Damnation to the eternal afterlife was boring. That much Beck could preach with confidence. Everything else about his and other lowly spirits' existence? Unexplainable. Stories could be passed from mouth to mouth to try and give context to hauntings, investigators and researchers chalk-full of dramatized theories could try to interrogate the entities on the wrong side of the veil, books and movies could be written or filmed. But there was no string of words that could explain the supernatural for certain. Beck was an oddity compared to his fellow ghosts, as the lingering dead were dubbed so long ago. Too much energy. Too violent. Other spirits feared his presence, knowing full well that the notorious poltergeist would attack without hesitation when it came to defending his haunting territory. Rumors, so many rumors. Not that he minded. All the better to keep those ghastly leeches away.
Fortunately not a single phantom had dared to approach him yet; however, the peace would only last a while longer before Beck taught them whose domain they were trespassing on. He could still sense their whereabouts nearby, constantly threatening to sap away at his being. He hated it, needless to say. Not that he enjoyed being dead in every way imaginable besides buried and at peace, but other ghosts around kind of stole his limelight as walking-talking proof of the supernatural -- or he believed, at least. He also hated the horrid cawing sounding from not too far off. If only he still wore shoes, then he would promptly throw one at the raven as he drew nearer to the source, a scowl plain on his grimy features. When his glassy eyes fell upon the entangled griffin, his face contorted into one of amusement as he struggled to hold in laughter and mere seconds after, the little ghost collapsed into a bought of wheezing and giggling, the thin cacophony piercing to anyone's eardrums. After snickering for quite sometime as others arrived and assisted, he composed himself and letting out a few unintentional "pfts", he fished around inside his apparition for a moment, rasping out to Feliks from the unscathed side of his mouth, "Ya mi-ind if I help too? Ya look a l'il tied up th-here, prieten". Retrieving the first knife he brushed against the blade of and shaking off the residual ectoplasm, Beck clambered onto one of Luciferus' spiked legs, scaling the mountain of a beast without any prior hesitance before leaning out where the vines connected to a branch. After growling up at the weaker spirit that was otherwise unseen to the mortals surrounding him, he refocused and began to saw away at the main vine's fleshy surface. Once the green tendril was close to cut halfway through, Beck pulled the vine closer and attempted to nip straight through it, allowing it to hopefully loosen its and the other connecting vines' taut grip on Feliks.
[align=center]»――➤Fortunately not a single phantom had dared to approach him yet; however, the peace would only last a while longer before Beck taught them whose domain they were trespassing on. He could still sense their whereabouts nearby, constantly threatening to sap away at his being. He hated it, needless to say. Not that he enjoyed being dead in every way imaginable besides buried and at peace, but other ghosts around kind of stole his limelight as walking-talking proof of the supernatural -- or he believed, at least. He also hated the horrid cawing sounding from not too far off. If only he still wore shoes, then he would promptly throw one at the raven as he drew nearer to the source, a scowl plain on his grimy features. When his glassy eyes fell upon the entangled griffin, his face contorted into one of amusement as he struggled to hold in laughter and mere seconds after, the little ghost collapsed into a bought of wheezing and giggling, the thin cacophony piercing to anyone's eardrums. After snickering for quite sometime as others arrived and assisted, he composed himself and letting out a few unintentional "pfts", he fished around inside his apparition for a moment, rasping out to Feliks from the unscathed side of his mouth, "Ya mi-ind if I help too? Ya look a l'il tied up th-here, prieten". Retrieving the first knife he brushed against the blade of and shaking off the residual ectoplasm, Beck clambered onto one of Luciferus' spiked legs, scaling the mountain of a beast without any prior hesitance before leaning out where the vines connected to a branch. After growling up at the weaker spirit that was otherwise unseen to the mortals surrounding him, he refocused and began to saw away at the main vine's fleshy surface. Once the green tendril was close to cut halfway through, Beck pulled the vine closer and attempted to nip straight through it, allowing it to hopefully loosen its and the other connecting vines' taut grip on Feliks.