That heart rate was driving Sylar absolutely batty. Anybody would ahve been able to hear Peter's pulse going off the charts in panic, never mind the fact that the pounding, to Sylar's ears, sounded like war, and he had to flinch a bit to shake it off. The screeching of wood against stone wasn't really helping, although, at that, Sylar actually shot Peter a scowl. As if Peter were doing this on purpose, as a grievance against him, rather than an attempt to free himself. God, he would just be so glad when he was out of here.

Clever boy. He could almost be considered something approaching intelligence at this point.

Nevertheless, he lunged towards Sylar, and he raised a simple hand to stop it, narrowing his eyes at the Petrelli as Peter's fist met what had to feel the rough equivalent of a brick wall against his knuckles. He just loved it when Peter used his own powers against him. There was some kind of sick poetry to it. "Ouch. That's gotta hurt," he hissed, and gave Peter's hand a good, sharp twist with invisible fingers, arm send punching towards the floor and probably sending the boy entirely off-kilter - if not dislocating his shoulder completely.