GHOST RIDER X DEMON SLAYER: Book 1: Imps and Prayers

1-1: Jo-Ha-Kyū

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.

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"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.