Sometimes, we all have to do jobs we don't want to. That job, however, does not always consist of jumping dimensional borders like some kind of super mexican on steroids and dishing out a blind fist of justice that no one else seems to have quite the talent for as one Skelter Helter, only survivor of the remains of a machine that could put Gurren Lagann level mechs to absolute shame. However, after doing something for some time, people tend to develop a natural proclivity for it, a natural talent to do it, even if you don't like it. And that is to say that the Shining Bladedriver was probably the best there was.... save for one other gun-toting badass who shan't be named.
In any case, Hel found himself in a special flavor of crap when his Overwatch miscalculated his dimensional coordinates while chasing down an errant Rust Demon, and had him shot at extradimensional speeds into the heart of a ship..... A ship that was underground and tunneling through dirt like some Tremor from hell..... that happened to be full of space pirates seeking to harvest the energy of the core of, well, whatever planet his forsaken Overwatch landed him on.
Now Hel was usually a pacifist when it came to mortal affairs, and at first, it seemed all was going well. The pirates seemed, instead of bothered by a random intruder barging in on their highly secret, highly illegal act, but were intrigued. More than intrigued, and for all of the processing power that went into his hyperdimensional brainspace, Hel was just a little more than naive. But so were they.
It didn't take long before one of the asshats realized that their new shipmate was sitting on theoretical technology that for all intents and purposes should have never worked, that seemed to defy the laws of the universe itself, and was probably worth trillions more than some dying planets core. Needless to say things got messy. Fast.
Just as the monolothic ship emerged from its subterrainean bed, a conical beam of pure force jettisoned from the forefront of its helm, splitting the air and discharging ionized oxygen in lightning-esque streaks around the flight path for potentially thousands of miles. From the gaping wound, Rider and steed vaulted, travelling on a highway of metagravitational influence until touching down on the endless dunes, landing(coincientally) just beside his 'brother', if the word could even apply to ageless machines. With a single moment of locked eyes, rolled on Hel's part, he knew immediately that the Overwatch had never misfired, but he had instead been called, and now he knew by who.
Dismounting charlemagne, the undying lord of swords looked out into the horizon.
"So. You called?"
He flipped a coin across the distance between them.
[OOC: Sorry for shit quality. First post in literal ages. This rust is baked on.]