Four of the men each grabbed a limb and forced Eliot flat on his back. They held him down as the one with the knife stood above him. He glared down at Eliot, twirled the knife, and prepared to plunge it into the man's chest in a death blow.
~
Meanwhile, Crys had pulled up in front of the apartment complex and was trying to find his way to the right door. He did not like apartment complexes. They always confused him even when they were neatly laid out with a number on each door. Finally, though, he found the right wing and headed down the hallway, whistling happily.
The whistling died on his lips when he saw the front door open barely an inch. An open front door was never good unless someone was walking through it or sweeping. Neither seemed to be happening. The happy face lost its smile, and his eyes narrowed. Something was up. He heard movement, grunts, the sounds of thuds. He ran forward and peered through the cracked door.
He burst inside just as the man was about to stab Eliot. The knife came down anyway but crooked. It missed Eliot's heart and drove into his chest. It hadn't hit anything vital, but he was bleeding badly. Crys ran forward, taking advantage of the shock, and kicked. His foot his the man's head and knocked him sprawling. The other four let go of Eliot's limbs and attacked. Crys moved fast, nothing more than a blur as he calmly and efficiantly dealt with each man.
Realizing they were up against a master fighter, the men bolted, dashing out the door while they could. Crys tore off his shirt and dropped by Eliot. He pulled a phone out of his pocket with one hand as the other pressed the shirt into Eliot's bleeding chest. He called emergancy services and stayed with Eliot, holding the shirt tight.