Days of the Dead Book 2: The Beggar's Tomb

Chapter 9: I am a very good assassin

Kit
While the monsters besiege the first floor, I go to the second. I doubt whoever I'm supposed to kill is just wandering around the first floor getting involved in an obvious fight. That would be pretty stupid. It's a huge castle though. This could take all night. Good thing I'm not even getting tired yet. I could get used to this being dead thing.
I round the corner and nearly run into a boy. About my age, well I don't know old I am. Late teens. Hot, but in like, a boy next door innocent kind of way? He's all in black, which is edgy, but he's got like, the long blonde surfer curly hair thing going on? And the baby face, but like, baby face in a melt you like butter kind of way? I don't know. Just hot. That's there.
He yelps a little bit and holds a book in front of himself, stepping back. He's got a knife in one hand.
"You need to stay away," he says, very bravely considering the above sentence.
"I'm ah—kind of here to kill someone," I say, shrugging a little. I'm in my white robes, and I'm sure I look a bit like a ghost. "Don't suppose you know someone named Henry?"
"I'm Henry," he says, trembling a little, tears in his eyes, "You killed my dog."
"Oh, well, that was easy. Looks like I'm supposed to kill you then," I say, drawing my sword.
"If you do, you must swear not to harm my family," he says, voice shaking.
"Oh for sure, for sure. I'm literally just here to kill Henry I really didn't even get told why. Total disclosure, I got cursed. It's a long story, do you want to like—what are you doing?" I ask, hand on hip.
He's kneeling and crying a little, holding the book and whispering.
"I'm praying—No weapon forged against you will prevail,
and you will refute every tongue that accuses you.
This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord,
and this is their vindication from me," he whispers, fervently, tears welling in his big brown eyes.
"Oh, okay. I'm just going to like, cut your throat? I think that'll be quick I was going to bash your head in, but you're kind of pretty, I'd hate to mess that up," I say, coming over.
"But you, Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, the One who lifts my head high," he whispers, voice shaking.
"That's it? You don't want to fight me or anything? You're going to just kneel there shaking?" I offer, again he's kind of pretty, "That's really how you want to die? I mean, we've got a minute. You can try to fight me if you want."
He looks at me, eyes red with tears, "'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I fear no evil.' Psalms. I fear no evil. You are evil, I do not fear you. I trust in my god. 'Do you think I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than twelve legions of angels?' I choose a path of peace."
"Does this choir boy act ever work? Like, how are you not murdered every hour?" I ask, bemused.
"Well, usually something like that happens," he says.
"Like what?" I say directly before I'm thrown through a stone wall and stabbed in the back.