Bullet Saint Volume 3 — Chapter 4: Echoes Don't Pray
The stitched man's corpse twitched for hours.
Azari kept her distance, rifle drawn. Jung Min just watched—eyes hollow, breath steady.
"He's not dead," she said.
"He's not alive either," Jung Min replied. "That was never a person. Just a container."
"For what?"
"For sound."
They burned the body before sunset. No rites. No prayers. Just fire and silence. The glyphs along the cross faded, but the air still hummed, like the hymn was echoing off invisible walls.
Azari turned to Jung Min.
"She said the verse is ready. What does that mean?"
"It means they're not looking to convert anymore," he muttered. "They're looking to perform."
They traveled west, toward the city of Yunhwa—a place once protected by Saints, now listed as forbidden ground. No relics retrieved. No Saints returned.
Azari remembered the stories.
People there didn't scream when they died.
They sang.
At the edge of Yunhwa, the sky changed.
Not just color—texture.
Like the clouds were made of stretched parchment, moving in pulses. Choir glyphs bled through the air like constellations.
Jung Min stopped at a checkpoint gate.
On the other side: silence.
No movement. No life.
But something watched.
"You feel that?" he asked.
Azari nodded.
The shard in her hand was shaking.
Inside the city, they found echoes.
Not people.
Echoes.
Holograms made of old prayers. Ghosts of conversations carved into the walls. A child laughing from an empty swing. A man begging at a pulpit made of static.
Every one of them repeated the same phrase:
"The Saint is listening."
Jung Min shot the pulpit.
The city blinked.
Reality rippled.
A voice boomed—low and layered, like seven throats sharing one name.
"Sinner. Gunman. Failure. Come kneel."
Azari clutched the needle relic.
"They're calling you."
"I know," Jung Min said, eyes narrowing.
"Why now?"
"Because I'm the one Saint that never died."
As if on cue, the buildings peeled open—walls tearing apart like paper.
Inside: relic chambers. Rows of Choir-infused Saints, suspended in glass. Singing in sync. Heartbeats visible. Eyes open.
All staring at Jung Min.
Azari stepped back.
"How many?"
"Too many," he said.
One pod cracked open.
A woman floated down—her body covered in metallic cords, mouth wired shut with gold.
Her voice, still audible in their minds:
"You left the Choir. Now the Choir leaves nothing."
Jung Min pulled both pistols.
Azari pulled the shard.
Together, they walked forward.
No prayers.
Just war.