Since the Underworld's gates had burst open, indeed, a bunch of ghosts, swift in action and clever in mind (a.k.a. the floaters), had managed to escape.
Having managed to flee the jail, the floaters naturally didn't want to be captured by the Ghost Envoys of the Underworld so quickly—pah, pah, pah, they actually never even entertained the thought of being recaptured, okay?
What kind of existence was The Eighteenth Layer of Hell? If you weren't climbing a mountain of knives, you were descending into a sea of flames, and in between, you would take a few dips in boiling oil, ceaselessly, year-round. These floaters had all developed a rebellious mindset. Damn, couldn't they mix it up a bit? After a while, we'd get sick of it, okay?
