The Dark Blade: Return Of The General.

Chapter 19: Sixty Seconds

Sixty seconds.

Jacob's mind processed the situation with cold military precision. Twelve hostages spread across three rooms according to the mansion's layout he had memorized. Electronic beeping coming from multiple locations meant bombs in different sections. No time to disarm them. Only one option: evacuate everyone before detonation.

Fifty-nine seconds.

Jacob exploded into motion. His hands became a blur as he pulled out a hidden knife and began cutting through zip ties with savage efficiency. Marcus first—the man could walk on his own despite his injuries. "Get up! Move toward the front door! Now!"

Fifty-eight seconds.

Marcus stumbled to his feet, confused and disoriented. Jacob did not wait for him to process what was happening. He moved to Elizabeth next, slicing through her bonds. "Take your daughter and run! Straight out the front entrance!"

Fifty-seven seconds.

"What about you?" Elizabeth gasped, but Jacob was already moving to the next hostage, then the next, his blade cutting through plastic restraints faster than thought.

Fifty-five seconds.

Six hostages freed in the main hall. Jacob pointed them all toward the exit. "Run! Do not look back! Just run!" They fled in a stumbling, terrified group toward the front doors.

Fifty seconds.

Jacob sprinted toward the west wing where he remembered seeing additional family members during his first visit. The beeping grew louder here—multiple devices hidden behind walls and furniture. His combat-trained mind automatically calculated blast patterns and collapse zones. This entire section would come down first.

Forty-eight seconds.

Three more hostages in the west sitting room, bound to chairs. Jacob's knife flashed three times, and they were free. "East exit! Through the kitchen! Move!" He physically pushed them toward safety when they hesitated, his strength overriding their fear-paralysis.

Forty-five seconds.

The sound of breaking glass came from the opposite side of the mansion. Roseline and Anna had breached their entry points. Jacob heard Roseline's voice shouting commands, heard people crying in relief and terror.

Forty seconds.

Jacob ran toward the basement stairs. According to the mansion layout, there were servant quarters below ground level. If anyone was trapped down there, they had the least chance of escaping the blast.

Thirty-eight seconds.

He descended the stairs three at a time, his enhanced reflexes allowing him to navigate in near darkness. The beeping echoed strangely in the confined space, creating the auditory illusion of bombs everywhere.

Thirty-five seconds.

A woman's body lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. Jacob recognized her from the marriage ceremony—Anna's aunt on her mother's side, the one who had looked at Anna with something approaching kindness. Blood matted her gray hair where she had been struck from behind.

Thirty-two seconds.

Jacob checked her pulse. Still alive, but unconscious. He threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and bounded back up the stairs, taking them two at a time despite the added weight.

Thirty seconds.

Anna appeared at the top of the stairs, her face streaked with soot and tears. "Jacob! Everyone from the east wing is out! Where else—"

"Check the second floor!" Jacob ordered, pushing past her with his burden. "Small bedroom at the end of the hall! Go!"

Twenty-eight seconds.

Jacob ran through the main hall, the unconscious woman bouncing on his shoulder. Through the windows, he could see Roseline herding freed hostages away from the building, establishing a safe perimeter.

Twenty-five seconds.

The front door seemed impossibly far away. Jacob's enhanced speed made the distance manageable, but the countdown in his head screamed that time was running out.

Twenty seconds.

He burst through the front entrance, sprinting across the lawn and depositing Anna's aunt with the other survivors. Roseline immediately began checking her for injuries.

"Where is Anna?" Jacob demanded.

"Still inside! Second floor!" Roseline pointed.

Eighteen seconds.

Jacob turned and ran back toward the mansion. Several hostages grabbed at him, trying to stop him, but he shrugged them off without slowing.

Fifteen seconds.

He took the grand staircase in leaping bounds, his heart hammering not from exertion but from fear. Anna was still inside. If anything happened to her—

Twelve seconds.

Anna emerged from a bedroom carrying a small child in her arms. A boy, maybe seven years old—Anna's cousin from what Jacob remembered. The child clung to Anna's neck, sobbing hysterically.

"Everyone else is out!" Anna shouted over the increasingly loud beeping. "Just us!"

Ten seconds.

They ran together toward the stairs. Jacob grabbed Anna's free hand, pulling her faster than she could move on her own. The child wailed in terror as they descended.

Eight seconds.

They reached the ground floor. The front door stood open, showing the dark lawn beyond. Freedom was thirty feet away.

Seven seconds.

But the child went rigid in Anna's arms, paralyzed by fear. His weight became dead weight, dragging Anna down.

Six seconds.

Jacob made his decision in a heartbeat. He swept both Anna and the child into his arms, his enhanced strength allowing him to carry them both. He sprinted toward the door with everything he had.

Five seconds.

They burst through the entrance. The lawn stretched before them. Too far. Not enough time to reach the safe perimeter.

Four seconds.

Jacob's eyes locked on a window to his left—already broken from earlier damage. He adjusted his trajectory mid-stride.

Three seconds.

He leaped through the window frame, twisting in mid-air to shield both Anna and the child with his body. Glass shattered around them as they flew through open air.

Two seconds.

The ground rushed up to meet them. Jacob curled around his precious cargo, preparing for impact.

One second.

They hit the lawn hard enough to drive the breath from Jacob's lungs. He rolled with the momentum, absorbing the force across his back and shoulders while keeping Anna and the child protected against his chest.

Zero.

The explosion was biblical.

Fire and thunder erupted from every window simultaneously as dozens of charges detonated in perfect synchronization. The mansion seemed to lift off its foundation before collapsing inward on itself. Walls buckled and shattered. The roof caved in with a roar like an angry god. Windows exploded outward in showers of deadly glass.

The shockwave rolled over them like a physical thing, hot and violent. Jacob pressed himself flat against the ground, covering Anna and the sobbing child completely with his body. Debris rained down around them—chunks of marble, pieces of furniture, fragments of a family's history reduced to burning wreckage.

Then, slowly, the chaos subsided. The roaring flames settled into a steady crackle. The screaming stopped, replaced by shocked silence.

Jacob lifted his head cautiously. Where the magnificent Tate mansion had stood for three generations, only a burning skeleton remained. Flames consumed everything, sending thick black smoke into the night sky.

The Tate family stood in a cluster on the far lawn, staring at the ruins of their ancestral home with expressions of disbelief and grief. Everything they had built, everything they had inherited, reduced to ashes in sixty seconds.

Anna scrambled out from under Jacob, still clutching the child who had finally stopped screaming. "Jacob! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Jacob pushed himself to his feet, taking inventory of his injuries. Burns on his arms from debris. Cuts from flying glass. Bruised ribs from the landing. Nothing serious. Nothing that would stop him.

"I am fine," he said, though his voice was rough from smoke inhalation.

Anna handed the child to his mother, who appeared from the crowd sobbing with relief. Then she turned back to Jacob, and her expression made his heart clench with concern.

"Jacob, your hand," she said quietly.

He looked down. His right hand was badly burned, the skin blistered and raw. But clenched in his fist was something he did not remember grabbing—a folded piece of paper.

Jacob opened his hand with a wince of pain. The paper fell open, revealing words written in elegant script that he recognized immediately as Elijah's handwriting.

Anna read over his shoulder, her voice barely audible above the crackling flames.

"Anna's blood is the key. The ritual begins tomorrow at dawn. Come to where it all started, brother. Let us finish what our family began."

Jacob felt Anna's hand tighten on his arm. He looked at her and was shocked to see all color had drained from her face. She swayed on her feet, and he caught her before she could fall.

"Anna? What is wrong?"

She looked up at him with eyes filled with terror and confusion. Her free hand pressed against her lower abdomen, and Jacob suddenly understood why she looked so pale.

"Jacob," Anna whispered, her voice shaking. "I am having contractions. I think... I think I am pregnant."