Once upon a time, Beck would have assumed beings capable of breathing straight flame or willing water to move with a single bat of their eyelashes were involved in witchcraft and dark forces. Some times he missed his archaic naïveness, where anything abnormal could be pinned on devil worshippers and sorcery beyond a young society's understanding. Of course, his beliefs were turned upside-down over time with not only his death, but encountering creatures such as the ragdoll cat throwing a tantrum at his border. Powers as supernatural abilities were referred to -- he supposed as a poltergeist he had powers too. Not exactly powers per say, but rather taking advantage of his paranormal existence. One of the few perks of execution and then damnation to an eternity of limbo, he supposed.

    Was it too hard to ask he get a moment of peace to himself every once in a while? Beck had been minding his own business, eavesdropping on the local frogs and cicadas in hopes of catching a snippet of gossip, and perched on a mangrove's crooked limb. After a long day's work of scratching up tree bark with encoded symbols, the mangy feline had retired to an afternoon of boredom, flexing his claws with a discontented expression. His unspoken wish for something interesting to swept him off his feet didn't go unanswered, as the exact tree he was sprawled in was engulfing in an abrupt inferno. Beck couldn't react in time, since the next moment, all heat and embers vanished, leaving a bewildered and quickly upset entity to glare down at the stranger. Dropping from his branch effortlessly yet still landing with a graceless thud, Beck ignored the scolding Belladonna and hissed out a shrill rasp, "The hell ya think you're doin', firebug? Ya could've blow up the whole swamp!" It didn't take a genius to understand that the boggy fumes throughout their territory was certainly flammable, and one stray spark could end up nuking Tanglewood for a second time, without the lasting effect of radiation. Muddied hackles standing on end between his bony shoulder blades, Beck snarled towards Bakugou, lantern-likes eyes skimming over his injuries just like Belladonna's -- yet to assess a weak point rather than craft plans to heal. "Just who d'ya think ya are, comin' into Tanglewood, and tryin' t' start a damn forest fire, huh?" Needless to say, the commander wanted answers, and he wanted them now.