Dominus Tenebris and the Doll Eater by Holly Maley

Dominus burst through the wooden door as only a dark lord can. Or rather, he burst the door, the wood splintering into a thousand pieces with a wave of his hand and a loud crack. By the time he strode through the debris and into the musty orphanage, his signature twisted grin plastered on his face, the diminutive occupants were already screaming. Give it one, two, three—and there it was, the recognition, the terror. The runts scattered, not that it would get them anywhere. As soon as Dominus stepped in, doors closed and locked, windows sealed themselves, and chairs and beds screeched across the floor to barricade the hallway. Everyone was trapped with The Dark Lord Dominus Tenebris, scourge of the Northern Realms, bane of the righteous, thought dead but now returned. Every one of the orphans knew it, knew what he could do, what he had done. None dared stand in his way.

Well, except that one baby sitting in the middle of the floor, unphased by the surrounding chaos. Shreds of fabric lay scattered on the floor before the boy. He picked them up one by one with dainty fingers and shoved them into his mouth. Were Dominus not on a critical mission, he might have taught the infant a lesson, but he had more important matters to attend.

“Now where is the matron of this fine establishment?” Dominus called. He did not need an answer; the only other adult present desperately fumbled at a window as far away from Dominus as she could get.

Dominus held out his hand and an unseen force seized the woman’s ratty dress and dragged her, kicking and screaming, until she was pinned to the wall near Dominus. The more she squirmed, the tighter her invisible bonds pressed, until her chest heaved with the strain of breathing.

“Struggle more and every bone in your body will break. Or rather, be crushed, pulverized, right in front of the children. You wouldn’t want that would you?”

Eyes bulging, the woman shook her head and stilled.

“Smart. Now that you’ve so pleasantly agreed to be helpful, I need something. A doll, about this big.” He demonstrated with his pointer finger and thumb. “Looks something like me.”

The woman’s mouth trembled open and closed like a terrorized fish as she blubbered something incoherent. Dominus had overdone it. Again. He would not get a word out of her in this state but no matter, he followed her gaze past his shoulder to where the baby gripped a final scrap of fabric: a misshapen ball of decrepit linen with black string poking out in a crude attempt at hair. The ball was fully in the boy’s mouth and half masticated when Dominus realized what it was.

“Don’t you dare,” Dominus bellowed, lunging forward. But he was too late. The infant swallowed.

“That. Was. My. SOUL!” Before his (allegedly) final battle with that twerp of a hero the citizens loved so much, Dominus had taken precautions, including untethering his soul from his material form. It was a complicated and costly bit of magic, but it had paid its dividends. When Dominus fell in combat, his soul fled to safety and scoured the realms for a suitable vessel, something that already contained a part of him. Dominus had assumed that something would be one of his jeweled rings he kept as trophies, or his special knife for tormenting victims, or perhaps the silver goblet he used to drink the tears of his enemies. But apparently his soul had a deeper affinity for one of his childhood toys.

And now that toy was in a baby’s belly. What that meant, Dominus could not say. Would the baby expel it? Would Dominus’ soul be tethered to a dirty diaper?

“Spit it out!” He opened the baby’s mouth and poked around with his finger, but the doll’s head was gone. And now the baby was wailing, a deeply unpleasant, grating noise even worse than that of the older children still shrieking and pounding at doors. It was entirely too much. Dominus’ concentration faltered and the windows and doors unlocked themselves, allowing the captive children and their coward of a caretaker to bolt. Now it was just him and the baby. The baby that had consumed his soul.

Dominus raised a reflexive hand to silence the creature—permanently—but caught himself. For all he knew, his soul may have fused with the baby. If the baby died, would he die as well?

He gritted his teeth, realizing he was stuck with the stinker, at least until he learned more. But that crying would have to stop. Perhaps if he asked nicely?

Dominus looked into the baby’s blue eyes and said in his gentlest, most caring tone, “Cease this incessant and irksome screeching or I shall throw you to the wyverns.”

It did not work.

He tried making a funny face. The baby did not appreciate his magically-enhanced rendition of a fire-breathing dragon. He tried offering money, ale, candy, but the baby failed to do as instructed.

So Dominus gave in to tantrum. Boards ripped themselves from the floor, window frames blasted out of the building, and all manner of toys—dolls, whistles, marbles, tops—flew off shelves to cyclone around Dominus and the boy. Dominus was so blinded with fury he did not notice when the wailing stopped, nor the curiosity, then wonder, then delight that lit the boy’s round face as he beheld the whirlwind of toys. When Dominus finished, panting, he looked down to see the boy beaming up at him, stumpy legs and arms wiggling in a full-body giggle. The child stretched out his arms to the Dark Lord. A request to be held.

Dominus blinked. He could not recall if he had ever made someone so much as smile, let alone laugh so purely, so wholeheartedly, without a hint of fear. He hesitated, then slowly, warily picked up the child as if he might be venomous. But the boy did not bite. He merely smiled at Dominus and touched his cheek with a soft, tiny hand.

Dominus was not sure what to make of that, but the next time he razed a city, he left two or three people alive.