Under the glare of the yellow gaslights, a vengeful red-haired demon danced and poised, in her hands, she held a bright and exquisitely coloured paper fan; which she wielded with vigour.

Two Yamabushi pilgrims chanted prayers as they did their rituals, inciting the words of ancient Buddhist scriptures, struggling as they tried to calm the spirit down.

Punctuated by the rapid beats of maddening drums and the long and blaring whine of accursed flutes, the demon stumbled in her steps.

It wobbled to and fro, and her heavy strides rattled even the roof tiles above.

The pilgrims became staunch, determined to bring peace to this vengeful spirit they doubled the strength of their prayers.

The demon's power finally waned, and after much struggle, its will and hatred had dissipated and it faded away.

The demon's spirit passed on in peace, and the two pilgrims waved farewell with prayers of respect and reverence.

The music ceased as the red-haired demon walked across the Bridgeway into the mirror room, the drapes were closed and the play was concluded.

The audience first clapped as the masked demon walked off stage, once more when the Yamabushi pilgrims did the same, and then a final time when the musicians followed.

The theatre's showing of Kurozuka, the play about the vengeful old woman and the two pilgrims, was met with a collectively positive review from the audience.

"You play a really convincing old woman, Momota..." a young man cheekily said with a nudge. This was Satou Takeshi, a colleague and long-time confidant of Momota Ritsuki's.

Ritsuki was still in costume, he sat beside an end table as he steadily removed his cloth and trinkets.

Taking off the frizzy red wig and the wooden Hanya mask, his peach-coloured eyes narrowed at his reflection in the tall mirror.

Taking idle stock of his features; his fair complexion and prominent dimples, he would give a firm nod. He played with his shoulder-length brown hair before tying it into a neat bun.

"I'm not sure I understand, Satou, all I did was yell while I stomped my feet very wildly." he simply chuckles.

"That, yes, exactly that," Takeshi goofed.

Before Risuki had a chance to respond they heard a hoarse voice come from above.

"Momota Ritsuki, may I have a word?" it was the director coming down the stairs to the changing room.

"Well, looks like I have to go now." Takeshi began to hastily pack his things in a bag, and while moving about he had somehow managed to knock Ritsuki's mask out of his hand.

It dropped to the floor where the delicate wooden mask broke into two pieces right down the middle.

"You're in a rush... did something happen back home?" Ritsuki dryly asked, bending down to grab the broken pieces of the hanya mask.

"Uh, yeah, I suppose. Just tell the director I was sick," he dashed over to the door as soon as Ritsuki nodded.

Takeshi looked back to see that Ritsuki had smiled.

"I see, then my friend, good luck..." He said. Takeshi nodded then with a whirl, he was gone.

Ritsuki looked rather impassive but his face soon shifted to a smile when he saw the director.

"My goodness, whatever did I do to get that young man so scared of me...?" an old man came down, the click of his sandals announcing his arrival in the room.

"Good evening, Director Tamaki." Momota greeted with a bow as he rose to his feet.

"Oh, there's no need for all that, Momota." the old man waved off,

"You're in a good mood..." the boy took note of the document the old man held in his hand, "And, hmm...?"

"Ah, I see you've noticed the very reason for my cheer." he said with a toothy giggle, "Come boy, sit, we have much to discuss."

"They want us in Osaka..." the boy whispered his disbelief on his walk back home.

Pacing down the paved cobblestone streets of the rural port town, Momota Ritsuki couldn't help his smile. They had been requested to perform in Osaka's famous Noh theatre.

He clutched the strap of his leather bag tightly, inciting a muffled chime from the broken Hanya mask held inside.

He raised his head with a shining smile.

The townsfolk were making their final rounds for the day before dinner, the little children began to run back home as the working class retired into their modest abodes.

The late evening air was cool and relaxing, it was one of the most beautiful days Momota had ever had the joy of experiencing.

He quickened his pace and looked down as he padded himself, tidying his garb as he turned a corner before suddenly bumping into a man.

Ritsuki was surprised to be the one knocked on his back because, in the brief moment of contact between them, the boy noticed how pale and slender the man's body felt.

It didn't seem like this stranger should have the strength and stability he evidently did.

"Gah...!" the boy grunted as his posterior bounced on the cobblestone sidewalk.

"Careful there, young man..." came a deep and monotone voice, a certain sneer laced underneath.

The boy looked up after shaking off his daze and noted the man was indeed tall and slender, his outfit was rather contemporary and quite unusual even then.

A pitch-black kimono with crimson accents, his outfit was topped off with a pilgrim's hat of the same colour.

The old man wore a pair of tall wooden sandals.

He was pretty aged in appearance, with a pair of piercing hazel eyes like that of burning coal.

"Do you require my assistance...?" came the stranger's deep voice again, his face betraying any emotion he must have felt.

"Uh, no sir," the boy quickly shakes himself off, "You needn't trouble yourself..." He reassures as he pushed himself up to his feet.

"Do you usually take walks staring at your feet?" the old man folded his arms, looking down at the boy in critique.

"Aha, I'm really sorry, sir," he laughed to try and lighten the mood, then bowed deeply with a wrinkled smile on his face, "Please excuse this young boy's recklessness...!"

Normally, Ritsuki would receive a light chop on his head when he apologised to an elder; the boy had figured the old man would likely use his paper fan for the gesture but a tap never came.

Confused, he raised his head and saw that the old man seemed amused, wearing an oddly unnerving smile.

Ritsuki started to feel a little unnerved.

"Oh you lot, always so quick to apologise... though, if you truly want my forgiveness," the man reached inside his black robe and pulled out a scroll, "We could perhaps, make a deal?"

"No sir!" Ritsuki's response was abrupt and loud, a few people even looked down from their windows and balconies.

"You haven't even heard what's being offered-"

"I said no sir," the boy said again, although quieter. "I am sorry I bumped into you, but what I said was just civil courtesy I suppose... goodbye now." having spoken his word, he walked around the frowning old man and began quickly marching down the street.

Truth be told, Ritsuki had no idea if that shady old man really was a conning salesman as he suspected or just deranged; the boy just felt he needed to get away from him as soon as possible lest the man press on.

Ritsuki, having been reminded many times in life, was completely aware of his easily swayed disposition and complete lack of persevering assertiveness.

"Hah, I'm glad I didn't stick around..." he mumbled, the sun had retreated behind the crest of mountains to his left he was almost home, and he knew his mother's worry would have grown.

There stood Takamatsu Port, the last steam boilers finally hushed by workers as they left their factories in the industrial district.

Ritsuki approached a gated house and made his way through the front door.

"I'm home..." He called to anyone inside.

"Ritsu, welcome..." the sweet and homely voice of his ageing mother called back from the kitchen, "Oh my, aren't you late this evening...?"

Ritsuki entered the dining room with a bright smile, "The director wanted to have a talk, and I have great news for the both of you..."

The old woman smiled as well, her dimples showing clearer.

People always mistook her for his grandmother but were often more surprised by the truth: the old couple somehow had him in their fifties.

"What kind of news?" his mother looked back from across the aisle, "Nothing alarming I hope."

"No, no of course not..." he shook his head and placed his leather bag over the shoe rack, "Although, have you chanced upon a delirious old man walking around the neighbourhood?"

"You refer to your father?" the old woman innocently chided.

They shared a small laugh, but while the boy was eased a bit, his concern still remained.

Ritsuki shook his head as he took a seat at the table, "I'm not..." he turned to frown,

"Mother, he wore a black kimono, I was afraid he was trying to con me out of my money. The most unusual colour of eyes I've ever seen..."

"Hmph, sound's like an odd fellow but not really cause for serious concern, now is he?" the old woman walked over to the dining table with two trays in her hands, "Your father's almost home, why don't you help me with the table?"

The boy sighed but figured his mother was probably right. He'd probably forget about his encounter with the delirious old man the next morning.

"Right, what's for dinner anyway...?" he did his best to give an honest smile.

"Mister Momota, why are you still working here?" Momota Giichi heard his junior innocently ask, "Can't you already retire?"

"You wish to imply I'm so old that I cannot work?" Giichi chuckled as Murakami stumbled over his words, "I love this job, and I will continue until I am no longer able..."

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" the young man rubbed his neck.

"It's quite alright, I'm a grown man, I can take a jab."

Their attention was caught by a bell announcing the arrival of a new shipment, both men looked off to see the cargo ship dock by a crane.

They looked at one another, nodding as they dusted themselves, walking to the moored raft for the final round of their day.

"How's Ritsuki?"

"My boy? Ahh, he's still doing plays," Giichi smiled, "Helps around the house. He's a fast learner, I've never seen one so interested in theatre as he is."

They walked further, "How's his sword work coming along?"

The older man immediately turned his head around to scan their coworkers and saw that they thankfully hadn't heard, he then turned to regard his junior with a glare,

"How...? He has told you, didn't he?"

"I confess, there have been rumours going about." he didn't sound guilty for himself, "So I just decided to ask him one day."

Then it was Murakami's turn to glare, "He's far too nice, Mister Momota. He doesn't know how to refuse if someone he considers a friend pressures him."

The two men then arrived at the deposit, a crane was unloading a Ford Model T suspended on a wooden platform. Wires stretched from the four corners and met in the middle above the car.

It was the men's job to direct the craned platform so the vehicle could be properly offloaded.

Giichi and Murakami stood next to one another, both their hands on the wired platform. They conversed over the sound of heavy machinery, the clanking masking their voices.

"Why are you teaching him swordplay anyway?" the younger man pressed.

"No good reason, Murakami. Please just focus on the job,"

The young man mumbled something, he seemed displeased with Giichi's response.

Murakami looked up at the crane operator and waved his hand, the platform abruptly came to a halt with a jerk.

Giichi sighed as he turned around, "What's it now?" he huffed.

"It's illegal for citizens to carry Wakazashi blades, you'll get yourself and your son in trouble," he stated with a hushed voice, the other workers turned to them, curious of their idle.

"I'm worried for you, Mister Momota." he finally admitted as he spared a few glances about.

"Hah, it's not a Wakazashi," Giichi sighed again and spoke with a hush.

"Look, it's just a stupid tradition, Murakami; my father taught me this, as did his father before him. I would simply like to honour their memories."

Marukami remained silent, Giichi waved to his coworkers to ease any worries they may have been arguing.

"You've always been stubborn, Mister Momota..." Marukami lifted his head, "But this is your son that's-"

A creak interrupted him, both men looked up to see just in time as a bolt slipped from the wire. One corner of the wooden platform holding the car barreled down, almost pinning Marukami under.

Fortunately for the younger man, Giichi had managed to push him away with a shove. But falling forward himself, he had traded his friend's life for his own.

The adjacent corner gave out as well, falling down across the old man's thigh who lay prone on his stomach.

"Gaahhh! Aaaahhh-!" his shriek cut through the sound of the busy port, every worker within a hundred meters would hear him.

"Oh dear lord, Mister Momota!" Murakami, who had just shaken himself off as he had hit his head on a crate, the man was beside his friend immediately.

Luckily, the car had been fastened to its wheels, so it at least did not barrel down the platform and crush the poor old man. The crane operator had tried to lift the platform back up, but that just incited more screams of anguish from the old man underneath.

Trying to lift it, the platform simply tilted up from the two points still connected while the edge that pinned Giichi's legs only dug deeper.

Marukami looked up and realised what he had to do.

"Boys, boys! Come on, with me!" he got over to the edge of the platform and reached under, "Heave-!"

Immediately, he was surrounded by over a dozen men, the workers lifting with their legs as they marched away, carrying the platform with them.

Once they sat it back down, Marukami immediately ran back to his old friend. Gagging when he saw the state of his legs which were mangled, a painful dent cutting across his thighs too narrow for any bone to remain.

They gently turned him over to his back, and Murakami acted as a crutch holding up his friend from behind.

One worker arrived with an urn of alcoholic rub and popped the cork.

"Hah-! I told you to-! focus on the job...!" Giichi began to cry out as they poured the spirit over his legs.

Murakami himself had to endure the crushing grip of a working-class old man, hissing from the immense pressure exerted on his right hand.

As the minutes went by, the pain went away. Giichi still heaved as he finally caught sight of his own mangled legs.

"Well, would you look at that..." he began, then oddly cracked a crooked smile, "It looks like I'm retiring early boys..."

A few workers laughed, a few workers sobbed; most of them were silent.

AN...

This is a Ghost Rider x Demon Slayer Crossover.

Though on a larger scale, I suppose you could call it a Marvel x Demon Slayer as I am taking certain characters from the larger Ghost Rider mythos.

Power scales and antics should roughly correlate with the 2011 movie version of Ghost Rider because the comics version is way too op.

With the benefit of hindsight, I really should have explained what was going on...

Thanks to 'The-Gamer-6818' for pointing this out, I do hope you don't mind me placing you on the spot. If you do you can tell me to remove this paragraph in Private Messaging (PM).

I have posted this story on Wattpad as well.