The ground trembled as Redfield and Jack clashed.
Clang!
The flawless steel of Wado Ichimonji met the iron-hard shaft of Redfield's umbrella with such force that it seemed to shake the very earth beneath their feet. Cracks spider-webbed through the dirt, but Jack didn't flinch.
With a quick flick of his wrist, he slid his blade down the dark shaft, aiming the edge right at Redfield's exposed ribs.
Redfield didn't even break a sweat. He spun on his heel, allowing the blade to whiz past him by mere millimeters.
Slash! Slash!
Jack ramped up the intensity, his sword becoming a silver blur.
Redfield parried each strike with an infuriating grace, his crimson cloak swirling around him like the wings of a bat.
"Persistent," Redfield remarked dryly.
"Thanks for the compliment," Jack shot back with a grin, pushing his hat up to get a better view.
"Not a compliment."
Their weapons crashed together again, the air thickening to a point where it could crush a lesser man's chest. Jack felt the overwhelming wall of Haki surging through the handle of the umbrella.
"Oh—"
Redfield nonchalantly thrust his arm forward.
BOOM!
The blast of raw force sent Jack hurtling backward like a cannonball. Trees exploded into splinters as he barreled through the forest, until he somehow managed to flip in mid-air and land on his feet, skidding to a stop.
"—bugger." Jack winced, rubbing his shoulder.
Redfield couldn't follow up as—
"DESERT STORM!"
A swirling hurricane of screaming sand erupted from nowhere, engulfing Redfield entirely. The vortex spun with razor-sharp ferocity, turning stone to dust and tearing up the landscape as it bore down on him.
Crocodile floated nearby, her left hand extended as her body transformed into swirling sand. She clenched her right fist tightly, her dark coat billowing in the artificial storm.
"Let's see you stroll through that, old man."
Crocodile squinted, her gaze piercing through the chaos of the swirling yellow storm.
BOOM!
The sand erupted violently, sending a shockwave rippling outward. At the center of it all, completely unscathed, stood Patrick Redfield.
His Conqueror's Haki surged forth in a terrifying display of black lightning, crashing into Crocodile head-on. She instinctively crossed her arms to shield herself, but the overwhelming pressure sent her flying backward, her boots carving deep grooves into the ground.
"Damn old bastard...!" she cursed, wiping a trickle of blood from her lip.
BANG!
Redfield barely flinched as a high-caliber bullet whizzed past his cheek, just grazing a lock of his hair.
BANG!
The next bullet struck his umbrella with a sharp ping, leaving a noticeable dent in the reinforced steel.
BANG!
The third shot hit with enough force to jolt his grip. Slowly, he turned his cold, crimson gaze toward the tree line.
Perched on a high branch hundreds of yards away was Van Augur, his long rifle Senriku resting against his shoulder, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the barrel.
He adjusted his monocle with a casual flick.
"The sniper," Redfield remarked, his voice dropping an octave, "is proving to be quite the nuisance."
"Well, that's what I'm here for," Augur replied in a flat tone.
"I'll take care of you first."
A chill ran down Augur's spine. His Observation Haki flared to life.
Swoosh!
In an instant, Redfield vanished.
One moment he was a hundred meters away, and the next, his shadow loomed over Augur like an omen. The tip of his umbrella shot toward the sniper's chest, moving faster than the eye could follow.
BOOM!
A violent gust of wind erupted between them.
Out of nowhere, a massive arm cloaked in pitch-black Busoshoku Haki swung in, intercepting Redfield's strike. Black lightning crackled through the air around them.
Monkey D. Dragon stood resolutely between the sniper and the legend, his dark green cloak billowing dramatically in the shockwave.
"Move," Dragon ordered, his voice deep and resonant like thunder rolling in the distance.
Augur didn't need a second invitation. He launched off the branch, executing a backflip into the canopy while firing off two more shots mid-air before disappearing into the shadows.
Redfield swatted both bullets away with a casual flick of his wrist, but Dragon was already in motion.
Dragon's fist sliced through the air, aimed squarely at Redfield's jaw. Redfield ducked just in time, feeling the rush of air as Dragon's knuckles whizzed past his cheek, and retaliated with a lightning-quick knee to Dragon's gut.
Dragon grunted, absorbing the impact, but before Redfield could capitalize on the moment—
"Oi!"
Redfield turned to see Jack already there, but his stance had completely transformed.
With both hands gripping the hilt of Wado Ichimonji, Jack's breathing slowed to a steady rhythm, almost silent. His gaze locked onto Redfield with an intensity that was almost palpable.
"Death's Paradise..." Jack whispered.
Redfield's full attention snapped to the young swordsman.
"Second Form (modified): Drunken Man's Waltz!"
In an instant, Jack vanished.
CLANG! A slash from the right—blocked!
CLANG! A cut from below—blocked!
Jack spun around Redfield's shoulder, aiming a deadly sweep toward his spine. Without even glancing back, Redfield parried it with a backhanded motion.
Jack's eyes sharpened, and he shifted into high gear. Up! Down! Left! Right! His footwork became a whirlwind of unpredictability, stumbling forward like a tipsy dancer, only to pivot that awkwardness into a lethal, blinding thrust!
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Jack bent backward, almost parallel to the ground, weaving under the umbrella to slash upward—BLOCKED!
He ducked into the shadows and struck from behind—BLOCKED!
The sound of steel clashing rang out like a frantic church bell. Jack moved with a wild abandon, launching attacks from angles that defied all conventional swordsmanship.
CLANG! CLANG!
Jack twisted in a final, desperate move, aiming Wado Ichimonji straight for Redfield's throat, only for the curved handle of Redfield's umbrella to intercept the blade, halting it dead in its tracks.
The two men locked eyes, just inches apart.
"How?" Jack gasped, sweat trickling down his chin.
Redfield smirked slightly, effortlessly pushing Jack back. "I've been navigating these treacherous seas since before your mother was even born, boy."
Jack skidded across the dirt, regaining his balance. "Well, that's just downright unfair."
"Experience can turn the tide in impossible situations."
"I'm coming back for seconds anyway!" Jack charged forward again, sword drawn back.
Neither of them noticed the golden grains of sand silently gathering behind Redfield's heels.
Like a strike from a desert viper, Crocodile appeared out of nowhere. Her massive, gleaming golden hook sliced through the air, aimed straight for Redfield's head!
SNAP!
Crocodile's eyes widened in sheer horror.
Without even glancing back, Redfield's hand shot behind him, fingers wrapping tightly around the stem of the golden hook. His Haki surged through his grip.
CRACK!
Spider-web fractures spread across the heavy metal.
"What—" Crocodile gasped.
"No."
Redfield twisted his wrist.
CLINK!
The front half of the legendary golden hook shattered and fell uselessly to the ground. Crocodile stood frozen, staring in stunned silence at her ruined prosthetic.
"You..."
Redfield didn't let her finish. He backhanded her with a force that broke the sound barrier, sending her crashing through three solid rock formations.
"Croco!"
Jack abandoned his charge, pivoting mid-stride to dive after her. He caught her mid-air, the sheer momentum dragging them both back several meters before Jack planted his feet and brought them to a stop.
Crocodile sat up, staring blankly at the blunt, broken stub of her hook. "My... my hook...My pure golden hook..."
Jack glanced down at the mangled metal, then shot a look at Redfield before returning his gaze to the stub.
"I didn't know you had a shorter hand," Jack said, trying to be helpful.
Crocodile slowly turned her head, her dark eyes blazing with a fury that felt apocalyptic.
Jack quickly backtracked. "But hey, still very stylish!"
"MY FUCKING HOOK!" she screamed, shoving him aside and springing to her feet. "I'm going to skin that bastard alive!"
Jack watched her storm back into the chaos, shaking his head. "Just so you know, you're welcome for catching you!"
"I DIDN'T ASK!"
BOOM!
Redfield and Dragon clashed again, sending shockwaves through the canopy that stripped leaves and snapped massive branches like they were nothing.
Redfield smirked slightly, meeting the Freedom leader's gaze. "You know, Dragon..."
"What?" Dragon grunted, pushing back against the onslaught.
"Your father, Garp... he was a lot more fun to fight."
Dragon's eye twitched.
"Much more reckless," Redfield goaded, stepping into another collision. "Way more aggressive. A lot louder. A lot stronger."
CLANG!
"And far more entertaining."
The wind howled around Dragon's leg, morphing into a localized hurricane. He unleashed a devastating kick aimed straight at Redfield's temple. Redfield blocked it with his forearm, the impact reverberating through the island.
Dragon's voice remained eerily calm. "Then maybe you should have stayed in Impel Down and waited for him to retire."
SWOOSH!
Jack darted out from Redfield's blind spot, Wado Ichimonji glinting in the dim light. "Ooh, that was a solid line."
"Focus, Jack!" Dragon snapped.
"Right!"
Jack slashed, but Redfield parried effortlessly.
Crocodile moved in from the left, ditching her hook to unleash a barrage of razor-sharp sand blades. From the shadows of the forest, another BANG rang out as Augur fired an armor-piercing round straight for Redfield's heart.
Redfield expertly blocked Jack's strike, ducked under Dragon's heavy punch, and with a swift flick of his cloak, scattered Crocodile's sand. He tilted his head just in time to feel Augur's bullet graze his cheekbone.
A flicker of irritation crossed the old pirate's face. "That damn sniper..."
In the distance, Augur clicked another round into his chamber. "Still here."
Not too far away, nestled beneath the thick underbrush, the old artist Red lay slumped against a fallen oak.
His breaths came in ragged gasps, blood seeping from his chest. Every few moments, his vision blurred into streaks of grey.
Next to him lay Gibbs, unconscious, his chest rising and falling in shallow, painful hitches.
Red glanced down at the pirate, recalling their earlier conversation.
"You can't keep living in the past, old man," Gibbs had said.
Red had disagreed then. Maybe he still did.
His entire life—everything he had built in Trans Town—was a testament to his refusal to let the past fade away. The smiling faces in the streets, the cozy shops, the laughter of children... all of it sprang from his Devil Fruit.
The Bijo Bijo no Mi—the Illusion Fruit.
With just a picture and his memories, Red could conjure illusions so vividly real that, for a brief moment, the ghosts of the dead could walk among the living once more.
But deep down, Red understood the truth. They were merely ink and imagination.
Redfield had been mistaken. He had tracked Red down, convinced he had consumed the fruit he so desperately craved, the Bato Bato no Mi, Model: Vampire.
He hadn't. That Mythical Zoan fruit was indeed real, but it wasn't within Red.
It was hidden away, sealed as a final, desperate safeguard.
Red had always known that one day, a monster would come searching for it—someone powerful, someone greedy, someone terrified of aging and fading into obscurity.
So he had concealed it where only two beings in the world knew its true location.
Red glanced back at Gibbs, the old pirate who had spent his final moments urging him not to waste his remaining days chasing after memories that were long gone.
A weak, raspy laugh escaped Red's lips. It was ironic, really. Here he was, about to completely disregard that advice.
Gibbs is going to be furious when he wakes up, Red thought. ...If he wakes up.
The faint smile on Red's face faded, replaced by a steely determination.
"Pato."
The small, tanuki-like creature, clutching an oversized pen, hurried over, its eyes wide with fear. "Y-Yes, Red?"
Red placed his trembling, blood-stained hand on Pato's head, gently stroking its soft crimson feathers. Pato leaned into the touch, tears welling up in its big eyes.
But then Pato caught the look in Red's eyes, and it stiffened.
"No..." Pato whispered.
Red offered a soft smile. "I haven't even said anything yet."
"No! Don't say it!"
"Pato..."
"NO!" Pato cried, tears streaming down its fur.
Red's hand hesitated. For a moment, the old artist struggled to find the words. He reached down, giving Pato one last gentle scratch beneath the chin.
"You always were too clever for your own good," Red murmured.
Pato shook its head wildly. "We can run! We can leave the island right now! Together!"
"You can," Red corrected softly.
"WE!"
"Pato." Red's voice took on a firm, unwavering tone. "Bring me the fruit."
Pato froze, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. "No..."
"Bring me the fruit we hid."
"NO! You can't!" Pato wailed, clutching Red's sleeve. "If you do that... you promised you would never die! If you take out the fruit, you'll die! You can't die!"
Red glanced down at his battered torso, at the pool of deep crimson soaking into the earth beneath him. "I think that particular ship sailed a long time ago, my friend."
Pato pressed its face against Red's chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Red closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of his small companion. When he opened them again, he turned his gaze to the broken, bleeding body of Gibbs.
"I couldn't save them," Red murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Pato understood exactly who Red was talking about. Trans Town. His family. All the people Red had lost to the relentless march of time and the weight of tragedy.
"I spent years pretending I had... painting ghosts on canvas and calling it a life." Red's gaze drifted over the serene forest. For just a heartbeat, the trees seemed to blur, giving way to the bright, golden streets of the town he cherished.
But that vision quickly faded, leaving behind only the remnants of blood and dirt.
Red glanced down at Gibbs. "But maybe... just maybe... I can save one person who's still alive."
Pato let out a heart-wrenching whimper.
Red's lips curled into a gentle smile, his eyes warm. "Just one last good deed."
The little creature stood frozen, caught in a moment of painful indecision. Then, slowly... agonizingly... Pato took a step back.
Red gave a firm, resolute nod. "Go."
Pato spread its tiny wings and soared into the air, quickly disappearing into the thick green canopy above.
Red leaned his head back against the sturdy oak, feeling the chill seep into his limbs, his strength slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers. Yet, a profound sense of peace washed over his heart.
Across the battlefield, Redfield suddenly halted, his masterful Observation Haki picking up a faint, swift signature darting away from the chaos.
Pato.
Redfield's eyes narrowed, his mind racing to connect the dots.
The fruit.
"Get back here!" Redfield growled, pivoting to charge into the forest—
CLANG!
Jack intercepted him, Wado Ichimonji clashing against the umbrella. "Where do you think you're going?"
Redfield shoved him aside with force, but Dragon was already there, a swirling vortex of wind blocking his path.
"Jack!" Dragon shouted.
"I see him!"
Crocodile's sand surged up, wrapping tightly around Redfield's ankles like iron chains. "You aren't going anywhere, old man!"
Redfield unleashed his Haki, shattering the sand trap and sending Dragon reeling back with a dark shockwave. But just then, Augur's rifle fired again—BANG!—forcing Redfield to quickly raise his umbrella to deflect the bullet.
For the first time since the fight kicked off, Redfield didn't focus on the monsters in front of him.
Instead, his gaze drifted past them.
In the distance, leaning against the trunk of a massive tree, the dying artist was watching him intently. And he was smiling.
In that moment, Redfield's composed, aristocratic demeanor shattered.
Red had never consumed the Vampire Fruit. Redfield had been tricked. The Mythical Zoan was still lurking somewhere on this island... and that little leaf-creature was heading straight for it.
With a furious step forward, Redfield's eyes blazed with red malice.
Red weakly reached out, placing his trembling hand on Gibbs' rising and falling chest.
"Don't you dare die on me just yet, old pirate," Red whispered, his eyelids growing heavier by the second.
A faint, tiny smile graced his lips as the darkness began to close in.
"You're really going to hate what I'm about to do..."