The Demon Lord's Successor

On second thought it might not be the best idea to try out your spells in this small, confined, dark and gory room. Speaking of which, with the initial shock and confusion wearing off, you come to the conclusion that you have spent about as much time in this morbid place as you can manage.

“I could use some fresh air,” You answer Ariadne’s question. “Let’s go for a walk. This is hardly the place to summon dozens of underlings anyway.”

“Ah, of course, My Lord!” Ariadne bowed slightly. “How foolish of me—this is all must be so sudden and overwhelming. Please, follow me!”

You the minotaur girl walk out of the room, leaving the previous Demon Lord’s corpse inside, on his bed of nails.

“There’s also one thing I wanted to clarify,” You speak up as you walk back down the stone corridor. “He mentioned his daughters. Are you...”

“Yes,” Ariadne nods. “As far as I know, I am his youngest daughter.”

“How many sisters do you have? You mentioned several.”

“Oh, I am terribly sorry My Lord, but I couldn’t tell you. Or rather, I’m not sure that even my father ever knew. Hundreds?”

“H-hundreds?”

“At least. My sister Eisheth once said that on his eightieth birthday, one hundred and sixty-two of his daughters were present.”

Busy man, you think, but decide not to comment on your father’s fertility.

“Wait, what about sons?”

“In all my years of searching, you were the only confirmed one, My Lord.”

But I’m not even from this world! You almost say, but hold back. Did she make a mistake? Not necessarily. Who knows, maybe at some point there wasn’t a single female left in this world who your father hadn’t fucked and he started summoning them from other worlds? For now, it seems wise not to question your own heritage.

You walk through the hall you woke up in. Ariadne leads you to a twenty feet high archway. You wouldn’t have even noticed it as it was pitch black inside, save for a couple of light rays peaking through what must be the gates, far away on the other end.

“I’ll need to buy more torches,” Ariadne sighs and brings out a small, rough crystal, that easily fits in the palm of her hand. She brings it close to her mouth, whispers a few words you didn’t discern, and the crystal brights up, emitting enough light to see a couple of yards ahead.

"Don't you have anyone to help you manage this place?" You ask her.

"Not for a long time, My Lord. Eisheth sends me some money, but otherwise, she wants nothing to do with this place. But I'm not complaining! It was a great honor to serve the legendary Demon Lord! I'm grateful for the opportunity to spend so much time with him. Not all my sisters were so lucky!"

Grateful for what? You look around and get the feeling Ariadne is overcompensating.

“By the way,” You say as you both slowly approach the exit. “Did my father ever mention what he wished to be done with his body after he died?”

Ariadne hesitated, but after taking a few more steps spoke. “He did. He wished his body to be burnt and, to quote what he said, ‘feed my ashes to that long-bearded asshole until he chokes on them’.”

“...”

“I’m sorry, My Lord, but in his last years he was rarely lucid, so I cannot speak to how serious he was at the time.”

“I see... Do you know who he spoke of?”

“Most likely the Grand Bishop of Midlands. They had a bitter rivalry.”

For the girls to fuck? You wonder, but do not ask.

When Ariadne opens the gates, the bright sunlight nearly blinds you and you cover your eyes. Then you hear what could only be an arrow zipping through the air. Then a thwack. As you regain your sigh you see Ariadne with a broken wooden arrow at her feet, holding a massive steel greataxe in her hands, which should be impossible to lift for a girl with her figure. The double-sided weapon has seen better days—you can see scratches all over it and several chips on the blades. But it is pure steel, so it's not like the handle will break off or something like that, right?

Up ahead on the rocky terrain you see a dozen or two humans, mostly men, with a mish-mash of medieval weapons and armor. At first glance, you’d label them as generic bandits if you felt generous.

“This time you’re dead!” A man in a hooded black cloak and a staff in his hand shouts from behind the bandits. “Attack! Attack!”