Our Dark Prince (The Scottish Play)

LXXVII. He Who Would Be King of Kings

16
EL COLISEO
Oro
Lake Guatavita: Camino al Dorado
Territory: Unknown
July 20th, 2004
Time: 5:30 PM 
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Off the coast of Curaçao, the road to El Dorado opened its mouth, full of molten gold. For the naked eye, the moving Coliseo de los Matadores was harbored in the arid Chilean highlands, a stain on humanity for its bloodthirstiness and cannibalistic hunger. For the minions of Midas and the empire he created, El Coliseo was a moving palace that housed riches and spoils of war, the golden lips that wrapped around the road to El Dorado, where travelers near-and-far journeyed to get a whiff of the Golden City. Lake Guatavita sat in the center of El Coliseo de los Matadores, the sun stroking its sands and forging them into bright, fresh gold, that burned human flesh, as its crystalline waters beckoned forth the most easily seduced travelers.

For others, El Coliseo and its endless, winding back-alleys, side-roads, all served as the a silk road for merchants, magnates, and murderers alike. The endless trading posts brought the silken winds and golden ships, merchants all over the Cenciʼs dominion bought pr*stitutes, spices, and all the booze and coke that could feed a harem of gods, and the Seven Cities of Gold that were said to encompass El Dorado brought priests and priestesses to the trading city.

Where Oro was once slaughtered by Pinochetʼs bloody hands, escaping like Job from the Bible with just the skin of his teeth, he was now returning to, as a prized king who escaped enemy lines. The desert was now an orgy of wanton violence and fearʼs hunger sought him out everywhere. Veering the Queen Teresaʼs Glory into the shoreline of El Coliseo, sheens of sweat clouding Oroʼs judgement, he watched the merchants from the black market trade get ready to harvest the organs of the dead he salvaged. For Oro, he was too spent to care.

Uruguay had been a bloodbath. A calculated one, but still, the repercussions were deadly. Ruth was eaten alive, his associates killed before his very eyes, and all that was left was returning to the port, to the prison, where his hatred burned brighter than the sun. His feet already burned raw, skin polluted with the carnality of the desert, and the damned heat branded him for slaughter.

Oro began unloading the boat, the Orderʼs golden soldiers – the Sullied and Swol – unloading the boat alongside within him. Griselda waltzed towards him, gilded in the finest – ready to feast, a vampire in her prime.

"Welcome home, Orito," Griselda murmured, removing her sunglasses. "You returned successful from Uruguay, I presume."

Oro cracked his knuckles, taking in the bloody memories.

"Uruguay is a sh*t-show, the Order has been completely wiped out in South America," Oro grunted, heaving a few more dead Orderly bodies to the shore.

"So, a success," Griselda mused, cold. She lit him a cigarette, watching the wintry sunset flood El Coliseo at its peak. Org*smic, in a way.

"You and I make good business partners, Orito. Now the fun begins."

Oro stared on at the endless horizon, biting back the cigarette like a sting of a bullet. He heard the voices now, just as Ruth had.

"My wife, Griselda," Oro gritted out. "Where is she?"

"Probably f*cking Gustavo or her latest white conquest, I do not know or care," Griselda snapped. "We are right here, Oro. In the heart of it. Ochoa has delivered; weʼre beginning to carve out our routes, hire the right militia, wait for the storm to pass. Even got some maricone, Voltaire, to sign on. Now is the time to strike, to make a move. Claim what is ours."

"And whatʼs ours, mija?" Oro countered.

"The continent is on fire, the world is bleeding, and we have to pick up the pieces before it explodes. We need to give this sh*t time."

"This sh*t? You mean this sh*t we built together?" Griselda growled. "Iʼve waited on the sidelines for long enough, Orito. Bled for it. Even died for it. There is no competition now, no infrastructure. The monopolyʼs in our favor. And you want to waste it all on your stupid little wife?"

Oro looked right at her, eyes bloodshot with vengefulness.

"The bodies arenʼt even cold, Griselda," Oro growled.

"Says the man that gets off on f*cking little girls raw, and then f*cking their dead corpses into the ground," Griselda sneered. "El Dorado is in reach. You sold your soul to the devil. Now, you fight for it."

"Or what?" Oro sneered.

Griselda bared her teeth, showing her claws. She took a step back, all the emotion draining from her face.

"Or I kill your stupid little wife and that baby of yours," Griselda said sweetly, sizing him up like she was ready to eat him alive.

"Come home, Oro. Come home, and let me make you the king of kings: the king of El Dorado."