[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/O34hemi.png[/img]
[sub][@Ariamis][@FamishedPants][@BrokenPromise][/sub][/center]

The flow of spirits converging upon Endsinger's concert continued unhindered, her ghostly wail echoing through the winter sky. It was a maelstrom of spiritual power, the desires and grudges of ten thousand dead all being released in the euphoria of the undead mosh pit. Electrifying chords shook the mountain of rubble and actual lightning burst out from Endsinger's guitar as well, the lich's raven black hair going wild from neckbreaking headbanging. Who cared about regrets of a life cut short? Who cared about vengeance from beyond the grave? Who cared about disease and disaster, the fumbled rolls that brought forth unexpected deaths? Her song blew that all away, and the wraiths screamed along with her, their frustrations blasting away, their ethereal forms burning brightly. Scarlet for the damned, magenta for the cursed, cobalt for the lost, emerald for the unforgiven. The myriad of spirits swirled and bobbed, a brilliantly overbearing light show, a sea of life centered upon the Banshee-Lich.

[b]"HEAVEN OR HELL, LET'S ROCK AND ROLL!"[/b]

Such was the density of spirits, so enthralled was she in her rocking requiem, that Endsinger didn't even notice Emily's fireball. Arcing through the sky, the fiery projectile homed in on its target, only to explode fifty meters away instead. Non-hostile as they were, the spirits that gathered at the behest of Endsinger's banquet of noise were still monsters, a collection of poltergeists and scepters, revenants and wraiths. One unlucky spirit immolated when it had collided with the fireball, but none around cared anyways; more spirits simply flowed in, plugging the hole and expanding the mass of spirits further. Faced with so many ghostly shields, perhaps the only way to get past would be to dive into the mosh pit and tear through to the center.