Bullet Saint Volume 3 — Chapter 1: Ash and Psalms
The world didn't end.
It just forgot how to sing.
Two weeks passed. No new Choir activity. No Saints. No whispers in the wires.
Just quiet.
Too quiet.
Jung Min stayed in an old church on the edge of the ruined city—no pews, no crosses, just dust and the faint smell of gunpowder in the floorboards.
He cleaned his guns like a ritual.
Not because he needed to.
Because it kept his hands from shaking.
Azari hadn't spoken since the Cathedral collapsed.
Not really.
She slept most days.
Or wandered.
Or sat on the roof with the shard of her relic wrapped in prayer cloth.
Jung Min watched her from the shadows.
She's waiting for the song to come back.
And she's scared it'll be her voice this time.
On the fifteenth day, it rained ash.
Not smoke. Not soot.
Ash.
Like something holy burned itself out in the sky.
Azari came to him that night. Barefoot. Hollow-eyed.
"There's another relic," she said.
Jung Min didn't blink.
"Where?"
"North. Near the old sanctuary. The Choir left something behind."
He stood.
"Grab your coat."
They left at dawn.
No car this time. The roads were broken. The bridges gone.
Just their boots, the shard, and one final map Jung Min had sworn he'd never look at again.
As they crossed into the frozen plains beyond the city, they saw the first signs.
A tree split perfectly down the middle.
A flock of birds—all blind—circling one patch of sky.
And finally:
A man.
Crucified upside down.
Still breathing.
Mouth sewn shut with Choir thread.
Azari turned away.
Jung Min stepped closer.
A note was pinned to the man's chest.
It read:
"The song never stopped. You just stopped listening."
The man opened his eyes.
And began to hum.