(Johnny blaze POV)
Johnny Blaze felt the rumble of his bike beneath him as he rode up the winding mountain trail, the forest thickening around him as he got closer to the location that had been haunting his dreams. Every bump and crack of the road seemed to echo in his head, reminding him of that fateful deal with Mephisto—a deal he couldn't run from, yet had fought to keep control of.
One year back, Johnny had become the Ghost Rider, the Spirit of Vengeance bound to his soul. But unlike the souls Mephisto had bound before, Johnny's was wild, fiery, unchained, and the demon lord had underestimated that fire. Johnny smirked bitterly as he remembered the fight. He'd faced down Mephisto and Blackheart, trading blow for blow, until they'd suddenly vanished without a word. For a long time, he waited, thinking it was a trap—but they never came back.
Now, it was these dreams—visions of a decaying temple deep in the forests of Japan—that had led him here, across the world, in search of answers. It felt crazy, but he'd had no choice but to listen to the calling.
Finally, he stopped his bike in front of a weathered stone temple, covered in moss and worn by the years. The structure looked exactly like it had in his dreams, every crumbling detail matching perfectly. The place was ancient, radiating an odd, somber energy that prickled Johnny's skin.
"Alright…what the hell is waiting for me here?" he muttered.
Then he heard a voice—calm, strong, and startlingly close.
"You've finally come. I've been waiting for you."
Johnny's hand instinctively reached for his chain as he turned. He hadn't even noticed the man standing beside him. The stranger was old, with long white hair tied back in a ponytail and an imposing frame that didn't match his age. He had a stern, unreadable expression, and his sharp eyes took in Johnny with an intensity that almost made him shiver. Two katanas were strapped to his side, and his attire was that of a warrior from another era.
Johnny raised an eyebrow, sizing him up. "You got a name, old man?"
The stranger said nothing. Instead, in a fluid, almost supernatural motion, he drew one of his katanas and sliced it through the air, opening what looked like a tear in space itself—a portal.
"Follow me," the old man said, stepping into the rift.
Johnny's mind spun, but he'd come too far to back down now. "Hey, wait up!" he called, gripping his bike and roaring through the portal right after him.
[Somewhere country side of Japan in Edo period, 1669]
Johnny stood by the river, gazing at the small, weathered hut nestled in the forest clearing. It felt like something from a forgotten dream—a place pulled from another time. He took a step forward, but before he could approach, his bike revved up on its own, kicking up a cloud of dust as it charged forward.
"What the—hey!" Johnny yelled, running after it.
The bike barreled right into the hut as if it had a mind of its own. Johnny jogged to the entrance and, cautiously, stepped inside. The place was dimly lit by a few old paper lanterns, the faint smell of incense in the air. And there, as if waiting for him, was the old man, seated on a tatami mat with calm dignity.
As Johnny's eyes adjusted, he noticed his clothes beginning to smolder—flames licking up the sides until his leather jacket vanished. In its place was a traditional Japanese outfit, something a samurai might wear. Johnny looked down, dumbstruck, at the unfamiliar garb.
"Damn…" he muttered, scratching his head. "What's with the wardrobe change?"
The old man gestured for him to enter. His posture was the epitome of calm, his legs folded in the traditional seiza position. Johnny tried to mimic him, dropping to his knees, but his legs cramped almost immediately, and he shifted awkwardly.
The old man let out a chuckle. "It's fine. Sit as you would."
Johnny shifted into a more comfortable position, crossing his legs. But the longer he looked at the old man, the more uneasy he felt. There was a depth in the old man's gaze, a weight that only came from living countless lives. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't just some ancient hermit.
The old man spoke, his voice calm yet commanding. "Do you understand where you are?"
Johnny furrowed his brow. "A hut in the middle of nowhere, Japan. But…" He trailed off, noticing how everything around him felt strangely ancient. Like he'd stepped out of his own time.
"You're in Japan," the old man said, "but not the one you came from. This is Edo period, year 1669."
Johnny's jaw dropped. "You're tellin' me I traveled back in time?"
The old man nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yes. Time, spirit…they flow like the river outside. To one who knows how to cut through it, traveling its course becomes possible."
Johnny had been through some strange things since becoming Ghost Rider, but this? This was something else. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Who are you?"
"My name is Miyamoto Musashi," the old man replied simply.
Johnny was completely gobsmacked, his mind left in disbelief after learning that the old man was none other than the legendary Miyamoto Musashi.
Before him, sat Miyamoto Musashi, the very man who was hailed as the Greatest Samurai to ever live.
The man who fought in life and death duels since he was 13, invented the Niten Ichi-ryū aka the dual samurai swordsmanship style which translated to Two Swords as One.
Not only was this man the greatest Samurai, but he was also one of the great philosophers of the 17th Century even though he hailed from a life of warfare and politics.
His glory and achievements as well as wisdom were so superior that even in the modern times on earth, millions of people held this man in high regard.
Musashi observed Johnny's reaction with a slight smile. "Do you know who I am?"
"Yeah," Johnny nodded, still in shock. "I know exactly who you are. Back in rent house in Japan, I heard you're a legend. I've read about you. I've even read that book of yours, The Book of Five Rings. Well, part of it."
Musashi raised an eyebrow. "Did you learn anything from it?"
Johnny scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "Not really. Got through maybe two pages before I got lost."
Musashi's eyes glinted with amusement. "Good. Knowledge is not strength. True power comes not from words, but from sharpening one's body and spirit. You can read a thousand pages, but without practice, they are as leaves scattered by the wind."
Johnny chuckled, his nervousness easing a bit. "Yeah, sounds about right."
Musashi's gaze turned serious again. "Now tell me—why did you make a pact with Mephisto?"
Johnny felt a cold dread settle in his chest. He hadn't expected this ancient warrior to know about the deal he'd made. "I… It was for my dad. I wanted to save him. Mephisto tricked me, turned me into… this." He hesitated, the weight of his curse pressing down on him. "I lost my father in the end But I fought back. I won my freedom, at least as much as I could. Still… Mephisto and his son, Blackheart—they just disappeared one day. Haven't seen 'em since."
Musashi listened carefully, his face a mask of quiet contemplation. Finally, he nodded. "It's not unlike my own story, Johnny Blaze. I was the first to walk the path of the Ghost Rider, the first to face Mephisto's trickery and bind my soul to the demon Zarathos."
Johnny's eyes widened. "Wait—you're tellin' me you were a Ghost Rider?"
As if in response, Musashi's face transformed. His eyes blazed with blue fire, and ghostly flames engulfed him. His face became a grinning skull, cloaked in a cold, ethereal light. Johnny stumbled back, staring in disbelief.
The flames faded, and Musashi returned to his calm, human form. "I was the first to bear this curse. But my will—my spirit—was stronger than Mephisto anticipated. I was able to cut the chains binding me to him. To this day, I wield the Rider's power, free from his control."
Johnny stared at him in awe. "You're telling me you cut the bonds to Mephisto? Just… cut them?"
Musashi nodded. "To wield a sword is to cut through all that binds. The will to be free is the will to transcend chains. But strength alone will not release you; it requires discipline, patience… and purpose."
As Johnny struggled to catch his breath, he looked up at Musashi, his disbelief slowly giving way to respect and determination.
"Why did you bring me here, to this time?" Johnny asked, still bewildered by the whole situation.
Musashi's calm gaze held a seriousness that made Johnny's question feel as heavy as a blade. "Zarathos warned me that something terrible looms over humanity, a darkness Mephisto plans to unleash," Musashi replied.
"Zarathos?" Johnny echoed, confused.
"A spirit of vengeance," Musashi explained. "A fallen angel or a dark god who has chosen to punish the sinful. He's the force bound to both of us, the reason we wield this cursed power as Ghost Riders."
Johnny's mind raced. "You're saying I was bound to… this Zarathos?"
Musashi nodded. "When you first transformed, did you see anything? Feel anything beyond the fire?"
Johnny thought back, trying to recall. "I saw flames in the darkness, but… it's all a blur."
Musashi's eyes took on a distant, haunted look. "When I became the Ghost Rider to stave off death, I saw him—Zarathos. His flames burned through space and time itself. I took inspiration from him. I channeled that power into my sword technique, and with it, I cut through the bonds Mephisto had placed on me."
Johnny blinked, stunned. The idea of controlling such a force sounded impossible, but he sensed Musashi wasn't exaggerating. "And you think Mephisto's… planning something?"
Musashi's expression grew even graver. "Mephisto is a demon, yes, but he is intelligent. Cunning. He never backs down from a fight, always confident in his ability to escape if he must. But this time, he left the field without even trying to face you who is weak and inexperienced one. That tells me something has him genuinely afraid."
Johnny's brow furrowed. "So, shouldn't that be a good thing? If he's leaving me alone—"
"It's far from good," Musashi cut him off. "Whatever Mephisto fears is something he intends to eliminate—and Zarathos's warning suggests it will come at the cost of countless lives. You and I, as Ghost Riders, might be the only ones who can stop him."
Johnny took a deep breath. He finally understood why Musashi had brought him to this time—to prepare him for the battle ahead.
"So… I'm training under you then, right?" Johnny asked, managing a faint grin despite his nerves.
Musashi gave a slight nod. "Yes. I will teach you to master your powers and the art of the sword—if you have the talent to wield one."
With a swift motion, Musashi handed Johnny a wooden practice sword. "Start by swinging this. Ten thousand times. Every day for a month. No stopping."
Johnny's jaw dropped. "Ten thousand? Every day? That's… that's insane!" he protested.
Before he could say another word, Musashi flicked his wrist, and the wooden sword smacked Johnny square in the face, making him stagger back.
"There is no time to waste. If you want to prevent others from suffering as your father did, you must focus. Discipline your body and your mind."
Rubbing his sore face, Johnny took a deep breath and positioned himself, gripping the practice sword tightly. He swung, but before he could complete even one arc, Musashi struck him again, this time in the stomach.
"Your stance is wrong," Musashi said, his tone firm. "Focus. Keep your posture steady, your footwork solid. Clear your mind of distractions."
Nodding, Johnny adjusted his stance, gritting his teeth in determination. As he began swinging again, his mind flashed back to memories of his father. Fueled by both grief and resolve, he pressed on, swinging with every ounce of strength he had.
From a short distance away, Musashi watched with a faint smile, satisfied with Johnny's spirit. He knew the journey ahead would be grueling, but the spark he saw in Johnny's eyes told him this rider had the will to endure it.
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Note: I know this is short but don't worry worry next chapter will be uploaded in in few hours,
Everyone should remember both Musashi and Johnny as they have major role in future battle of Frist apocalypse.
That's why I took a separate chapter for them.