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The Voice spoke to him. "Your task is not finished my son. You still have a part to play, a task to complete. I will not let you die with your duty unfulfilled. Be healed." Commissar General Steve opened his eyes. He was in a cramped, but rather cushioned stone box of some kind. He could hear chanting outside, sobbing too. He heard a voice performing a eulogy in Promethean: "Mai der Kaiser schützt die Seele des Kommissar-Generals Steves, Krieger des Imperiums und Prometheus. Sein Zorn schüttelte die Erde, seine Klinge-Gewürznelke die Schädel von Dämonen, seine Befehle gefolgt zum Brief ... oder. Heute legen wir seinen sterblichen Behälter in den Boden seines birthword. Der Kaiser Schützt." Steve felt himself being lowered into the ground. He must be inside his casket. Steve thought something ought to be done about this.

Stansfield blew his nose for the hundredth time, sobbing like a lunatic. Crunchy the Ogryn wailed like a baby, and Captain Desetch allowed a single, many tear to run down his cheek. It was a day of mourning. The day before, Commissar Steve had been killed by the traitor Mologomus, after Steve had severed his right arm. No sign of the traitor was to be found, but Steve was found in a pool of his own blood, a hell-forged blade hilt deep in his chest. Before the Chaos filth could hang his corpse upon a banner as a grisly trophy, Stansfield and Desetch had carried their commander's body back to the bombed out shell of an Imperial Cathedral. There, they laid him within a stone casket, and gathered the troops for a funeral the following morning. Now, they sat, watching as their leader's worldly remains were lowered into the earth by two severe looking preachers. Suddenly, one of the preachers gave a yelp as a gloved fist rocketed out of the casket, showering the congregation with stone fragments. The hand was followed by an arm, that grasped the lid of the casket, and pried it open. Commissar General Steve climbed his way out of the stone tomb and raised a single hand, and outstretched his right index finger, pointing at the congregation. "WHY THE HELL ARE YOU NOT FIGHTING?!!? I DO NOT SEE MOLOGOMUS' HEAD ON A PIKE, NEITHER DO I SEE THE PROMETHEAN BANNER FLYING FROM THE COMMISSARIAT TOWER!!! WHY IS EVERYONE LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!!!???" A shocked silence followed. Finally, Stansfield squealed with happiness at seeing his favorite commissar again. "Oh Mister Commissar you're not dead! Yay! This means we don't have to choose a new commissar!" At the mention of no longer having the need to select a new commissar, Crunchy sadly removed the commissar cap from his massive, gray head. "I sure did miss you! I even wrote a poem about it! Wanna here it? Yay! 'Once there was a commissar named Steve, he was the best commissar in the whole entire Imperium. He-" Stansfield was cut off by a motion from Desetch, who then knelt at the feet of Commissar Steve. "Hail Steve, Living Saint of the Emperor!"

It was time for the second assault on the Commissariat Tower. The newly ordained Saint stood at the forefront of the charging Promethean army, Motivatus held proudly in his manly hands.
This time, he would not fail. This time, Mologomus would die. Punching back shells fired from a tainted Rhino, Steve rolled under it's treads and lifted the massive machine off the ground. Summoning his massive strength, Steve hurled the tank at a squad of advancing plague marines, splattering their fetid organs across the steps of the Commissariat Tower. A terminator came at him with a lightning claw, his attack missing by a hairsbreadth, Steve grabbed the traitors' arm and tore it free in a gory fountain. Then, he drove the crackling blades of the lightning claw into the terminator's armored head. Lifting the corpse, he used it as a flail to clear away a group of warp touched mutants, before hurling it at a twist hulk, smashing it's deformed face. "MOLOGOMUS!!! SHOW YOUR FACE SO THAT I MAY REDUCE IT TO SO MUCH BUTCHERED MEAT WITH MY FISTS!!! LET THE EMPEROR KNOW HIS OWN!!!" In response, a dark shape, wholly inhumane stalked out of the Commissariat Tower. It's flesh was a bloody red, dark horns spiraled from it's skull, and great black wings curled from it's back, like a grim parody of an angel. In it's hand, it carried a huge, flaming blade of hell-forged steel. It stood over twenty feet tall, and reeked of a slaughterhouse. The Mark of Tzeentch displayed upon it's forehead. "I am Mologomus, the Pilgrim of Hate, the foremost marquis of the Changer of Ways! Hear my name and tremble! Your end is at hand!" The daemon-thing said as he charged. Steve raised Motivatus and met the daemon prince in combat. The two swords met in midair, showering both combatants with sparks. With elaborate parries and feints, the two foes shook the Hive with their maneuvers. Finding an opening, Steve thrust Motivatus into the twisted flesh of Mologomus' left leg, smaller daemons crawled their way out of the wound, each gibbering madly, their spindly fingers working spells of the darkest sort. Leaping up upon the daemon-things back, Steve gripped his horns and pulled with all his might. With a splintering crack, the horns were torn away from the monstrous skull, causing gouts of blue and gold ichor to gout from the wounds. Then with deft motions, Steve jabbed the broken horns into the Pilgrim of Hate's eyes, blinding the daemon. Letting out a howling shriek, it staggered back and flailed wildly at his back, trying to dislodge Steve from his perch. Raising his fist, Steve rained blow after blow upon the prince's scaly carapace, spraying blue and gold "blood" into the air. Drawing his stormbolter, Steve emptied both clips into the ragged hole he had created with his fists. The prince howled as explosive rounds punctured his skull.

Mologomus toppled to the ground, his unholy body consumed by daemonic fire. There, in the scorched earth, lay a man, naked as the day he was born. Mologomus tried to stand, but a fist smashed across his face, tearing his jaw free, and sending it flying away in a crimson arch. The gods had abandoned him! He was mortal! Blow after blow rained upon the Pilgrim of Hate, shattering bones he never knew he had. He tried desperately to crawl away, but firm hands dragged him back. Commissar Steve roared as he collapsed his chest with a steel soled jackboot. He tried to breath, but a rib pierced his lungs, drowning in his own blood, the man who fancied himself a god began to die. Reaching down, Commissar Steve grabbed an exposed rib and pulled his ribcage open, revealing his innards. Yanking out Mologomus' intestines, he formed a noose from them, and lashed it around the former prince's throat. Lifting him aloft, Mologomus felt his own entrails gripping his windpipe in a deadly embrace. He began to suffocate. By the gods, it hurt! "NO, STRANGLING IS TOO GOOD FOR YOU!!!" Steve shouted. Jamming his thumbs into the Pilgrim of Hate's eyes, he pressed, and his eyes popped like grapes. Slamming him to the ground, Steve began to drag him up the Commissariat steps, trailing a smear of blood behind him. Then, when he reached the top, he dragged the Pilgrim back down, running at full speed. It was to much for the traitor, as his skull fractured on the seventy-eighth step, spilling gray matter over the Commissariat Tower steps. As life left him, Mologomus heard two things: first Steve, "PITY, I WAS NOT FINISHED WITH HIM YET!!!" the second, a mocking laugh, and the phrase, "Just as planned."

Hephaestus Hive belonged to the Promethean's once again. Chaos had been crushed, and the Mael-Dannan had disappeared through their webway, never to be seen again. In the aftermath, thousands had been burned for heresy, sparing Prometheus further trouble with remaining Chaos cults. Victory was declared, and the Cleansing of Prometheus was at an end.
The day had been saved, thanks to Commissar Steve.

The day had been saved thanks to commissar Steve, not the day had been save. It was great all in all, i really loved the series, are you going to write more about commissar Steve, or was this the last one.

No, this just the begininng... also I spelled begining wrong... twice...