One piece: Celestial dragon - Miracle of the Void Throne

Fog rolled over Hachinosu like a slow exhale. Above, crows scattered. Below, pirates watched from rooftops and towers, confused, curious, and then—afraid.

Zenka using geppo, stepped alone onto the warped docks. Her boots clicked against the boards with cruel precision. No flag preceded her. No army marched behind.

She didn't need one.

The mist parted as if fearful of touching her. She walked through it like a blade through silk. Somewhere far from the port, hidden in shadow and deeper fog, Byrnndi World waited — restrained, unseen, and listening.

A mob of pirates approached first. Bravado leading the way. Shouting. Laughing. One of them threw a bottle. Zenka caught it midair without looking. The glass cracked gently in her palm.

She spoke. "I offer one chance. Bow."

They laughed harder. Drew weapons.

She blinked. Just once.

And the front line collapsed. Bones shattered. Pressure dropped. The mist vanished. Zenka stood untouched.

The survivors from the first wave scrambled back, leaving their wounded behind. Screams echoed from the broken line as others tried to regroup.

A giant with tattoos down his arms roared and charged, swinging a rusted anchor. His footfalls cracked stone. Three more came behind him, blades drawn, haki flaring.

A blur of black and red. Her hand lashed out — Rankyaku from her heel severed the giant's anchor mid-swing. A twisting motion sent Shigan strikes into the necks of two others before they blinked.

The third tried to run. She didn't chase. She whistled.

A building to his left crumbled as he passed it — pressure of her conqueror's haki alone knocked it apart. He collapsed, unconscious.

Above, onlookers grew still. No one was laughing now. Zenka adjusted her collar and kept walking. More rushed down — ten, twenty — thinking numbers would matter.

They didn't.

She flipped one over her shoulder into a stack of cannonballs. Another's arm bent the wrong way as her palm struck him once. Her tekkai rippled as bullets pinged off her suit.

Still, she didn't use Soul Edge.

She didn't even break stride. From a rooftop above, a sniper aimed. She pointed. The wind twisted, and the rifle shattered before the trigger moved.

Charles, watching from the ship, swallowed hard and whispered to no one. "She's not even trying."

They came harder now. Organized. Furious. A wave of pirates with spears, nets, and shields formed a semi-circle — others lobbed bombs and chained bolas from rooftops.

Several had eaten Devil Fruits — one hurled bursts of molten wax, another summoned jagged earth spikes from the ground. Zenka dodged none of it. She walked. Wax solidified around her boots — she pulsed her heel and shattered it in a burst of pressure.

Spikes tore from the street in front of her. She stepped between them with elegant, inhuman grace, letting one curve just past her cheek. The spike-spike user couldn't bear her pressure and actually decided to flee.

he shouted: "I'm out! I'm out! spare me, god...! I just wanted to feed my family!"

A net of sea prism stone snapped toward her from above.

She caught it midair, reversed the throw, and sent it crashing down onto the wax-user who screamed as his powers collapsed. Three swordsmen surrounded her — one with fire on his blade, another dual-wielding curved katanas. The third moved behind her. They never reached her. She vanished. A second later, all three dropped unconscious. Bloodless. Nerve strikes too fast to see.

Rockets fired. Explosives lit the mist. Zenka kicked one midair — it ricocheted back into the launch crew and incinerated five. The blast rolled past her coat. Still, she didn't flinch. Didn't pant. Didn't sweat. By now, the pirates had stopped cheering each other on.

They had started praying.

Smoke rose in pillars from shattered stone. Blood pooled between cracked boards. The air over Hachinosu buzzed with heat and tension, no longer filled with jeers or bluster—only footsteps and the clatter of drawn weapons. Zenka stood amid the wreckage like a storm that had forgotten to pass. Then they came.

Three elite lieutenants of the Rocks Pirates burst forward, each flanking her with a trained rhythm.

The first swept his arm and sent slicing waves of air through the air—the Kama Kama no Mi user, his blades of wind curving in from impossible angles. The second slammed both fists to the ground, and gravity warped beneath her.

The Kiro Kiro no Mi user quadrupled her weight, then again, her punches carrying mountain-crushing force. And the third was already disassembling—limbs detaching mid-leap, spinning like chakrams. The Bara Bara no Mi user. A master of his power, and worse—one who had trained his disjointed limbs in armament haki.

His punches could hit like cannons, from five angles at once.

Zenka still didn't reach for Soul Edge. She vanished. The Kama user's blades hit air. The weight-user slammed nothing but stone.

And the Bara user's limbs were intercepted—one, two, three—each pinned to the ground by thin, glinting daggers that flew from her sleeves with surgical precision.

Blood oozed from where steel met flesh, locking his limbs in place, trembling and useless. Zenka moved like memory: impossible to follow, impossible to touch.

Her fists were coated in dull-black haki, her fingertips precise, her heel kicks sharp enough to cut the air itself. The Kama Kama user attacked again, faster now — his blades merging into a single tornado. Zenka ducked beneath it and used Geppo to vanish skyward, only to descend like a comet with a double-leg sweep that sent the Kama user skidding across shattered stone. The Kiro Kiro user bulked up to thousands of kilograms and slammed both fists into the ground — creating a crater that swallowed a chunk of the street.

But Zenka had already launched herself behind her, snapping off a Rankyaku that sliced the woman's shoulder armor clean through. Freed from Zenka's daggers by a pair of desperate pirate comrades, the Bara Bara user rose with a snarl. He flung his limbs wide, haki swirling like blades.

"Don't underestimate me! I'm not done yet!" "I'm worth 411 million belli, John the Separating Butcher, you government freak! You're not walking away from this one."

Zenka blocked three, dodged the fourth, and caught the fifth with her palm. Her other hand blurred with Shigan — stabbing into pressure points that forced the limbs to collapse.

Still, they kept coming.

Slower.

Angrier.

Zenka tilted her head, unimpressed. "Did you ever hear someone tell you what the definition of insanity is?" she asked calmly, stepping aside as one of his arms whirled past her. "Insanity is doing the exact... same thing... over and over again, expecting... different results." She smirked, then scoffed.

"And you people call yourselves pirates."

Captain John arrived grinning, flipping a silver coin between his fingers, eyes shimmering with unnatural awareness. With each flip, chaos tilted in his favor—bullets missed, allies avoided fatal strikes, and luck bloomed around him like a shield.

He drew upon the fortune of those nearby, draining their odds to empower himself. One pirate slipped and cracked his skull, another's sword shattered mid-swing. Then he turned toward Zenka. "I wonder…" he whispered, and flicked a final coin toward her.

But when the coin spun past her eyes, it lost its gleam. The wind died.

Nothing bent. John's smile faded slightly. "Hmph. Even Fate doesn't want to touch you..." Pirates watching from above shouted and howled. "DIE, CELESTIAL TRASH DOG!" one screamed.

Another hesitated, blade shaking in his hand. "If I kill her... will they erase my family?"

A third grabbed him. "We've got Rocks D. Xebec on our side! He rules the sea!"

The shaken one nodded slowly, rallying. "Right... if we fall here, we fall with him."

The Bara user screamed as he dislocated his floating shoulder with a flick. Then came the heavy guns. From rooftops and alleys, pirates hauled out iron bazookas—some larger than men. Seastone nets were launched in volleys. Smoke rounds. Grappling spears. Flashbang snails. Zenka stepped through it all. She redirected a net into its launcher with a wrist flick. A bazooka round she caught with her foot, kicking it skyward before it exploded. She leapt through the scattershot like it was choreographed.

Her coat didn't so much as singe. Down came two new figures: Silver Axe, blades wide and glowing with haki, roaring with every swing. And Ochoku, dancing through the air with twin sabers spinning, his movements erratic and sharp like wind itself. Attacking with a flying slash.

Silver Axe vanished mid-stride — his form shimmering, disappearing completely. it was The Clear-Clear Fruit.

He maneuvered through the mist with surgical patience, closing in from Zenka's blind spot. His blades were raised — a perfect ambush. But Zenka paused mid-step.

Her eyes narrowed.

The air shifted.

A subtle gust curled unnaturally past her left shoulder — a draft disturbed by something unseen.

Without turning, she flicked her wrist. Shigan. Her finger pierced into the empty air — and found flesh. A grunt burst from nowhere. Silver Axe reappeared, his shoulder gushing blood, weapon arm twitching from the impact.

Zenka finally turned, cool and measured. "Poor timing."

Zenka slid beneath one sword, countered another with her elbow, and knocked Silver Axe back two meters. Captain John's bombs went off—but she had already moved. A shallow line of blood crept down her cheek. She touched it. Glanced at her finger. And smiled.