Dracotitán

"Do you want to live?" Muria, catching his breath, eyed the Infernal Refiner demon lying defeated on the ground. As he had predicted, this top-tier demon was severely injured and unable to exert much of his power.

"Yes," the Infernal Refiner replied without hesitation, his eyes darting around to the eight storm giants who were still pointing their weapons at him, but decisively spoke out at Muria's question.

"Then sign the kind of contract your kind favors most!" Muria looked over the imposing figure of the abyssal demon with a sly smile. The thought of making a highest-tier demon his servant was immensely satisfying.

"What sort of contract do you wish to sign?" the Infernal Refiner asked, his eyes lighting up as he scrutinized the young Titan who had subdued him through sheer brute force.

"A servitude contract, of course."

"Impossible." The demon instinctively rejected the idea of a servitude contract. He had undergone countless trials to evolve from a lowly lesser demon into a mighty Infernal Refiner. The notion that a mere golden-level Titan would demand him to become a servant was preposterous.

"Oh?" Muria picked up a spear from the ground, which had been dropped by a storm giant grievously injured in the battle. "What was that you said?" he asked, brandishing the spear with its tip glistening menacingly close to the demon's head. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Noble Titan," the Infernal Refiner, feeling the icy threat of the spear at his forehead, quickly lost his defiance. His tone was filled with an unprecedented humility, "It would be my honor to sign a contract and serve you."

"Then draft the contract and cut the chatter."

"Yes." The demon struggled to his feet and under the watchful eyes of Muria and the eight storm giants, he produced a large piece of parchment. Dark, ominous runes began to appear one after another on the yellowed parchment.

Muria, watching the demon draft the contract, didn't even bother to read the content. He simply flicked the spear, piercing it through the demon's chest. Golden lightning surged down the shaft, causing the demon to howl in agony.

"Is there a problem with this contract?" Tarrens, still bleeding, asked Muria curiously.

"Tarrens, if you ever deal with demons, remember this: if a demon hands you a contract with pretty-looking flourishes around the edges, don't think twice—just kill it."

Muria sneered at the demon handing him the contract. The ornate black patterns along the edges of the parchment were actually a form of script, a common trick used by demons. Signing such a contract would usually spell doom.

"Stop playing tricks. My patience has limits." Muria pulled the spear out of the demon's body, expertly twirling it to flick off the bloody residue.

"I will redraft it immediately." The demon grimaced in pain. Such wounds, although minor to him and quickly healing, were extremely painful.

"Keep it simple and clear. No fancy language," Muria instructed as he pointed the bloody spear at the demon's neck. "If you try any word games, I'll kill you just the same."

"I wouldn't dare anymore." The demon, watching the drips of his black-red demonic blood sizzle as they hit his body, felt a new appreciation for the seriousness of his situation.

After a moment, the demon presented a newly drafted Stygian Contract. This time he did not dare to manipulate the terms.

"This is too concise. Just being my servant is all? Add a time clause."

"How long?" The demon asked hopefully. Many demons negotiated contracts with humans to serve in exchange for their souls, usually ending with the human's death—a few decades in exchange for a soul seemed a good deal to many lower demons.

"What are you dreaming about?" Muria looked incredulously at the hopeful demon. "Obviously, as long as you live, you will serve me until the end of your life."

"Isn't that too long?" The demon looked troubled, glancing pleadingly at Muria.

"Unwilling?"

"I am willing!" The demon nodded rapidly, aware that the eight storm giants around him had raised their weapons again; any more hesitation could mean his demise.

"That's more like it." Muria examined the contract, now signed with the demon's true name—a lengthy and cumbersome name. "Your name is too long; for convenience, you'll be called Maelstrom."

With an unquestionable tone, Muria decided on a segment of the demon's true name to use as his moniker. After signing his own true name to the contract, the agreement was sealed. The parchment dissolved into specks of light that vanished into the unknown.

In that instant, Muria sensed a vast, dark river spanning across the endless lower planes, though the sensation was fleeting. The immense power contained within that dark river left him awestruck.

"Master!" The moment the contract was sealed, Maelstrom felt his soul bound by chains. His life and freedom were no longer his to control, so he bowed deeply to the entity holding the other end of the chains.

"Hmm," Muria nodded, satisfied as he looked down at the kneeling Infernal Refiner. A great sense of fulfillment washed over him.

"Let all the giants come back in, and tend to these wounded warriors," Muria ordered, acknowledging that to subdue this demon, seven out of his fifteen soul-intent level storm giants had been seriously injured, and the others were also hurt.

As the giants and other demons re-entered the arena, they were shocked to see the transformed battlefield and the formidable upper-tier demon submissively prostrated at Muria's feet.

"Is this the evil you spoke of?" Muria, stepping on Maelstrom's head, jokingly asked the two storm giants who had previously warned him.

The two giants, shocked and lost for words at the sight of the demon subdued under Muria's foot, ultimately kneeled in silence, their actions acknowledging the might and command of their leader.

Meanwhile, in a crystal castle far away, a young-looking Golden Dragon Mother sat upon a legendary metal throne, her brow furrowed as she viewed a scene displayed on an ethereal screen. Her face bore a look of displeasure.

The screen showed Muria indulging in drink and entertainment, enjoying the dance of succubi.

"Little Muria, do you really think you are invincible among your peers? The monsters of Erathia are numerous," Atreus sighed with a tone of disappointment.

"Auston, it's time to properly discipline our little Muria. He is now at the third tier of gold; it's time for him to go there," the breathtakingly beautiful golden-haired girl looked up at the dark-haired, golden-eyed heroic young man beside her. "Let Muria meet those little ones of your race."

"Yes!" The Titan, now in human form and frowning deeply, glanced at the screen before stepping into a space rift he created casually with his hand, "I'll make the arrangements right now!"

"Hmm," Atreus, watching the space rift heal itself, then turned her gaze back to the screen displaying Muria's merriment and murmured to herself, "Little Muria, it's not time to indulge yet. You'll meet your future playmates soon, and I'm looking forward to your performance. I hope you don't disappoint me too much. Your lineage, compared to those creatures, is nothing short of powerful."

She turned away from the viewing screen with a resolute expression. Muria's adventurous and sometimes reckless actions might have amused some, but Atreus knew that they were a sign of the young Titan's growing confidence—and potential hubris. The creatures and trials that awaited him in Auston's realm would either temper his spirit or break it.

Back in the grand arena, after the treatment and recovery of his storm giants, Muria stood observing the ongoing dance performance of the fifty-two succubi, now trained and managed under the supervision of Maelstrom. The arena, cleared of all debris and remnants of the battle, thrummed with a new kind of energy.

"You've done well, Maelstrom," Muria commented as he sipped from a goblet filled with an exotic brew prepared by the giants. "These succubi seem to be performing even better under pressure. It's as if they are aware of their precarious fate should they displease me."

Maelstrom, standing by attentively in his human form, gave a respectful nod. "It is as you say, Master. The threat of displeasure, especially coming from one as mighty as yourself, can indeed be... motivating."

Muria chuckled lightly, his eyes never leaving the mesmerizing dance before him. His mind, however, wandered to the tasks ahead and the words of the Golden Dragon Mother he unknowingly heard through some mystical means. He was not aware of the full extent of what awaited him, but he sensed that a significant challenge was approaching—a challenge that would test his strength and his leadership.

"Prepare for the journey," Muria finally said, setting down his goblet and standing up from his throne. "We will soon leave for the Isle of Titans. It's time I learned more about my heritage and the responsibilities it entails."

Maelstrom bowed deeply. "As you command, Master. I shall make all necessary arrangements. The succubi will continue their performances to ensure that morale remains high among your forces."

Muria nodded, his gaze lingering on the crowd of dancing demons one last time before turning to leave the arena. His steps were firm, each one echoing through the hall as a reminder of the power he wielded and the destiny he was yet to fulfill.

As he exited, the sound of the succubi's enchanting music filled the air, a haunting melody that seemed to hint at the adventures and trials that lay ahead. Muria was stepping into a much larger world, one filled with ancient powers and immense challenges. How he would navigate this world was yet to be seen, but one thing was clear: the young Titan was not alone, and the eyes of gods and demons alike were watching his every move.