(DISCLAIMER: Because Webnovel doesn't allow italics, the "//" means this paragraph takes place in the past! Now, enjoy the peak of GTEZA...)
What a melancholy feeling, to die with regrets. The hypnotizing whirlpool from the circular motion of the vodka in Boulevard's glass made him feel dizzy. His mind was filled with an amalgamation of thoughts; it almost drowned out the banging of slamming fists and high-pitched screeches from outside the cabin.
// Boulevard came to his senses. It took a minute, but he knew in full what had happened and what he had just done. His fingers reached into his mouth and pulled out the portion of flesh he had just severed from Axil. He took no time to look at it and let it drop with his shaking, aching arm. Everywhere ached. His body, mind, and soul. No matter what happened, he remembered that leader's words. His vow. "Stay human." //
The fizzled-out ashes that blew around the room from the extinguished fire brushed past Boulevard's face and stuck in his beard. He scratched at it and then his nails moved to his skin. He was sweating – vigorously sweating everywhere. It made sense. But the constant accumulation of droplets on his forehead was unnatural. Boulevard's hand pressed against his head and it was radiating a heat that almost made him recoil. He was so scrambled. He was pressured. He was scared. Scared he couldn't say what needed to be said.
// While Boulevard rested on the old, patchy rug, the cold from behind him creeped into the cabin. The winds carried a metallic smell. All too familiar to one person in the cabin, but behind him, he heard a gag covered by two forceful hands. //
Groans came from Axil's corner. Boulevard's weary, bagged eyes meandered to his raising body. "Fuck." Boulevard said in a squelching voice. "It's the brain or you become brainless." He was told by former comrades. He looked over to the fire poker tossed to the corner perpendicular to Axil's rising dead body. Boulevard's blood was still fresh on the tip. That reminder sparked his nerves to reawaken and crash against one another. He recoiled and his right hand pressed against the small but deep wound. It's been half an hour since Boulevard's fight. The gash was still open, and blood was still trickling out. Time was of the essence.
// A faint shadow was behind Boulevard. Indiscernible with no context, it was just a hazy blob of darkness. But he knew what was behind him. So many questions that needed answers. Boulevard tried to sit up, but his chest tensed, and he grunted in pain. Wynter rushed over to him but was stopped by an extended palm and a look masked by Boulevard's hair. She couldn't see his eyes, but she could see the body language of confusion. An aura of building hostility. //
Using his left hand, Boulevard picked up the weapon and faced his "victim". It was the opposite way around. He knew that, but the cultist was victim to a fate not deserved. Death was not all that happened to Axil. It was a death he had to watch. He drowned in his blood and Boulevard was drowning on Axil's. Until Boulevard wasn't and rose once more. Every second of the Rat Man dying was extended to feel like hours. "But if you are already dead, are you alive?" Boulevard thought.
// "Don't touch me. You could get my wound infected." Boulevard tried to stand up while moving away towards the bed. His right arm and chest drooped, his shaking left hand gripping the covers. "Why?" He asked with a craggy tone. //
The vodka from the cooler in the corner of the old cabin was aged. It tasted refreshing. In the glass, it went around and around again. Boulevard was trying anything to take his mind away from the world. No mesmerizing back and forth of liquid could stop the constant shaking of the alcohol from the copious amount of hands causing vibrations to come off of the breaking wooden walls of the cabins. The Gluttons are getting impatient.
Boulevard was treating this situation like he was walking down a highway with a singular glutton matching his pace. Not like a horde heard his yells and is making the cabin's boards creak and bend. He had energy, more than he's had for years. While wounded, he could still definitely conjure up a plan to escape. But all he did was sit and think. Think about nothing.
// Wynter's face scrunched up, her cheeks tensed like she was expecting a hard slap. She braced herself for the coming verbal onslaught. //
// "What do you mean?" She squeaked. She knew that was the stupidest question anyone could ask, but what else could she say? It's like she burst into the cabin after coming to check on Boulevard and the next moment she saw him wounded near death. It took her seconds to remember what had happened. It took her minutes to release the immense pressure from her joints. //
Boulevard thought it was just the body doing what it needed to do. Rest. Maybe if he laid down under the bed and fell into the vastness of sleep, his jacket a tourniquet, he'd awaken to silence. Either alive or dead, he'd awaken to peaceful silence. But Boulevard couldn't turn his heart off. It would be blissfully ignorant silence.
// "You... You. Why did you just stand there and watch?" Boulevard's tone was different. Not the soft but boisterous man Wynter had met; he now sounded like how chalk felt. A hard, raspy voice. "You just watched me and him fight. Why? Don't make me guess." He finished, pointing his finger at her. Boulevard's one eye not covered by his very long hair was a duller blue than before, now looking like the deep sea rather than the vibrant surface. //
Wynter is such a clumsy person. Boulevard is abhorrently stupid. He once believed those two words were in the same subsection of feeble mindedness, but that isn't the case. He felt differently now. She would trip over her own two feet and faceplant in a pile of snow and he would rupture everything.
// Wynter's mind was racing back and forth like multiple little office workers in her head had a power outage and were scrambling to fix it. This block of thought was brought on by a hard to swallow realization that – no matter what she said – this would be her fault. Wynter couldn't stand it when she fucked up. Her stammering words were like a broken assembly line. The products of her brain were just falling out of the other end of her mouth. "Fine. I'll throw out some possibilities. Some solutions. Who are you?" Boulevard inquired. //
Boulevard's eyes were off of his drink and on Axil. How fateful he'd encounter another Progenitor of the Dead and be fucked over by it even more than before. The encounter with the girl years ago prefaced an overly cautious mindset above all else. If he had died to that woman, it would be yet another wasted life, which was the exact opposite of what Boulevard's life should be. The man dead in the corner had made that fear concrete in Boulevard's mind during that singular tangent of rage.
// "Did you know him? Somewhere, somehow, you met him before, and you chose to stand and look on. Is there something you aren't telling me? I still don't know so much about you. Did you follow your leader or something?" Boulevard spoke like he was reading off bullet points. Solemnly reading one after the other. Like he didn't believe any one of them with full certainty but thinking he wouldn't assume would be half-witted. Boulevard was the type of person who would stop at nothing for answers. Wynter had to speak. If not, all of the two's journey would be for not, and the trust she tried so hard to earn would crumble away into dust. //
// "No!" Was all she said. That wasn't enough for the angered Boulevard. //
// "Then what are you?!" He yelled. His bellowing voice was a shotgun blast to Wynter, making her take one step back. Her wishes to stop and not have this escalate would not be granted, so she spoke again. //
// "I'm your friend!" She used all the air in her lungs on that final word. Friend. That was what Boulevard was to her. But he wasn't convinced. It was not enough for his once concrete mind to be forged again. It was scrambled. It was wandering. Immediately after she finished her proclamation, Boulevard spoke again. //
// "Then why did you not come to my aid?" His voice rose with each oncoming point. "Why did you just stand there? Why did you watch him try to murder me? Why did you stand there like a coward?!" //
The last flame went out. Only the moonlight that seeped through the broken wooden roof illuminated Boulevard's pathetic figure. Hunched over some alcohol – as per usual. His pointer finger went around the shot glass' rim. He just stared at it and tried to think. The only thoughts that entered his mind now were tainted memories from all reaches of life.
// "I couldn't, okay?! I just couldn't move." Wynter's fingers started to get rugburns from holding onto Iggy so hard. Boulevard limped forwards, being stopped by the end of the fire poker touching her chest. She looked at the iron appliance with fear, like a snake had slithered on her skin. Boulevard still wasn't convinced. //
// "That's impossible. Actually impossible. Literally, factually impossible for someone to 'not know what to do.'" //
That word. Factually. What was fact and what wasn't? What led up to a theory being fact? Could opinion become fact? Grounded, proven facts are the only truths? Axil thought differently about all of that.
// "What are you saying? I was shaking. You saw that and I couldn't move. It was horrible seeing you like that." Boulevard was going in circles, rubbing his head with both his hands. This conversation seemed more strenuous than the spike lodged in his shoulder. //
// "How can you be scared? How can you live in this world and be scared? That's impossible, Wynter!" //
// "No, it's not! I've seen really bad things that hurt me and hurt others. Is it selfish of me to be scared of horrible things happening?" //
// "Yes." Boulevard stated, gritting his teeth. Wynter started to sputter. She wanted to say something but didn't know what. Because Boulevard was right. What Wynter has done in this world in comparison to the remaining survivors means she shouldn't exist. Does she deserve to exist? Those constant, daily thoughts are on standby because Boulevard told her she was in the wrong for being concerned. She cared for him, and some tough love was needed. //
// "I've been through hell-." //
// "Have you ever ripped a man's throat out with your own teeth? Have you ever been covered in so much blood that no skin was visible? Was it my comrades' blood? My enemy's? The Gluttons who ate my comrades and enemies? Have you seen a decapitation with a rusty bone saw? You ever see a man smile as he smashed a crying person's head in? Have you seen what white phosphorus does? What about napalm? Or maybe shrapnel lodged in your friend from one of your own creations? Have you ever seen a miscarriage claw its way out?! People who are scared are weak. They lead others to Death's door before themselves. I've seen it so many times. So, so many times as my hands crushed the hardened dirt below the burnt grass that mixed with my tears to become bloodied mud. And I bore witness to that once more today. You almost let me die." //
That man. That sniveling, manipulative, rotten man. The leader of the cult. The Rat Man. Axil. Boulevard had heard about him before. On the radio, on the news bulletin, on the tapes. Nothing good. All bad. So bad in fact, that from the moment Boulevard and he began to continue to speak, the recluse knew what was to come deep, deep down. How? How was that possible? The conclusion was made that it was due to Boulevard letting his core do the talking. And the core was the center of all things. Of all of why Boulevard knew what he knew. His emotions did. And - ironically - Axil was the one to teach him just that.
// Wynter looked down. She wanted to speak her mind, but her eyes moved to the floor and were forced closed when the poker was torn out of Boulevard's shoulder. With a hard grunt, the iron tip was ripped out and grazed Wynter's cheek, also snagging Iggy. She yelped and pressed her palm against the new wound. Weirdly, it didn't hurt. It didn't feel like anything. //
// Boulevard stood with the fire poker – Iggy at its tip like a flag – staring at the blanket. Boulevard touched the cloth and pulled it off the weapon. Wynter followed its every move. The hermit's mouth opened as he turned around, preparing to say something. //
// "I've seen people die. They killed themselves. They died by doing nothing. I will not allow that again. This is for your own good." //
// Boulevard cast Iggy into the cinders. The spark — no matter how small — was enough to eat up the blanket, the fire covering it as soon as it got its hands on it. Boulevard turned slightly to see Wynter out of one eye. She was on her knees, her hand partially extended like a mother when a child goes off to college. Tears streamed down her face. She had no words. "It had some sort of significance, I know. It was holding you back. It was an igloo of lies. You're alive right here, right now. That's all that should matter to you. In this world, you're either alive or dead." //
// Slowly, Wynter stood up and turned around. She looked like an automaton. Slowly going through the necessary movements so she wouldn't break down. She said, //
// "Even if you're alive, you have to live with yourself." //
If you're already dead, are you alive? Boulevard didn't know the answer. Would Axil know the answer? It was obvious everything that man put in his brain in terms of what to do next bolted around, fizzled, and popped, but every word he said had such power and his eyes knew what he wanted. Even if killing was his goal, he knew what he knew. Learning a lesson from one of the worst men on the planet was seemingly impossible. But the world doesn't follow any rules now. Boulevard knew that.
Boulevard closed his eyes. He didn't know a damn thing at that time. But he knew he wanted to now. That's what he knew. He let his core do the thinking.
He stood up and took off his jacket, making it into a knot placed right around his right shoulder wound. Siphoning his remaining strength into his left arm, Boulevard pulled his body backwards and let the bed he gripped follow him. When it was close enough to the right wall, he climbed onto the black and gold covers and hoisted himself upwards onto the tree trunk.
Boulevard was stopped in his tracks. For minutes on end, he stared in awe at the horizon. Or, more accurately, the lack thereof. It's the Neverender. That's what the people of the world called it. As time went on and clumps of Gluttons started to merge again and again, there were hordes filled with thousands of them. They used to be tracked like storms, even having names like McKayleigh, Tortilla, and Mega Death. That crucial information was relayed from one community to the next. One army of Gluttons was infamous across the whole continent. Neverender.
For as far as the eye could see – past the distant tree line and farther than the moon's sight – were Gluttons. They hammered against the cabin's walls and their screams were amplified at the sight of Boulevard. He never thought he'd see it.
Such a legendary sight in the new world. There were even children's stories being made about it in the towns he and his men stopped in. Myths of how no human who lays eyes on the Neverender returned. These tales were worded like a horror story, but Boulevard was in reality, seeing the endless sea of murky eyes and decrepit faces.
It made him kind of giddy. Most of the Gluttons pushed past each other and continued trekking west, so it was like Boulevard was in the middle of a raging tsunami. Above it all. This was a story to tell. A memory that won't be forgotten any time soon. He'd seen polaroids sent by scouts before he went out into the fray, but this is different. The wind and the walking clashed against his stare onwards. So this is what Wynter was talking about? The feeling of a true experience.
Wynter. That first night on the waters, that dinner in the park station, the first time he had laughed in years... Boulevard knew he had to say something to her. He'd spend the rest of his waking days wandering the baron planet looking for that small dreamer; even if at the sight of him Wynter ran, he needed to say what he felt. An apology.
Boulevard's mindset had changed, and he needed her to know. For that damned moment, he reverted back to what trapped him inside that yacht. He had to live, right? For those people, right? But to be alive, one has to live with themselves.
Wynter was scared. She almost let him die. Her reliance on Iggy was a weight on her survival. What he did was in his and her best interest if one looked at it from a logical perspective.
"But does all that matter when she shed tears for you?" The recluse said to himself.
Boulevard needed to best the Neverender.
Jumping down from the astonishing sight, the hermit made his way towards Axil's dead body. In his mind, he said some minor prayers. Even for The Rat Man, such a degradation to one's person is something that one would like forgiving for.
Boulevard reached for the fire poker that was covered in his blood. When it was picked up, his fingers recoiled at how much rust coated the base of the weapon. He never noticed it before, considering what had happened. It was disgusting, feeling that crass, false exterior.
The pointed tip was lined up at the top of the corpses' stomach. Even though becoming one in the eyes of the horde was something almost everyone did when bad came to worst, it still caused Boulevard to plug his nose. After seconds of sliding and squelching, guts were present and leeching its smell into the burnt air. After some experimentation at the peninsula, one only has to cover the base of their body or something similar to dissuade any bloodlust infused eyes. It was decided that only the jacket would need to be tainted for Boulevard to avoid detection. As he lathered the old fabric in entails, he said, "Sorry."
Finally, after minutes of preparing, Boulevard faced the door. It was a very interesting door. The intricacies of its design went unnoticed before due to the outside's harsh conditions but the same engravings were shown inside as well. Made of solid steel was a crest. A crescent moon and a full sun were together as one to make a beautiful circle that glimmered like gold. How its perfect quality has been maintained throughout twenty years of the end of the world intrigued Boulevard. Looking at the crest of the sun and its moon - the moon and it's sun - he turned the doorknob.