The day after that wild party, Johnny Blaze left without saying goodbye.
To him, the laughter of everyone at the party was the most grating noise, a reminder that he no longer belonged to that World. Like a panicked, fleeing lonely soul, he rode his equally ghostly motorcycle back to the vast expanse of Texas. On this wasteland scorched barren by the blazing sun, he began a month-long, obsessive, and frantic journey of self-destruction.
During the day, he was like a total Lunatic, racing aimlessly on deserted Gobi highways, pushing his speed to the limit time and again before crashing straight into the giant rocks of roadside hills or leaping off barren, jagged cliffs. In the moments of impact and falling, the bone-shattering pain was the only proof he could feel that he was still alive. The wail of the engine and the sound of shattering bones were the funeral dirge he played for himself.
And every time night fell, Hellfire would appear on schedule, reshaping him along with the pile of twisted motorcycle parts from the ashes of death. The newly born Ghost Rider, dragging burning chains, wandered aimlessly through the Texas nights. If he was lucky, he would encounter a few gang members and drug dealers committing crimes, using the Eye of Judgement to make them feel pain, understand pain, and finally... become pain itself. Soon, legends of the Ghost Rider were spreading throughout Texas, and the crime rate saw a historic plunge; the atmosphere of the entire state became much cleaner!
He had also actively sought out Mephisto's trail, and that elegant old Demon indeed appeared, standing in a burning wasteland, giving his answer with a smile: "Give me the zarathos contract, and I will return your freedom. You know me; I'm no good, but I follow the rules!" The voice was full of temptation, as if he could reach out and touch it.
During those hysterical days and nights, Johnny recalled his experiences in Kamar-Taj more than once. He had gone there seeking answers, and the Sorcerer Ancient One received him amidst the wafting aroma of tea, appearing as calm as if he were just a traveler asking for directions.
"I want to get it out," he had said then, his eyes filled with despair and pleading.
The Sorcerer Ancient One simply poured him a cup of hot tea and said slowly, "Many times, the path of life is not a clear-cut multiple-choice question, but an unavoidable fill-in-the-blank one. This question is already written on your paper; you can't erase it or change it. Since that's the case, why not try to let go, follow your heart, and write down the answer you want?"
Johnny understood, but he didn't want to. What he wanted was to tear up this damn paper. He had even genuinely considered the idea of going to Kamar-Taj to steal that layered-sealed contract. But in the end, he remembered Captain America's pierced abdomen and Lin Huai's cold corpse. If he were to trade what the heroes protected with their lives for his so-called freedom, then where would the value of their sacrifice be?
After more than a month of this turmoil, he was physically and mentally exhausted. He returned to Carter Slade's cemetery, acting like a true gravedigger, trimming weeds and wiping tombstones with Carter, and then tending to the dilapidated church.
"I don't know what to do," Johnny's voice was raspy. "I hate this power, but I can't shake it off. I long for freedom, yet I personally gave up the only chance."
Carter didn't answer directly, but silently led him to the back of the cemetery, where there was an unmarked, recently erected stone mound.
"It's been with me for over a hundred years," Carter stroked the cold stone, a gentleness weathered by time in his eyes. "I can no longer transform, and it can finally rest."
Only then did Johnny realize that this was the grave of Carter's Hellish Warhorse.
"My story has ended, but yours has just begun." Carter turned around, his aged eyes seeming to see right through Johnny's soul. "Whether to accept this power or give it up is your own choice; no one can decide for you. In fact, when you came running to ask me, you should have already decided on the answer in your heart, shouldn't you?"
After saying this, Carter shouldered his shovel and trudged back to the church, leaving Johnny alone, standing quietly between the sunset and the desolate graves.
The answer... yes, he had the answer long ago. From the moment he gave up on stealing the contract, the pen in his hand had already touched that paper called destiny. He was always escaping, hating, and hoping to return to the past, back to the simple and happy self who could embrace the sunshine and his loved one.
But that Johnny Blaze had been buried forever the moment he signed the contract for his father.
At this moment, Johnny stopped thinking about how to get rid of the curse and stopped yearning for that ethereal freedom.
He returned to the motorcycle that had shattered with him countless times and straddled it. This time, he didn't twist the throttle and charge toward the cliff.
He simply turned the bike around and rode steadily toward a clear direction he had deliberately avoided for an entire month.
Texas, a street-side café in a certain small town.
Roxanne was interviewing a local sheriff, gathering material for her report on the mystery of the mysterious motorcyclist and the drop in crime rates. When she looked up and saw that familiar yet strange figure walking out of the sunlight, her professional smile instantly bloomed, only to freeze a second later because of a calmness and detachment in his eyes she had never seen before.
"Johnny... you're finally willing to see me!" She hurriedly ended the interview and chased after him, her voice carrying uncontrollable joy and trembling.
"Yes, I'm here." Johnny stood still in front of her, but he didn't open his arms as she had imagined.
"I'm sorry," his voice was soft, yet it carried an unquestionable finality. "I've come to say goodbye to you."
"Goodbye? What do you mean? Where are you going?" The color instantly drained from Roxanne's face; she couldn't understand the calmness of the man before her.
Johnny didn't explain; he just reached out and gently, for the last time, brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek, which was trembling with shock. His movement was very light, filled with endless attachment, yet it felt like he was touching a treasure from the past that no longer had anything to do with him.
"Take care of yourself, Roxanne."
After saying that, he withdrew his hand, turned around without any lingering attachment, and got on his motorcycle. This time, he didn't look back.
The roar of the engine faded into the distance, finally disappearing at the end of the road that led straight to the horizon, taking away the last warmth and attachment of the man named Johnny Blaze in this World.
Only he himself knew that his existence now was solely to make Mephisto unhappy!