Our Dark Prince (The Scottish Play)

LXXVIII. Rip The Flesh From My Bones

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In Shakespearean lore and law, the king was ordained by God – and therefore, had the power of God. If unbridled hell was his wish, then it would be granted, and he would burn the land to the ground with all the violence of the fires. He would breathe fire now, drowning in the utter darkness of hell, the blackest of hells, and he could hear the wailing desperation of all those lost souls. In his cage, back in El Coliseo de los Matadores, Oro heard them writhing and screaming in their punishment. The bodies stacked, the corpses screamed, bleeding through the Mayan and Aztecan gold. It echoed with an emptiness, the flesh as it pierced the blood red walls, and Oro wanted it all.

The price he would have to pay, however, he was not sure of.

The ritual to become a living God was not an easy one. He would flay the skin of the Wolf, of the Beast, to do it. El Dorado was a ravenous city, sitting in the eye of that blue orbed Giant, hungry for its spoils. First, he would descend into the darkness of El Coliseo, forbidden to eat salt, to have girls, to seek out the light. Guatavita would call to him, and he would have to hear the call, when the light would hit the lagoon. When the oasis turned to gold, caked in blood and flesh, hungry for its second act. The demon his ancestors worshipped as their God and Lord would surrender to him, embellishing and decorating him with hellʼs finest.

The four lighted braziers in which the incense burned within the perilous waters of the lagoon would then light, and his people would light more braziers on the shore, painting the town in red. His skin would be next, stripped to the naked earth, and then adorned in fresh gold dust. The water would lick him, inviting him into a whirlpool of gold and emeralds offered to him as a newly appointed God, and four chiefs would follow decked in plumes, fallen crowns, all symbols of eternal gold. They, too, were naked, and each one carried his offering. And then, he would drown, as the sun silenced its light, in eternal darkness, emerging as Midas made man.

The new king of El Dorado.

Bowing his knees to the earth, Oro stared at the sky, watching as the Phoenix – Ruthʼs Phoenix – took to the sky, releasing its acidic fire and heated rain to the world, greeting the Gods in furious sweeps of the air, howling its warnings of destruction and incineration Oro knew all too well. El Coliseo was a haunted graveyard of golden, marred souls, and what Oro once found org*smic, s*xual, was now ash. Burned in the back of his mouth, a foul taste, and constant reminder of what was to come.

Liberarme.

"Oro," she called, her voice ghostly.

Oro blinked twice, trying to confirm the source of her angelic voice. He listened to her join the darkness with him, his angel, his demonness.

         Mi reina; mi petirrojo.

"Oro, levántate," Robin said coldly.

Rising slowly, he kissed her, urgently, and it stung like a thousand little needles. Every kiss burned the corrosion in him, making him submit to her every whim-and-need, and it grew ravenous. Biting her lip, his kisses grew harder, sloppier, underscoring his hunger, and as she resisted, it coaxed want out of him just the same. For the sweet press of Robin, the fiery twist of her tongue in synchrony with his, the raspiness of release so close, filthy and dirty.

Robin closed her eyes, pressing her head to his forehead, letting the tears fall. Oro would eat them all, one day, he swore he would.

"Where are you, amor?" Oro asked. "Youʼre worlds away, mija."

First, she burned. Flinching at the sight of him, flinching at his touch, at his kiss, at him. Then, he bled.

"I always find you," she murmured, unable to hold his gaze. Oroʼs hands caressed her soft cheek, burning and bleeding. She stared out, that stormy collection of cold indifference catching wind again.

"Isnʼt it funny? You promise me the world and then I always find you, ready to burn it down," she sobbed, choking. "Iʼm pregnant, Oro."

Oro stared back, that stormy collection of malice and unbridled anger that she always lit inside him; always for her.

"What do you want me to do, hmm? We are right here, Robin, ready to set this sh*t on fire for you," he thundered.

"Burn it," she begged. "Walk away, with me, Orito. The Order is on its way, we can make it."

"Why would I do that?" he challenged. "You go preaching to me the sanctity of marriage, the importance of it all, while youʼre off f*cking Gustavo and God knows who else, what else, while I am here, fighting for it, damn it, Robin."

"Because you fight for no one but yourself, Oro," Robin snarled.

        Liberarme.

"So die by yourself, then."

She became one with the darkness, caught in its grasp. Blood was her name and Oro watched as she got swallowed whole by searing red light. The rivers of salt swelled and the ghosts ships surfaced from the depths of hell, swarming him. The noise around him like rattling bones. He saw no gold, no blood and entrails for offering, no signs of godliness. Just an echo in a chamber with no life, no souls, nothing. Just an emptiness that began to swallow him whole, feed on him with a vampireʼs hunger.

Liberarme, Oro.

"Robin," Oro called out, following her and descending deeper into the Cave. "Robin–"

       It is time.

Horror had its many names, many faces, but it never wore a devilish one for Oro until now. Guatavita stirred to life on its own, pulsing with the beating heart of the undead, churning beneath this hell. Lake Guatavita whispered damned things to him. Smoke and mirrors, close but fargone. The water hissed, the broken souls that were buried underneath him called him in a desperate cry, and Robin's body vanished with the darkness. Sucking the life out of him. The chorus of liberarmes rattled the walls of the Lake, beckoning him to the entrance of the Cave, haunting in their repose.

"ROBIN!"

The water turned bloody, thick and viscous like oil. Rivers of salt slithered over the surface like snakes, serving as a catalyst for the cold and bottomless hell bubbling up in the water, hissing in their fury. He felt himself being suffocated by the weight of this purgatory, and in bursts around him, he saw gold in the fiery water. Gold, that of which he was born, gold, burning his bones, gilding his blood. A rebirth after baptism, blessed with a damned touch. He screamed but no one listened; he cried, but no one would save him. Guatavita thundered underneath him, rejecting the king who could have been, and as the water parted, Oro stared, eyes wide, frozen in place.

The oil-slicked creature rose before him, chained to the hellish waters, kissed in melted gold. When the cold hit him, almost a Chicago level cold, Oro stood, paralyzed, the golden waters licking him away, gnawing at his bone and flesh. Thick globs of molten gold carved a path down his chest and the oil-slicked creature let out a ravenous cry.

Iʼm a dead man walking, Oro thought to himself, staring into the creatureʼs socket-less eyes, studying the bone structure, the lack of sudden movement. 

It twisted its neck to him, audibly cracking each-and-every bone in its neck so Oro heard him, loud and clear.

       ʼFraid so, irmão.

The creature lunged, going straight for the jugular.

"ROOOOOOOOOBINNNNNNNN!"