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Four years. It had been four years since Commissar General Steve had last met Mologomus in combat. Since that day, Steve had fought a guerilla war to free his people from the predications of Chaos and the Warp. Much had happened in those four years. Hephaestus Hive had fallen to the Gospel of Hate Chaos Space Marine chapter, it was said that the Dark Eldar had been seen picking off survivors from the frequent battles across Prometheus' surface, and to make matters worse, a large Ork "fleet" had been spotted landing on the Gorgon Moon. Finally, and perhaps most troubling, the ancient webway gates on the Triton Moon had been reactivated, and Eldar calling themselves the Mael-Dannan had gone out of their way to hamper the advance of the Gospel of Hate chapter. What this meant for the rest of Prometheus was yet unclear. Regardless, Steve knew it was time to take his world, and his vengeance, back from Mologomus, the so-called Pilgrim of Hate. Steve gazed out at his makeshift base. Once, it was a starport, but know it was a bombed out ruin, with debris strewn out across the land. Here, the last hope for Prometheus was being built. Der Gesichtsschlag des Kaisers, the Face Punch of the Emperor. The massive battle fortress was over a mile long, and was nearly as wide, dozens of vulcan pattern mega-bolters festooned it's surface. A massive cannon fired shells normally reserved for orbital bombardment. In short, it was unstoppable. It was days away from completion, having been in production for nearly a century. Within the week, Steve planned to sally forth from his base, and assail Hephaestus Hive himself. It would be glorious. Steve's thoughts were interrupted as he heard a rather loud crash. Turning towards the source, he saw Stansfield trip and fall into a trench, climb his way out, then knock over a rack of rifles, causing the quartermaster to swear like a lunatic. "Oh, Mister Commissar! Mister Commissar Sir!" babbled Stansfield. "WHAT IS IT STANSFIELD?! IS THE GOSPEL OF HATE ON THE MOVE AGAIN!?" replied/yelled Steve. "Oh, not really Mister Commissar, sir. Just that... Gee, I can't remember what I was going to say! That's just the darnedest thing, I know it was really important. Golly, I hate when that happens! Oh, right! I was going to offer you a stick of gum! No, wait, that's not it! Gee, it's kinda fun trying to guess what it was, donchta think Mister Commissar? I mean, it's kinda exit-" "STANSFIELD! IF YOU SAY ANOTHER WORD THAT DOES NOT HELP ME RETAKE THIS PLANET I WILL PULL OUT YOUR SPINE AN STRANGLE YOU WITH IT!!!" screamed Steve. "Oh wait, now I remember! Some guy from the Inquismishun or something is here to see you."

The Lord Inquisitor was dressed as if a blind and deranged homosexual giant had designed his clothing. Frills and lace were prominent, as was a powdered wig and make-up that made him look ridiculously pale. He was also incredibly fat, his weight suggesting that instead of turning in heretics he caught, he would eat them instead. His expression was unbearably pompous, making Steve want to shatter something important something on his face. He flanked by two Acolytes, whose expressions indicated that they would much rather be burned as a heretic than work with the Lord Inquisitor. His ship was docked on the other side of the cliff face, hidden from view. "So, this is the miserable rock that the High Lords insisted was worth my time. What a worthless dustball, Mercucio, take a note. I Lord Inquisitor Jacque, do declare, that this world is not worth my time. Also, I should get a raise. I also declare that Lord Zerbe is a motherless bastard who delights in wasting my precious time with assignments like this." Mercucio reached for his pen, but only pretended to write down what Jacque said, rolling his eyes the whole time. "ARE YOU FINISHED INSULTING MY BIRTH WORLD, OR ARE YOU GOING TO EXPLAIN YOUR PRESENCE HERE?!" Steve bellowed. "Hmm? Oh, a baseborn cur I see, I have already come to my decision. This planet is definitely not worth my time, so I think an Exterminatus is in order. Good day." As the Lord Inquisitor turned to leave, powerful hands grabbed him from behind. Steve's fist was a blur, smashing bone and pulverizing Jacques' face. "HOW DARE YOU!!! YOU WRITE OF MY PLANET SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU THINK IT IS BENEATH YOUR NOTICE!? I'VE ALSO MADE MY DECISION YOU FAT BASTARD!!!" Lifting the fat inquisitor up by his frilly neck piece, Steve hurled Jacques over the side of the cliff. Rounding on the Acolytes, Steve readied himself to fight, but they stood motionless, looking over the side of the cliff. They exchanged quick glances with each other, and then looked at Steve. "Not a word" they both said in unison.

Der Gesichtsschlag des Kaisers was complete. The massive tank was magnificent, it's weapons raised in defiance towards the direction of Hephaestus Hive. The Promethean 653rd standing in neat columns, prepared to fight to the last to retake their home. It was time for the Last March.

Archon K'lltan of the Flesh Hunter Kabal watched the advancement of the Promethean defenders. The most massive tank he had ever seen rolled along on huge treads across the Sea of Perdition. The dessert was so called for it's intense heat, that caused the earth in some places to turn to lava. K'lltan's force was not large enough to attack the army outright, but if he planned his maneuvers correctly, he may be able to capture enough stranglers to make tribute to Commorragh. Turning to the haemonculus at his side, Archon K'lltan gave the order to attack.

The hellions came at the rear with inhuman speed, killing several in the first battle. Those caught unaware by the attack were scooped up by the hellions and spirited away back to the single webway portal on the surface of Prometheus near the Sea of Perdition. The reavers came next. The jetbikes screamed over the Sea of Perdition, firing from their pintle mounted shard cannons, firing to disable, not to kill. Mandrakes laughed murderously as they cut wrists and slashed ankles. FInally came Archon K'lltan, flanked by his Incubi and the haemonculus. Insane laughter and the screams of the injured reigned supreme on the molten plain. This was what he lived for, the pain, the screams. He would make Asdrubael Vect very happy when he returned to Commorragh. His next thought was interrupted by the massive shadow that passed over him.

Commissar Steve landed on top of the Archon, knocking him the ground and driving the air from his lungs. Hoisting the fallen Dark Eldar, he swung him round like an ancient flail, killing his retinue of Incubi with the Archon's body. Finally dropping the broken and bloody Xenos, Steve yanked off his helmet, revealing a pale bloody face, with a mouth of sharpened teeth. "I SEE YOU LIKE TO COLLECT FACES!!!" Steve shouted, "ALLOW ME TO COLLECT YOURS!!!" Archon K'lltan screamed for mercy, but Steve was deaf to such pleas. Gripping the flesh behind the Archon's ears, Steve pulled. K'lltan's face peeled away with a sickening rip, revealing a red ruin of bone and muscle. Showing the Dark Eldar his own face, K'lltan shrieked in horror and pain then fainted away. Grabbing the nearest hellion by the head, Steve swung him in a circle, gaining momentum with every pass, then released his captive. The hellion spun out of control, colliding with the rest o his squadron, killing all in the explosion and showering bits of metal and gore into a mandrake squad, killing even more with jagged bits of bone. Somewhere, a retreat was sounded, and the Flesh Hunter Kabal retreated to the webway. The Prometheans took pot shots at the retreating Dark Eldar, killing most of the raiding party, leaving only the haemonculus and a few hellions to escape through the webway.

Archon K'lltan clung to life with a tenacity that had served him well in the past. He lay where he had crawled, back to the webway, trying to reach it before he fainted again. He had caught fire once when he had rolled into a small pool of lava, he wore these scars now. His face was now encrusted with soot and small stones, causing no small amount of agony. Seeing a shape step out of the webway, he called out for help, but the figure was already walking towards him. It was the haemonculus. "Gh'llion! Save me! I will give you any number of slaves that you wish!" The haemonculus simply cocked his head and smiled, revealing sharpened teeth. "I've never had the privilege of plying my trade on an Archon."

The Promethean 653rd had reached the outskirts of Hephaestus Hive, their guns pointed defiantly at the Chaos icons that now adorned the once proud forge city. The time had come. "MEN OF PROMETHEUS! THEY TOOK YOUR LAND, YOUR LIVES, AND YOUR HOMES! BUT THEY DID NOT TAKE YOUR TEETH! KILL ALL IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR AND PROMETHEUS!"
Continued in The Return Of The Commissar.