They rode out before dawn.
No trains now. No signals. Just an old motorcycle Jung Min stole from a gas station too broke to miss it.
Azari held tight to his back, eyes locked on the hills rolling past them like waves made of bone.
The sky looked like it wanted to fall apart.
That tracks, Jung Min thought. Every time I pull the trigger, the weather gets worse.
The first target was three hours south, buried in what used to be a small monastery called Eunha Temple. Before the Saints turned it into a black site.
Now? No monks. Just ghosts.
The place sat like a scar on the side of a mountain, draped in mist and silence.
Jung Min parked at the edge of a crumbled path.
Azari got off first, clutching the relic to her chest.
"You sure he's here?" she asked.
"No."
"Great."
He handed her a talisman—simple thread-wrapped coin with a Saint glyph scratched on the surface.
"Wear it."
"Protection?"
"Distraction."
They entered quietly.
The floor of the temple crunched under ash and broken prayer tiles. Statues of saints lined the walls, heads snapped clean off.
Jung Min walked with purpose. No gun drawn. Yet.
Azari stayed close, her steps softer, smaller, careful.
Then she stopped.
"There's something watching."
"I know," Jung Min said. "There's always something watching."
The first shot came from the rafters.
Jung Min dodged left and pulled his pistol in the same motion—
Returned fire.
Glass shattered above.
A body dropped—robe, mask, rifle.
Dead before it hit the floor.
Another dropped behind him.
Not dead. Not slow.
A blade scraped the air between Jung Min's ribs.
He turned, blocked it with his forearm, felt skin tear—fired twice into the attacker's chest.
The man screamed and disintegrated.
Azari crouched low, clutching the relic. It began to hum. Quiet. Nervous.
Jung Min reloaded calmly.
"They're not Saints," he said. "They're scavengers. Choir followers."
"Cultists?"
"Worse. Fans."
They moved deeper.
The sanctuary was untouched. Stained glass still held. Candles still burned.
And at the far end, standing before the altar—
Father Jang Seok Jin.
He looked older. Paler. His robes were clean, hands folded in front of him. But his eyes—
Empty.
Like something inside him was humming the same song the relic feared.
Jung Min raised his gun.
"Didn't think I'd see your coward ass again."
Seok Jin smiled gently.
"Nor I yours. I thought you'd be dead by now, Jung Min. You always had a talent for pissing off the divine."
"You joined the Choir."
"I listened. For the first time in years, I stopped pretending God was silent. And I heard the truth."
Azari stepped forward.
"What did He say?"
Seok Jin looked at her. Really looked.
And whispered:
"He didn't say anything. He screamed."
Jung Min fired.
Once.
Twice.
Seok Jin deflected both shots with the sleeve of his robe—light curved around him like glass.
"Still trying to kill your past?" he said softly.
"No," Jung Min replied.
"I'm here to correct it."
Seok Jin lifted both hands.
The temple shook.
Choir symbols burned into the walls.
Azari clutched the relic as it pulsed wildly—responding to the noise that wasn't noise.
A low harmony rose from Seok Jin's chest. Voices layered beneath his breath.
Jung Min raised both pistols, teeth clenched.
The Mercy Mistake wasn't going to walk away this time.
He aimed between the eyes.
And whispered:
"Final sermon, old man."
End of Chapter 2 – Volume 2