The moment they clashed, both men were utterly shaken.
They had known from the start that Redfield was stronger than them — but how much stronger? That, until now, had been just an abstract fear.
Now, they understood.
And they were terrified.
Every strike, every feint, every burst of speed — all of it was seen through as though their moves were written in a book. Their attacks meant nothing.
A crushing sense of powerlessness filled their hearts. It was like watching children from kindergarten try to brawl with an adult — hopeless and absurd.
And once that seed of fear took root, defeat was inevitable.
As expected, their attacks began to falter. Their rhythm fell apart.
Redfield felt it immediately — their hesitation, their despair. The glint of excitement that had briefly lit his eyes faded away once more, replaced by cold, detached indifference.
"If that's all you've got… then it's time to end this."
He twirled his wrist, the blade Raindrop spinning in a graceful arc. The sword traced elegant flowers of light, each motion radiating a deadly sharpness that chilled the air.
Phantom slashes shimmered around him — sword aura so dense it seemed tangible. Even brushing against it might mean death.
Redfield's half-closed eyes snapped open.
BOOM!
An invisible wave of killing intent exploded outward, freezing the very air. The oppressive pressure smothered both of his opponents, shaking them down to their souls.
Sweat streamed down their faces. Their hearts pounded in their chests — this was no longer just danger.
This was death.
The suffocating aura gnawed at their courage until instinct took over. They staggered back several steps, fear warring with the primal urge to survive.
Then, like men glimpsing light before the end, the will to fight flared again.
"Fukuro!" one roared. "If we're dead either way, then let's go all in! Even if we can't kill the old bastard, let's make him bleed!"
"Ha! You think I'm scared? I'm CP9 — I've faced death before! Let's do this!"
The two exchanged a fierce glance.
Across from them, black tendrils of Haki spiraled around Redfield's blade — Armament Haki coating the sword in a sheen darker than night.
They tensed. If they didn't move now, there wouldn't be another chance.
"Soru!"
Two sharp cracks split the air as both vanished in twin bursts of speed, flanking Redfield from left and right.
Kaku struck first.
"Rankyaku: Storm!"
His legs blurred as he unleashed dozens of slicing wind blades, filling the air with a storm of razor-sharp arcs.
Redfield met them calmly — parrying, dodging, weaving between them. Each strike that would have shredded steel was deflected with effortless precision.
And then, at last — a fleeting opening.
Redfield had just finished his final parry, old momentum fading before new strength could surge. A perfect window, gone in a blink.
Fukuro's eyes lit up.
"Life Return — Hair Bind!"
His living hair exploded outward, twisting like serpents, wrapping Redfield in a cocoon of cords.
This time, unlike before, he'd timed it perfectly. The writhing strands coiled around Redfield's arms and torso, binding him tight before he could move.
Kaku seized the chance.
With a bellow, he transformed — his long neck stretching, body morphing into his giraffe hybrid form.
"Amane Dake: Mad Bamboo Grove!"
The giant neck whipped down again and again, slamming into Redfield's trapped form with crushing force. Each impact shook the ground, sending debris and dust flying in all directions.
This wasn't restraint anymore — it was desperation.
Theirs was a do-or-die assault.
Fukuro didn't flinch despite the blows striking him as well.
"Tekkai: Steel!"
He braced, body hardening with Iron Body. But even Iron Body wasn't enough to fully withstand the shockwaves of Kaku's rampage.
The animal-type power behind those strikes was monstrous. Within seconds, Fukuro was coughing blood, vision spinning. His body gave out; he collapsed, barely conscious.
Kaku's last blow landed.
The air trembled — then stilled.
He stumbled, reverting to human form, collapsing onto one knee. He was spent — every muscle screaming, his breath ragged.
Dust filled the room like a sandstorm, swirling thick and heavy.
For a long time, there was only silence.
Finally, as the haze began to settle, Kaku looked up — and his eyes widened.
There, in the center of the room, lay a crater spiderwebbed with cracks spreading across the floor.
And within it — two silhouettes.
One standing. One fallen.
"Did… did we get him?"
He frowned. It felt wrong. Too easy.
Then the standing shadow moved.
A gleam of cold light pierced through the dust.
As the haze cleared, Kaku's heart sank.
The slim, poised figure stepped forward — blade in hand, as pristine as before. The faint silver of his hair, the deathly calm in his eyes.
Redfield.
"Impossible," Kaku whispered.
He'd hit him — he knew he had. But there Redfield stood, unscathed, his entire body wrapped in Armament Haki so dense it gleamed like black steel.
With every step he took, the air grew colder.
"Why… why isn't he hurt at all?!"
He turned to his fallen partner — Fukuro lay motionless on the ground, unconscious. Something inside Kaku snapped.
Despair flooded his veins. But even so, the instinct to fight — the last flicker of pride — forced him to act.
"Tekkai Kenpo: No Blind Spot!"
His body folded and compressed, forming into a strange cube, each side reinforced with Haki and muscle. It looked ridiculous — but it was the ultimate defensive stance he could muster.
He prayed it would be enough to save his life.
It wasn't.
Redfield stepped forward without a word. Lightning-like Haki danced along the edge of Raindrop as he swung.
There was no flourish, no wasted motion — just a single clean slash.
In Kaku's eyes, the world slowed to a crawl. The light dimmed, the sound faded, and time itself seemed to stop.
So this is it…?
There was no fear anymore, no anger, no desperation. Only peace. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Then the blade passed through.
SHHHK—
The cut was so clean it barely made a sound.
A moment later, Redfield exhaled softly and flicked his wrist. Raindrop's edge glimmered faintly as clear water, like gentle rain, ran along its blade — washing away the blood as if it had never been there.
He sheathed the sword and turned to leave. His back, though aged, was unbowed — tall, commanding, and utterly undefeated.
The years had dulled neither his strength nor his spirit.
And so, the battle on Enies Lobby came to an end.
The proud agents of CP9 — Kaku and Fukuro —
had fallen.
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