Bullet Saint Volume 3 — Chapter 7: Saint Without Scripture
The sky wouldn't stop writing her name.
Azari. Azari. Azari. Over and over, etched in divine geometry, each stroke of glyphlight louder than thunder but silent as breath.
Jung Min stared at the sky like it had insulted him.
Azari sat on the edge of the rooftop, eyes empty, fists clenched so tight her palms bled.
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered.
Jung Min lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.
"No Saint ever does."
They stayed until dusk.
Below, Yunhwa moved again.
Whispers in alleyways.
Shadow-shaped Saints preaching to the wind.
Choir symbols blinking from windows like they were watching.
Azari stood. The cracked shard in her hand had stopped glowing. Just a dull stone now.
"I'm done running," she said.
Jung Min looked up, tired.
"You sure you're not just tired of losing?"
"Both."
They descended into the subway ruins.
The maps were burned.
The power flickered.
But the whispers were clearer here.
Each wall spoke:
"One voice remains."
"The Saint without scripture."
"The gun will speak what the mouth cannot."
Azari slowed.
"What if that's me?"
Jung Min paused beside her.
"It is."
She turned to him. "So what now? I go up there and… become one of them?"
He shook his head.
"No. You go up there and rewrite the verse."
The train station had a central platform, shattered in half by time and Choir decay.
Standing at the edge was a girl—no older than fifteen.
White dress. Eyes stitched shut.
Her mouth was open.
And she was humming.
Jung Min froze.
"That's not a Saint."
Azari gritted her teeth. "That's the instrument."
The hum twisted reality.
Tiles warped. Rails bent into glyphs.
Jung Min's vision blurred—memories flashing like static: Seo's death. Mira's scream. Jihoon's betrayal. Blood. Prayer. Gunsmoke. Over and over.
The instrument tilted its head.
Azari stepped forward.
The girl's hum grew louder.
Azari screamed and hurled the dead relic shard.
Midair—it shattered.
The girl stopped.
And spoke in three voices:
"Your song is unfinished."
"Your heart is impure."
"Your name does not belong."
Azari drew the Choir's bullet pistol. The one Jung Min gave her.
"This is my scripture," she said.
And fired.
The bullet hit the girl's chest.
No explosion. No sound.
She just froze.
Then crumbled—glyphs leaking from her body like blood, sinking into the concrete.
The humming stopped.
Jung Min sat on the tracks, staring.
"You rewrote it."
Azari dropped the gun.
"No. I ended it."
But far above, back in the heart of Yunhwa—
bells began to ring.
Not metal. Not real.
Echoes.
The hymn wasn't over.
It was just changing keys.