Bakar Shaawa Complete Novel Oum Hairan

Description

He checked it as he walked toward the entrance of the room. There was a sturdy security door there; at a glance, you would know this wasn't just any ordinary club, because everything about the club was high-end. Seeing the message, he slipped the phone back into his trousers pocket and pushed directly into the room. Unexpectedly, the giant man who was pacing up and down over a pale young woman startled in fear, as he was already terrified. He fumbled with his trousers to cover himself, and driven by a sudden surge of fiery anger, he clenched his eyes shut and kicked straight at the man's groin. Caught completely off-guard by the sudden shift, the man had no idea his opponent was right in front of him.

He let out a terrifying scream of agony, clutching his groin with both hands. Wailing in torment, he began to blurt out: “I got out of the case, will my strength come back to me, or I will die! AK what happens What is wrong with me in life that you want to see my back, Woooooo wiiiiiiiii huhhhhhhh ahhhhhh Pain, pain, pain” He went on mixing up his words in a way I couldn't make out whose language it was. The one called AK, however, without bothering to listen to the old man's screams, turned around and left the room in a rage. He headed straight for room 117.

It was dead silent, as if there was no living soul in the place. Everywhere he passed, senior security guards snapped to attention, saluting him. He pushed through all the way to the room's parlor. A terrifying, rattling growl echoed—the kind associated with a desperate struggle for survival—before it was cut short by a wild, maniacal burst of laughter. In a booming voice, my ears began to catch these words: “Do you honestly think you hold enough weight to expose my secrets while you are under my control, REEYAH? There were thousands like you before you who tried to fight me and failed, because I, AUDU BASHASHA, do not step out unless I am fully prepared. Today, you will perish, Reeyah, after I humiliate and utterly crush your life!”

With furious strength, he began tearing at the clothes on her body. Summoning the very last ounce of strength left in her, she spat a glob of thick, black saliva straight onto his face. With a voice broken by crying until she thanked God, she said: “You fool! Ass, animal, dimwit! Do you seriously think you caught me? Know this: this time around, it is he who has caught you, he who set the trap for you, and he will definitely win this game!”

Startled for a moment, he glared at her in blind rage and snapped, "Reeyah, how many times is a man like him born?! Who is he anyway, and what does he even boast about?" She let out a laughter mixed with tears all at once, then pointed a finger straight at him, saying: “Are you terrified? Know this: a billion times over, men like him are born, and he is the one who never dies—EAGLE.”

CRASH! The sound of shattering glass echoed as it surrounded the room, the exact moment the masked man smashed his way in. Terrified and paralyzed, the man calling himself Audu Bashasha staggered backward, his eyes bulging red like a beast's. The P-cap on his head was snatched off instantly, revealing a striking face. At a single glance, you could tell this man was not from our country; his left earlobe featured a gold ring, alongside another piercing. Drawing the gun strapped to the back of his trousers, he blew the top of the man's head off. The man didn't even twitch. Without sparing a glance at the young woman, the man turned and walked out of the room, taking both of the man's phones with him, exiting through a completely different door than the one he had entered.

Slowly, he walked down the stairs with his hands buried in his trouser pockets, walking with that effortless, supreme swagger like a king. He was dressed in exquisite matching trousers and top, his face concealed behind dark sunglasses, the hood of his jacket pulled up over his head, and a facemask completing his attire. He continued his gentle descent downstairs, his body radiating a dangerously intoxicating, calming perfume.

With majestic poise, he took a seat—the regal posture of royalty—upon the Royal couch lined up in the parlor. The elite guards continued to track his every move with their eyes until he finally began operating his system. In absolute peace, he typed away on his laptop amid the cool air conditioning circulating throughout the parlor. No matter how many times they chorused, "Boss, good morning! Boss, good morning!" he didn't even grant them a glance.

It wasn't today that people started wondering whether AK was a normal human being like everyone else, or a twisted, enigmatic figure whose moves could never be predicted. He was always putting people on edge, leaving everyone clueless about his next move. What kind of heart did he possess? He literally had no fear of death. While ordinary soldiers rushed into battle wearing bulletproof vests to shield themselves from incoming rounds, AK did the exact opposite. While everyone else ran away from death, he ran straight toward it—which was why he earned the moniker: The Man Who Never Dies.

Nigerian Army Headquarters, Lagos

Right from the entrance of the headquarters, you could instantly tell something was terribly wrong, because every corner and corridor swarmed with heavily armed, battle-hardened soldiers.

Inside the massive conference hall at the headquarters, high-ranking military officers filled the room, seated row by row facing one another. Visibly enraged, Mr. President slammed his hand down on the table before him. Consumed by internal burning and utter frustration over the situation, he lifted his bloodshot, exhausted eyes and swept them across every soldier seated in the office.

"What are you all doing, practically handing your feet over to this militant boy? He has grown so bold that he now launches targeted strikes against us. It is absolute imperative that we bring an end to him this time!"

He made the statement while glaring at all the soldiers facing him. In a stern, unyielding voice, he singled out one of them and demanded: "Ajmaal, are you still holding your ground on hunting down EAGLE?" "Yes, sir," the one called Ajmaal responded, snapping a crisp salute to Mr. President.

Another soldier stood up, saluted Mr. President, and spoke in a gruff, rugged voice: "Sir, I am still baffled. The very man who trained us and eliminated countless terrorists—why on earth would he turn into a terrorist himself?"

A wicked, cold smile crossed Mr. President's face as he pinned the soldier with wild, burning eyes, growling in a harsh tone: "So you still harbor affection for Eagle, do you?" "Most certainly, sir—though not nearly as much as I love my country."

Locking eyes with him, Mr. President challenged: "If you were the one to track him down, would you be able to shoot him?" Saluting the president once more, the soldier answered in a resonant voice: "Most definitely, sir! But only if I am certain he is innocent. I give you my word on that, sir."

Furious and burning with resentment, Ajmaal sprang up and turned directly toward the soldier. "Jaheed, are you secretly siding with AK? How else could you possibly think that Eagle is innocent?"

Jaheed turned to face Ajmaal squarely, his eyes hardening before he replied: "If you hate someone, you could watch them pass through fire and still claim it's cold, or watch them walk through water and insist they kicked up dust. A man tests the heat of fire only once in his life. This soldier willingly throws himself into the fire. How can you possibly think that a man of absolute integrity, who sacrificed his life for this country with fierce passion—ABDULMALEEK KUWAIT AK—could ever be the terrorist you call him? There are valid reasons why he chose to separate himself from our ranks."

Before Ajmaal could fire back, even Mr. President felt a chill run down his spine. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the massive office, everyone lost in their own thoughts. The silence stretched for nearly forty seconds before Ajmaal muttered, "I have no doubt in my mind that you are one of his accomplices."

Jaheed opened his mouth to retort, but Mr. President slammed his fist onto the table so hard that everything on it shattered and scattered. Furious, he stormed out of the office. Seeing this, all the other soldiers stood up and cleared out. As Ajmaal reached the doorway, he flashed a cold, knowing smile.

Isah Manu Empire 🔥

A massive, ultra-luxurious architectural marvel stood as a testament to the extreme wealth of the country's elite—people who had consumed so much power they had grown arrogant. The entire structure was encased in high-grade glass panels. Despite its massive size, the compound was heavily fortified by an army of imposing guards.

Entering the sprawling parlor of the mansion, I found an elderly white-haired man pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. Likely around eighty or eighty-five years old, he was patrolling the room with frantic energy. One glance was enough to tell he was completely out of his mind with rage. With a furious roar, he clenched his fist and punched the empty air.

"Why is everyone afraid of him? Who even is he, and when was he born that he can make me run for my life?" he yelled, consumed by a burning agony deep within his chest.

Promptly, one of the elite guards stationed around the room chimed in, "Boss, just give the order and we will bring his head to you!"

His reddened eyes narrowed into blazing slits as he slowly raised his head to glare at them. He exhaled a scorching breath, pausing as if struggling to speak, before finally growling out: "EAGLE... The Falcon! He is the one I want!"

Terrified and stunned out of their minds, the guards staggered backward, their muscles trembling as they stared at their boss with looks that screamed: You've lost your mind!

(Page 3 & 4 continuation)

He had enjoyed a deep, peaceful sleep that morning, having spent the previous night working extensively on his laptop until the early hours. Even Fajr prayer was a struggle as he barely made it to the neighborhood mosque.

Slowly, he blinked open his sleepy eyes. His pristine, porcelain-white feet stepped onto the soft carpet before him. With measured grace, he rose and headed toward his luxurious bathroom. He stepped under the shower, letting the cold water wake him up, before filling a massive bathtub with warm, fragranced water. Beside the tub stood rows of drawers, a full-sized Jacuzzi, and a gleaming, pristine rectangular glass shower stall that looked untouched.

He spent a long time in the bathroom before stepping out wrapped in a chocolate-colored bathrobe of incredible softness that seemed to melt against his skin. With a mini towel in hand, he began drying his long, thick cascade of hair. His face remained locked in a tight, unyielding scowl devoid of any mercy.

With an arrogant, kingly stride, he approached his massive vanity mirror. He picked up a brand-new hair dryer, plugged it into the socket, and began drying his heavy shock of hair, which looked more like an Indian actor's. He lightly applied lotions from the neatly arranged bottles on the mirror shelf, doused himself in expensive designer sprays, and walked over to his massive wardrobe that practically spanned the entire wall.

He dressed impeccably in a black designer track suit, slipped on dark sunglasses, and pulled up his signature facemask. Grabbing only his phones, he headed out to the main parlor with the confident swagger of an alpha male. Long before he emerged, Miles and his crew had already set everything up. Hearing his footsteps—which could never be masked—they lowered their heads in unison and chorused respectfully: "Good morning, Boss!"

He paused briefly before replying with a flat, minimalist "Morning" from the corner of his lips. "So boring, Boss," one muttered.

This time, he only grunted in response, settling onto one of the plush armchairs surrounding the dining area. With effortless grace, he reached for an expensive bottle of wine marked with alcohol, poured himself a glass, and took a few sips. He nibbled slightly on some plantain chips, then stood up, grabbed the wine bottle, walked over to the parlor couch, tipped the bottle back, and finished the rest of it in one go before discarding the empty bottle.

Pulling his laptop toward him, he entered the security passcodes and began operating the device with expert precision.

Suddenly, Rooney burst into the room in a state of sheer panic, rushing straight toward their boss and slamming a system down right in front of him. Miles, Axton, Lani, and Vincent immediately recoiled, slapping their hands over their mouths in horror. Panicked, they turned their gaze toward their boss, expecting him to look at the laptop screen and lose his mind or show some sign of shock.

Outwardly, however, he didn't even shift from his relaxed posture—one leg crossed over the other, his back leaning lazily against the sofa, his head tilted slightly upward. His total indifference made it look as though he hadn't grasped the gravity of the situation at all. Yet beneath the surface, his muscles rippled with suppressed tension.

Nearly ten minutes passed before he released a sharp hiss, exhaling a hot breath as he opened his reddened eyes. The eerie, slit-like pupils of a cat flashed visibly within them.

He rose to his feet with absolute composure—not an ounce of panic on him, though his men paced the room frantically, completely losing their minds. Right in the middle of their distress, the compound gatekeeper burst into the parlor again. "Boss, we have a problem!"

AK closed his eyes tightly. In his world, the absolute most hated word in existence was the word problem. He loathed hearing it; that chapter of his life was supposed to be long behind him. He glared at the gatekeeper, clenching his fist as if ready to strike, but instead punched the empty air, venting a hot breath. Within seconds, his physical appearance shifted; his body began to tremble. Anyone looking at him could tell he was completely out of his mood, his entire frame vibrating with intense energy.

He snatched a cigarette from the pack lined up before him. Vincent instantly rushed forward with a lighter, setting it ablaze. AK inhaled furiously, filling the parlor with a thick cloud of smoke in seconds. After about five deep drags, his racing heart finally settled slightly. In a gravelly, husky voice, he commanded: "Send out the direct order! Vincent, make sure we secure visas from now until evening." "Done, Boss!" they chorused in unison, hurrying out of the parlor.

With immense effort, AK pulled himself up and headed toward his bedroom. Sitting down on the edge of his luxurious bed, he rested his head in his hands. Anyone looking at him would assume he had a splitting headache, but that wasn't it at all. His mind was simply racing with the sudden influx of morning events.

He was no stranger to life's challenges and hurdles—he had basically lived through them. But today's curveballs burned his soul more than usual because they had caught him entirely unawares. It meant he had to tighten his security tenfold and prepare for battle if he wanted things to run smoothly without a hitch.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the center table, bypassed the nearby cup, popped the cap off, and began chugging it straight. Emptying the bottle in one go, he hurled it across the room. He released another scorching sigh and plunged his mind back into deep calculation.

Suddenly springing up like a man possessed, he strode over to a massive glass wall etched with a giant image of a lion. He pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner embedded in the glass. With a soft whoosh, a high-tech ultra-door slid open.

Inside the room sat rows of advanced computers lining every corner, resting on a sleek long table, alongside a MacBook set up on an oversized, plush chair. Hurrying over, he grabbed the MacBook and began working with absolute mastery and innate technological genius. After about forty minutes of rapid typing and clicking, he let out a profound sigh of relief, stood up, and left the research-grade room.

Stepping out, he pulled out his iPhone XR and dialed Vincent's number. The call connected instantly from the other end. "Boss?" "Get ready to go out on operations!"

With his signature swagger, he stripped off his white Moroccan men's wear and rapidly dressed himself in straight-leg trim trousers paired with a black Versace Greco hoodie. His feet were fitted into premium black Hermes cover shoes, his hands gloved in sleek tactical hand gloves, and his face concealed behind a jet-black facemask beneath his dark sunglasses.

When he stepped out into the compound, his elite crew were already fully geared up, mounted atop roaring, sleek black vehicles. The moment they spotted him, they erupted into wild cheers: "BOSS! BOSS!! BOSS!!!"

With fluid agility, Miles leaped down, moving to open the car door for their boss. However, AK raised a gloved hand, signaling toward the power bike ride instead. Miles saluted and retreated back into the vehicle. With a smooth, practiced stride, AK walked up to the power bike, threw his leg over it in one fluid motion, and turned the ignition key.

The machine roared to life with a ferocious growl. Positioned at the front, he steadied the bike, raised his hand with effortless arrogance, and flicked his pinky finger in a specific signal only his men understood. Recognizing the command instantly, he twisted the throttle, and the bike rocketed out of the compound in a blinding streak of speed. The convoy of cars roared right behind him, tearing down the street like racers in a Grand Prix. The only sound left behind was the deafening roar of their engines.

Terrified motorists instantly veered off the road to clear the path, recognizing immediately that this was no ordinary joyride—this was high-speed danger.

Heading straight for Lekki, they barreled into an outrageously massive luxury estate. The estate's private security guards immediately scrambled to lower the security gates, but AK didn't slow down. He smoothly dismounted from the moving power bike while drawing two Beretta M9 pistols. Landing in a crouch, he began advancing like an enraged lion, pulling the triggers with breathtaking precision.

Inside the sprawling, madhouse of a parlor, Governor Ibrahim Khaleel Nasara leaped like a cat onto an oversized sofa, shaking violently, while Minister Zubairu Tambuwal completely lost his composure and dropped straight to his knees on the floor.

Back in the compound, the estate's security guards desperately tried to mount a defense, but AK was an unstoppable force. He cut down every single guard blocking his path through every corridor until he breached the minister's grand parlor. Face masked in cold menace, he towered over both trembling politicians, delivering the message they deserved.

As soon as they fled the neighborhood in blind terror, heavy military forces and security backup finally arrived. Enraged by the escape, the security forces gave chase. A fierce firefight erupted between the militants and state forces. Just as the troops closed in, AK's crew deployed a dense smokescreen, vanishing down the road like flashes of lightning before the authorities could pin them down.

Furious beyond measure, Ajmaal slammed on his brakes, letting out a harsh hiss as he bit down on his lip. Boiling with rage, the rest of the security operatives threw their hands up in frustration, burning with bitter resentment. "AK!"

Ajmaal dragged in a scorching breath, threw his car into reverse, and tore off at 370 speed.

2. Summary

The excerpt follows Abdulmaleek Kuwait (AK), widely known by his tactical moniker Eagle, a former elite military trainer turned formidable militant leader operating outside the conventional boundaries of the law.

• The Brutal Extraction & Execution: The narrative opens with AK infiltrating a high-end club in pursuit of targets. He discovers a terrified old man (Audu Bashasha) torturing a young woman named Reeyah. After Audu panics and attacks, AK effortlessly neutralizes him, executing him on the spot. He rescues Reeyah (who defiantly mocks her captor, invoking "Eagle" as an unstoppable force), confiscates Audu's phones, and departs unseen.
• AK's Persona and Headquarters: Back at his fortress-like compound, AK exudes regal, cold confidence. Surrounded by fiercely loyal elite subordinates (Miles, Vincent, Rooney, etc.), he is depicted as an enigmatic, fearless anomaly—a man who runs toward gunfire while others wear bulletproof vests, earning him the title "The Man Who Never Dies."
• Military Panic & Political Corruption: At the Nigerian Army Headquarters in Lagos, a furious President berates high-ranking officers for failing to stop Eagle. While officers like Ajmaal are blinded by hatred and bent on killing AK, others like Jaheed suspect that AK's rebellion stems from deep-rooted integrity and a system too corrupt to see the truth.
• The Lekki Raid: Following urgent operational demands, AK and his crew execute a brazen, lightning-fast raid on the luxury estate of Governor Ibrahim Khaleel Nasara and Minister Zubairu Tambuwal. Despite a massive security response and firefight, AK and his men effortlessly slip through a smoke-screened escape, leaving Ajmaal and state forces fuming in defeat.

3. Description

• Setting: Urban Nigeria, shifting between a high-end clandestine club, an ultra-luxurious militant fortress in Lagos, the sterile and tense Nigerian Army Headquarters, and a high-security luxury estate in Lekki.
• Tone: High-octane, gritty, suspenseful, action-packed, and dramatic, blending military-style tactical warfare with underworld crime fiction tropes.
• Core Motif: The duality of justice versus systemic corruption, centered around a legendary, untouchable anti-hero who operates above the law.

4. Analytics