One Piece: Dungeon Shop. Scamming Garp, Reward: Eight-Tails Jinchuriki-Chapter 341: The World’s Strongest! Spatial Tsunami!

Chapter 341: Chapter 341: The World’s Strongest! Spatial Tsunami!

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Chapter 341: The World’s Strongest! Spatial Tsunami!

The final syllable of the broadcast hung in the air, heavy and unresolved.

Zzzt—!

The static hissing across the screens vanished in a heartbeat. The digital snow cleared, revealing a high-definition view of hell—or perhaps, the aftermath of a god’s wrath.

In the tavern, the silence deepened. It wasn’t just quiet; it was the suffocating stillness of a tomb.

On the screen, the landscape had been rewritten. Extending from Edward Newgate’s position, a fan-shaped zone stretching for tens of thousands of meters had been reduced to absolute nothingness.

There were no smoking ruins. No broken corpses. No craters.

There was only the void.

Space itself looked like a shattered mirror, riddled with endless, pitch-black fissures that leaked a terrifying darkness. The infinite, sky-blotting army of Gastrea? Gone. The Stage V Scorpio, that mountain-sized avatar of the apocalypse radiating despair? Erased.

It was as if an invisible, divine hand had reached down from the heavens and simply wiped the slate clean.

High atop the government skyscraper, the mask of cold authority on Tendo Kikunojo’s face shattered. His jaw went slack, and his eyes bulged, capillaries bursting from the sheer strain of comprehending the incomprehensible.

One punch.

It had taken only one punch.

The endless tide of monsters that threatened to consume humanity, the "enemy" he had built his entire political existence around... was gone?

"No... that’s impossible..."

He staggered back, clutching his head.

"An illusion! This is a trick! A mass hallucination!"

He screamed the words, his voice cracking into hysteria, looking less like a ruler and more like a madman raging against the dying of the light.

But reality was cruel. The spider-web cracks in the very fabric of the air continued to spread with sickening cr-crack sounds, echoing across the battlefield.

And then, the second wave hit.

Wooooon—!!!

The shattered space didn’t heal. Instead, the tremors compounded. Pure white, translucent waves of distortion began to ripple outward from the epicenter. It wasn’t a simple shockwave of compressed air; it was a tsunami of spatial disruption.

As the white wall of force expanded, the few Gastrea on the periphery—those lucky enough to have survived the initial impact—didn’t even have time to scream. Their vaunted regeneration, the biological miracle that made them nearly immortal, was rendered useless.

Under the high-frequency vibrations of the Gura Gura no Mi, their biology failed. Flesh, carapace, and bone were shaken apart at the molecular level. They were reduced to fundamental particles, dissolving into a fine mist of blood and dust before they could even hit the ground.

"Gurararara..."

Whitebeard slowly lowered his fist. He didn’t bother looking back at the void he had created. To him, this wasn’t a miracle; it was Tuesday.

He looked down. At his feet, the cluster of Cursed Children stood frozen. They were statues of shock, their tear ducts dried up by the sheer magnitude of what they had just witnessed.

A grin—warm, rough, and fiercely protective—stretched across the old pirate’s scarred face.

"See? It’s all settled."

His voice rumbled like distant thunder, gentle but immense.

"With Pops here, no one will ever bully you again."

ROAR—!!!

The moment was broken by a bloodthirsty howl. On the fringes of the spatial tsunami, a pack of high-ranking Gastrea, mangled but alive, surged forward. Driven by mindless hunger and rage, they charged the group.

"Pops, you’ve done enough. Leave the small fry to us!"

Diamond Jozu stepped forward, his massive shoulder armor glinting in the sun. He didn’t even look at the charging beasts. His eyes were locked on a skyscraper that had been sheared in half by the earlier shockwaves, its steel skeleton exposed.

"Hah!!!"

With a guttural roar, Jozu dug his hands into the building’s foundation. Muscles thick as bridge cables bulged under his skin. The ground groaned, concrete snapping like chalk.

In a display of raw, physical impossibility, he uprooted the entire structure—hundreds of meters of steel and glass, weighing tens of thousands of tons.

He shifted his stance, pivoting his waist.

"Batter up!"

Like an Olympian throwing a javelin, he hurled the skyscraper.

BOOM—!!!!

The building flew through the air, a man-made meteor carrying catastrophic kinetic energy. It slammed into the densest cluster of Gastrea, plowing a trench thousands of meters long. Flesh met steel, and flesh lost. Hundreds of monsters were instantly crushed into an unrecognizable paste.

"Truly crude, Jozu. You lack finesse," Vista chuckled, his mustache twitching with amusement. He slowly drew the twin blades from his sash. "It’s time these ugly things saw the beauty of the world."

He didn’t run; he danced. His figure blurred into a phantom of elegance, gliding into the remaining horde.

"[Rose: Wild Dance]!"

In an instant, the battlefield was filled with a storm of petals. They shimmered with a crimson light, beautiful and deadly. These weren’t illusions; they were manifestations of sword intent, sharper than any laser cutter.

The tornado of petals swept through the Gastrea. The monsters didn’t fall; they unraveled. Every touch of a petal was a lethal cut. Blood sprayed into the air, dyeing the phantom roses a deep, rich red.

Violence and elegance, perfectly synchronized.

Skree—!!!

High above, a cry pierced the heavens—clear, noble, and filled with vitality.

Marco, transformed into the Phoenix, wreathed in sacred blue flames, circled the battlefield. He didn’t dive. He simply flapped his wings.

Rain of Blue Flames.

Sparks of azure fire drifted down like snow. But where they touched the Gastrea, they didn’t heal; they incinerated. Like a surgical laser, the flames sought out the stragglers hiding in the shadows, the cowards trying to flee. They burned them to ash in seconds, leaving the ground scorched but the children unharmed.

Four men.

Just four men.

In less than five minutes, they had displayed a level of dominance that made the combined military might of the entire world look like children playing with sticks.

Amidst the ruins, the Cursed Children watched, their mouths agape.

They saw Jozu’s titanic strength.

They saw Vista’s lethal beauty.

They saw Marco’s celestial fire.

And finally, their gazes returned to the center. To the massive back of the man who stood like a pillar supporting the heavens.

Their worldview—built on fear, rejection, and the belief that they were cursed—shattered. And in its place, something new was built.

So... this is what a "Father" is.

This is what it means to be protected.

This is what a family looks like.

Aihara Enju felt heat flood her eyes again. But the cold grip of terror was gone. Her chest swelled with an emotion she had never dared to name.

She opened her mouth, inhaling the dust and the ozone, and screamed with every fiber of her being.

"FATHER—!!!"

—————

High above the carnage, Tendo Kikunojo was a broken man.

His legs, which had carried him through decades of political maneuvering, refused to hold his weight. He collapsed, a warm, humiliating wetness spreading across his trousers.

His grand plan. His xenophobic ambition. His pride as the guardian of Tokyo.

Crushed. Not by politics, not by strategy, but by absolute, overwhelming power.

He looked down at the four figures. They weren’t humans. They were gods of war. And in his eyes, there was no longer calculation—only the primal fear of a prey animal realizing the predator is in the room.

"Run... I have to run..."

He scrambled backward on his hands and knees, clawing at the expensive carpet, desperate to put distance between himself and the edge.

But as he turned, he felt it.

A gaze.

It was heavy. Cold. It felt like a blade pressed against the back of his neck. It froze his blood and locked his joints.

Kikunojo stopped. Trembling, he forced his head to turn, inch by agonizing inch, back toward the window.

He met them.

The eyes of the Whitebeard.

They were eagle-like, golden, and boiling with a fury that transcended simple anger. It was the judgment of a king.

Slowly, deliberately, Whitebeard raised Murakumogiri. The massive naginata cut through the air, its tip coming to rest pointing directly at the skyscraper’s penthouse.

Whitebeard spoke. He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice carried a resonance that vibrated in the chest of every living soul in the city, like the low growl of a tectonic plate.

"A moment ago..."

The air grew heavy.

"Who was it that said they were going to ’purify’ my daughters?" 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

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