception his body just played host to. The tiny little corner of a private hell she just reserved for herself. And he knows he should somehow pity her. There should be an ember of doubt or remorse or... something. That the human soul has enough empathy to find forgiveness, and to pity the monster.
But he has no soul. His parents sold it on the day he was born, the day they carved damned sigils into his innocent hands, and he would never be innocent or pure again. This woman made her hell, and now she has to lie in it, alone.

Nicholas can't help but wonder as he frees the survivors, these people who may now be haunted forever by what they've seen and experienced, scarred by their victimhood... first the men, then the reverend's victims, then the models, and then through each layer of hell, navigating the maintenance tunnels, demanding that the strong and able restrain the violent, carry the weak, anyone with medical training tend to the worst of the injuries...
Despite the commands, the insistence man care for man, the strong help the weak, and that together, and only together, they will find light and escape, even if they will never find peace...
Do they know he's not here for them? He never was. Their suffering might have gone unheeded, they might have died alone and unheard, as many others did in their company. There was no salvation for the victim, save that there was damnation for the wicked, and only that darkness drew him there.
Some of them might call him a hero. He saved lives. Some may fear him nearly as much as the sinners, and perhaps rightly so. They, at least, had souls, however wicked. There was in them depths to which they couldn't sink. The woman sought love, even if she was willing to deny it to others to try and find it. The reverend sought the Lord's punishment for the guilty, however overwrought, and in that, Nick can't help but remember his own reflection in the man's eyes - be careful when you stare into hell. The artist sought beauty.

But Nicholas? Nicholas is empty and damned. Whatever good he might do on this Earth, it may never be an untainted thing.

He nears the surface, and the light, leading his unholy procession of sinners and saved, examplars of vices and sins who now have to find somewhere to start again. His hands light - the pentagrams always light first, unholy shimmers lighting and playing over the surfaces of the scars.

Within moments, the flickers are an inferno, and the Ghost Rider is reborn. With the maintenance doors opened, he's able to call his very own pale horse - the bike roars up the tunnel, responding to his master now that he needs it again. These people will have to fend for themselves, hopefully for each other now.
The Ghost Rider isn't a hero... but he has heroes to save.

The final door from hell bursts away in a blaze of flame, and the Demon rides the Earth again.