Jagged peaks of shattered rock streaked below his view like the teeth of a great beast, as glacial rivers glinted in the pale sunlight like old battle scars. Above, the sky was torn by the howling descent of roaring jet engines. Legionnaire Khulan – Xiphon pilot – felt the interceptor’s thrumming engines in his bones. Vibrations rippled through his power armour and flight harness, until he no longer felt where his body ended, and the machine began.
Even at such breakneck speeds, his twin hearts pumped steadily — one beat behind the other. Keeping his blood rich with oxygen and reflexes sharp, whilst searching for his pursuer via the enhanced senses of his battle helm.
Gunning his Xiphon into a looming cloudbank, a rare memory surfaced, as lightning flashed across distant storm clouds. He was a boy again, standing on the windswept steppes of Chogoris, his hair whipping in the highland winds, eyes wide as a Warhawk soared. He remembered the moment it struck, taking its prey in one seamless motion, as feathers exploded like shredded parchment. His father, standing beside him, spoke softly, ‘Remember this, Khulan. One day you will soar across these plains. Your spirit, as limitless as a Warhawk’s sky.’
The memory dissolved as the present pulled him back, Khulan’s display lighting up with the red warning icon of his pursuer. The Aeldari interceptor was there, moving like a wraith through the wind’s fury, a shadow flowing against the chaotic turbulence. Its craft didn’t jerk or stutter — it bent to the winds, as if the pilot could read the air currents.
The Crimson Ghost had harried the Expeditionary forces across the Kophari System for months. The legend of its invincibility whispered over many vox-channels, instilling a creeping fear among human naval corps pilots. But now the White Scars had come to hunt this ghost.
Khulan pulled the Xiphon into a tight climb, his breathing steady as gene-forged muscles absorbed the punishing strain of G-forces that would have shattered a mortal. The cockpit brightened as his visor compensated for the approaching storm’s gloom. His pursuer vectored sharply with impossible grace, strafing a tight volley of blue pulse-lasers that narrowly missed his wingtips. The xenos ace flew with the typical arrogance of its species, having already downed Jubae’s interceptor in the surprise assault on their patrol above the planet’s highest mountains.
In return, Khulan banked hard, his craft’s wings creaking as he threw himself into a series of seemingly erratic manoeuvres, the sound of the frame straining under the extreme gravitational forces. There was a flicker in the Aeldari’s movements — an imperceptible increase in aggression. The xenos thought of him as lesser, a mortal at his limits.
The Aeldari ace closed in, cannons pulsing to strafe more las-fire across the dark clouds. Khulan sensed the alien’s anticipation in the way the craft edged nearer, its path tightening, wings brushing his exhaust trails. The Crimson Ghost believed it had its prey.
But Khulan had seen this dance before. A Warhawk did not strike without certainty, and neither would he.
Ahead, the storm churned. Khulan drove his Xiphon forward, diving headlong into the tempest. Winds screamed, lightning cracked, and the world became a flickering strobe of light and shadow. The canopy fogged as moisture from the storm clung to the glass before being burned away by engine heat. Fighting the turbulence, his Astartes senses filtered out the chaos, letting him focus on the storm’s subtle rhythms. His aircraft shuddered but held steady, swaying just enough to stay out of the xenos’ sights.
The Crimson Ghost did not hesitate, pursuing deeper into the fury. To the Aeldari, the storm — like these human intruders — was another obstacle to be brushed aside. The sleek craft darted left, then right, weaving through lightning strikes with the confidence of an apex predator.
Then they burst free, emerging into a sudden, clear expanse of azure sky. For a heartbeat, the xenos craft slowed, just enough to signal intent, dipping slightly as it angled for the kill. The message was clear: This ends now.
But the skies had their own answer.
Three pearl-white Xiphons emerged from the storm behind it, like shining tulwars cutting through dark silk. The formation tightened, bearing down on the Ghost, engines thrumming in unison.
‘Ha! You thought I was alone!’ Khulan barked, words mixed with joy and laughter. He saw it in the xenos craft’s faltering momentum, the hesitation as the Crimson Ghost realised its mistake — vectoring hard for the cloud bank as the Legion Lightnings and Jubae’s Xiphon unleashed a barrage of las-fire and missiles.
Khulan spun his Xiphon in a near-impossible turn, anticipating his brothers’ flight paths, as the sky flurried to life with crimson streaks of quad-lasers. The first strafe sheared off the Aeldari’s wing. The second ruptured its hull, sending the craft into a downward spiral.
The squadron adjusted their trajectories, encircling him, the hunt complete. Khulan felt the way his brothers’ engines harmonised with his own — a brotherhood of the storm.
‘Farewell, Ghost,’ he murmured as the Aeldari craft smashed into the jagged rocks. Khulan eased back on his throttle, the wind howling around him. His gaze swept across the azure expanse, stillness settling deep within him.
‘Well flown, brother,’ came Jubae’s voice over the comm, warmth and pride clear in its Chogorian-accented Gothic.
‘A worthy hunt,’ Khulan replied, eyes drifting back to the storm’s edge, where lightning still danced, ‘and a good deception with that false nosedive.’
‘Ha! Yes, close, but the detonation-charges made a good impression on the mountainside,’ Jubae chuckled over the vox. ‘The skies of Syberis-VII belong to mankind once more.’
Together, they ascended toward the stratosphere. Khulan glanced at the familiar glyphs etched into his canopy. They spoke of honour, the eternal chase, and the joy of the hunt. There would always be another hunt — another challenge. And he would be there to answer it.
For they were White Scars. And like the Warhawk in the endless sky, their soaring spirits knew no limits.
