One piece: Celestial dragon - Miracle of the Void Throne

Sanjuan Wolf's shoulder was still Donald's throne.

Donald danced again, cackling through the roar of distant cannon fire.

"QUHAHAHA! Pirates rule the world, baby! Gimme more big beautiful tsunamis!"

Then—a sound.

A low hum. A faint flicker.

Donald's ears twitched.

The same strange, cloaked gecko-fish hybrid was now flying toward them—camouflaged again, nearly invisible. It had launched from the base moments earlier, gliding unseen like a summoned phantom.

The hybrid rammed into the rising tsunami like a kamikaze missile, its stealth still intact. The shockwave from the blow shattered the wave's peak—and then Arc's power surged behind it, splitting the surge entirely.

Destroyed cleanly through Arcturus' power.

A tremor shook the skies.

Arc ascended, Joe now shackled and dangling in his grip like a disgraced cat.

"DUCK! YOU DUCKTARD!" Joe screamed.

Donald twitched again. Subconsciously dodged. By sheer luck, avoided the hybrid ramming speed.

"Huh? Must've been my imagination…wait... where is my big beautiful tsunami?"

Joe snarled: "DUCKTARD, SAVE ME!!!"

Donald blinked. "Strange winds today… probably just the wind."

"YOU GOLDSPOONED EGOISTICAL LYING PRICK!!!!!" Joe shrieked and hurled his half-melted ice cream upward.

SPLAT!

The dessert landed on Donald's head—more specifically, on his "hair."

Which peeled slightly at the edge.

It wasn't hair. It was a toupee.

Donald still didn't notice.

"Hmmph. Damn breeze…"

"SAVEEEEE MEEEE!!!" Joe wailed, still flailing wildly.

"This..... one's... noisy," Arc muttered, his voice drifting like vapour beneath the mask.

"SAVEEEEE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE------!!!" Joe wailed, still flailing wildly.

Without a word, Arc pressed a finger to Joe's neck. There was a soft hiss—an instant pulse of force—and Joe went limp, unconscious mid-scream.

Later.....

In the ancient halls pulsing with quiet power. Molten gold veins beneath the marble floor lit the Grand Chamber with an unnatural glow. Above, frescoes of forgotten gods and forbidden sciences stretched across the dome.

Joe was still shackled—strangely sleeping like a baby, a bubble forming on his nose.

BAM!

He was dropped—ungracefully—into the centre of a circular stone table.

"Morning already?" he mumbled, groggy.

A calm voice greeted him. "Hello there, pirate."

Joe blinked. Slowly, the weight of the situation dawned on him. He was surrounded by masked figures robed in intricate golden and crimson patterns. Behind him, the towering silhouette of Arc loomed, perfectly still.

The voice continued.

"Welcome to Octagon."

Joe squirmed. He still couldn't see any of their faces.

"You have some value, pirate. But first… You must face judgment."

"Huh? Say what now?"

A different voice spoke, shuffling papers. "You are still a pirate. And your crimes are numerous."

The sound of parchment ruffling.

"Forty-two confirmed civilian deaths."

Joe: "Self-defence!"

"Five documented instances of rape."

Joe: "They begged me to do it!"

"One orphan murdered and baked as a potato."

Joe: "Yeah, that one was fun. His sister was happily eating him too!"

A pause.

Joe blinked, suddenly realising, looking uneasy. "H-How do you know that?! Even I lost count!"

....

"After you forced her to do it from starvation," they added

One master interjected: "Don't forget those defenceless chore boys from Firs island!"

Joe: "Hups.." then realising that he has to somehow defend himself

"They were dangerously armed", he added

The same master scoffed: "With a mop?"

The Grandmaster's voice returned, colder.

"What is your judgment, dear masters?"

Joe's eyes widened as the masked faces turned silently toward him.

From beyond the chamber walls… only Joe's final scream echoed:

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—!"

From within the chamber, the masked masters slowly removed their veils. Each mask bore a Roman numeral etched in gold—except for the Grandmaster, whose flawless, obsidian mask bore no number. One number was notably absent: VIII. No one spoke of it.

A moment later, calm returned.

The council sat quietly, steam rising from their cups. A large table to the side projected a glowing, animated map of the world—zones of influence pulsed in crimson and gold, while regions under dispute blinked steadily. A few sipped tea while another munched loudly on a cookie.

"Now that we've acted," one master said, "won't they be onto us?"

Another waved a hand lazily, mouth full of crumbs. "What's for dinner, by the way?"

A waiter quietly entered the chamber, bowing with a notepad. "Gentlemasters, shall I take your evening orders?"

No one answered immediately.

"I'll have the white tuna with lemon crust," someone muttered. "And more cookies."

"Not if Arcturus was competent," muttered a younger master.

"...Sorry... couldn't... decide," Arc mumbled from the side.

A synchronised facepalm.

"Casualties?" someone asked.

"Minimal. But.... Firs Island..."

"It was necessary," another interjected.

"We should have waited longer!" came a third.

And chaos erupted.

Another master snapped, "We don't have enough power to challenge the World Government head-on!"

"Our materials and food supply are dwindling," a different voice added sharply. "We must focus inward. Everything for our people first… then the rest of the world."

"That's short-sighted," a third countered. "If we delay too long, we lose momentum."

"If we move too fast, we starve!"

"Oh, brilliant! Let's just Conjure dinner out of thin air then, shall we?"

"Maybe if you stopped hoarding sugar for your cookies—"

"Enough!" barked another, slamming a fist to the table.

The young master sipped tea with a sigh. "Here we go again... Efficient as always."

Still munching, one of them looked toward the Grandmaster. "So… what do you see, old man?"

The Grandmaster stared at the map, eyes narrowed.

"I've found a perfect distraction," he said calmly.

Another leaned forward. "Then tell us."

He shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me even if I did."

The Grandmaster raised his hand.

"Enough. We can argue later. There is something more important."

A tall, cloaked figure stepped forward from the shadows and knelt.

"State your oath," the Grandmaster said.

The Grandmaster asked, and the figure replied:

"What is your life?" "My life is my purpose."

"What is your fate?" "My fate is our final liberation."

"What is your fear?" "My fear is to fail."

"What is your reward?" "My reward is the truth."

"What is your craft?" "My craft is to fight."

"What is your pledge?" "My pledge is eternal service to protect our nation and its people"

"Stand up then, Almighty Sentinel," all Masters said