Uriel Zander opened the door to his apartment, feeling total exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders. It had been one heck of a grueling day in court, but one that had finally begun to turn in his favor. His cross-examination of the FBI's key witnesses went better than expected and, for the first time since the trial started, he felt a glimmer of hope. This small victory had not come cheap: his mind was fuzzy, his body screaming from the trial's unremitting tension. Flicking his keys onto the counter as he came in, he was ready to kick back and get his head together psychologically for the next day.

Something felt out of kilter.

The air was thick in the apartment, cauterized with energy he couldn't quite put his finger on. Uriel's instincts clicked, and he glared fleetingly around the room as he froze. For one brief moment it was subtle, but then he noticed it-the door to his bedroom, always kept shut, was open. Wide open.

His pulse quickened. He hadn't left it that way.

The tension in the air snapped like a rubber band, and before Uriel could react, three men sprang from the shadow. Wearing black masks over their faces, they moved fleetingly and with a sense of purpose. One attacked him, and barely did Uriel have time to move backward before the first blow landed.

The first man swung a large fist at Uriel's head; he managed to duck in just enough time, his mind still lagging behind the sudden violent chaos erupting around him. He had no weapons, no means of defense other than what he could improvise at the moment. He reached for the lamp on his nearby table and swung it at the attacker's head, shattering it against the man's skull.

The attacker tumbled, dazed but not down.

Uriel's adrenaline surged as the second man charged toward him, a glint of steel in his hand-a knife. Uriel threw himself backward, narrowly avoiding the blade, but his balance faltered and he crashed into a chair, knocking it over.

The third man stayed back, watching the fight unfold, waiting for his moment.

Uriel heaved the overturned chair at the knife-wielding attacker, catching him in the ribs. The man grunted, his falling back, loosening his grip on the knife enough that it dropped to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, Uriel grasped the knife from the ground and whirled to face his enemies.

But he was too slow. The first man regained his bearings and tackled Uriel to the ground. They crashed into the kitchen counter, Uriel's head smashing against the sharp edge. Stars exploded in his vision, but he refused to let go of the knife.

With a snarl of desperation, Uriel drove the blade into the man's side, twisting hard. The man gasped, eyes wide with shock as blood spilled from the wound. Uriel shoved him off, his adrenaline overriding the pain in his head.

The first man fell, dead.

But there was no time to think. The second attacker, still clutching his ribs, dove forward again, fury in his eyes. Uriel was weakening, but he could grab a bottle from the counter and smash it over the man's head; he fell, crashing into the wall.

The third man, seeing the commotion start, made his move. He charged at Uriel with brutal force and pinned him against the wall. As his body screamed in pain, Uriel's vision became blurry from the power of the impact. A punch planted in Uriel's stomach pushed the little wind out.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

In desperation, Uriel reached out for a frying pan lying on the counter and swung it blind. The pan connected with the man's head, the sickening sound of metal against bone resounding in the apartment as he staggered, his grip loosening just enough for Uriel to break free.

Uriel kicked him in the knee and sent him to the ground. He fell on his backside, gasping for breath as he hardly could stand up, blood dripping from the gash on his head.

The second attacker, alive but badly injured, crawled to the door. The third man, seeing his partner retreat, turned tail and left the apartment as fast as he had entered.

Uriel slumped back against the wall, body shaking with exhaustion and pain. He was breathing raggedly, his body screaming protest from every muscle, and there was blood dripping to the floor from open cuts. The room spun violently around him. With shaking hands, Uriel fumbled for his phone, barely managing to hold the device as he dialed 911. His voice was hoarse, low, but he got the words out somehow.

This is Uriel Zander… I've been attacked… at my apartment… Send help."

He dropped the phone, too weak to hold it any longer, and forced himself to dial Karen's number next. His vision blurred as he listened to the phone ring, each second feeling like an eternity.

Finally, Karen's voice came through the other end, full of concern. "Uriel? What's wrong?”

They… came after me," Uriel whispered, barely audible. "Three men. They tried to kill me… I think they were trying to stop the case…"

"Oh my God," Karen breathed, in a panic. "Uriel, are you okay? Where are you? I'm coming right now."

Uriel nodded weakly, though she couldn't see him. "Hurry…”

It felt like hours, though it was only minutes, until Karen burst into the apartment, her face white with fear. She took in the scene—the shattered glass, the blood, the overturned furniture—and ran to Uriel's side.

"Oh my God, Uriel!" she exclaimed, falling onto her knees beside him. "You're bleeding everywhere…"

Uriel's eyes fluttered open and he gave her a weak smile. "Took care of… two of them."

Karen's hands shook as she pressed her phone against her ear, calling for paramedics. "They're on their way. Just stay with me, okay? Don't close your eyes."

But Uriel's vision was already fading. The adrenaline that had kept him going was siphoning away, leaving him cold and numb. He could vaguely hear the sirens of ambulances in the distance, but so far away it felt like a dream.

Karen's voice was the last thing he had heard before all went black.

The paramedics were next, bursting through the door of the apartment and stabilizing Uriel. The police were not far behind with a panoramic sweep of the crime scene, the dead man on the floor, and the blood that stained nearly every available surface.

Karen's arms wrapped tightly around herself as she watched the scene unfold outside the apartment. The paramedics laid Uriel onto a stretcher, working quickly to treat his wounds. He was alive, but barely. A detective approached Karen, his features somber. "Do you have any idea who these men were?"

Karen shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper, shaking. "No… but Uriel said something before he fainted. He said they are trying to delay the case. He thinks… it was connected with the FBI trial."

The detective narrowed his eyes. "That's a serious accusation.”

Karen swallowed hard as her mind furiously worked. "I know, but if someone's trying to interfere with the case, we need to find out who. Uriel's life depends on it.” As the paramedics maneuvered Uriel into the back of the ambulance, Karen scrambled in with him, protesting that she wasn't going to leave him. She didn't know who was behind the attack or how far they'd go to stop the trial, but one thing was crystalline in her mind: this was no longer just about winning a case.

Someone was playing for keeps.