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The maze of caverns and twisted stairs into crypts that bottle into another hidden ended doorway. Only the dead should know the way or the agents who look after the dead should too. Those who were specially granted such necessary trust to break universal terms.

It doesn't take long to forget which way you came from. Go in circles until you walk into a corpse that lives around here.

The residence have been saying that there was something wrong with their boundaries here.

I for one, shouldn't have to be the one to fix these problems.

A whole universe of gods, and none of them come down here to check things not snapping apart. Leave to the damned bleed my ears and fuss over nonsense.

If I could, I would be locked up sleeping in my book form and leaving the nonsense of living to the human host.

Its thanks to the nonsense of life and death, that the very powers that dictate laws are having a war about me. More correctly that they are fussing over how I should be doing my job.

Idiots like that should care for thier own realms or duties. Make it last longer than I have bother with sooner. I do not want to break time again to slap Death or Life into shape. I hate how souls scream when I do such breaking.

Now was it another left here? I guess it doesn't matter.

If I left my duty, I don't think the folks whom meant be doing their jobs will do it right.

I can't leave Twilight to eat and fix more souls after the last hollows war. She finally fixed the last lot of that last year. She needs peace. I want it too.

Apparently the cause of the hollowing is something about the arguements between the god title souls.

The ones whom empower gods with extra soul energy. It is how miracles of power bending universe laws happens. Logically reasonable enough for the universe to not snap.

Someone among the souls gods is trapped or lost or something.

Left me.

My petty broken little soul like me.

Should be a another right here... maybe?

I remember that claw mark, so it be left. Yes. I remember digging out souls from here before. Some idiots playing chicken with the Norse gods. That was that mark.

So if I take a another right, this door here is my storage pocket of broken time artifacts I have. Preventing idiots using the paradoxical effects from breaking things. Very good. All glitch as always.

So the ripe of space time around here is a outside influence from beyond the universe law. At my best guess, likely what the other Enders whom I been looking after been telling me about. The Clothus.

If it was something to do with anytime lines contained in the compendium of souls and soulless, the glitch objects here would be visible. Be it an Ender under my supervision or some other thing in my care.

I am sure the soul fragments interacting in other layers of reality would also warn me. James is a good human to allow this broken effect over himself. A pitiful soul among many but the easiest to understanding me.

Across this thin bridge over a carven, a gap of air ventilation for any potential living to hang at the doorways into this realm. A complete accident between the death gods and living gods during the first god wars. The same war where another happy accident breed the bacteria that all life came from. The first time history had so many lost souls that choose to leave. I hope someday they return.

Always will I find ways to reminisce about things forgotten by the souls today. Things they assume to know. Only me that tends to recall like I do.

Over the right right left now. Indeed a doorway that is not meant to be. With some fools sitting around confused.

For sure, Clothus. Their language is more like five different ones at the same time. The body and face talks a different conversation then the hands. The lips are just a service for the lower intellectual properties to take orders from - their way of things in their words. The skin that they wear is the a space suit in practices. They look like ghost because they are made of things that don't exist. Its what we call them 'Clothus' for. Sour souls that have a dagger through the guts, more so then common demon folks.

"Pardon?" So they notice my commentary. I pick up what they thrown easily. Not a fool to be enslaved by their tricks.

"I can only assume that your world has taken something that belongs within laws. You may not have personally done the crime but someone of your world did." I did speak in hands as I should if I want them to treat each other on middle grounds, "I wish to make the claim to the chessboard courts for a investigation into this matter. If your anything lesser then that what I need then you will be sent back in jars. No soul bargain or enslavement. Are you understanding me correctly?"

Their faces tell me I have ruined their fun, looking between for some snappy plan to turn things around. The one with hints of blue among them made a snapped neck gesture which froze all the rest to listen carefully.

"Cruel thing made by the order of soul laws, yes? Or is it that they made you twisted?" A insider knowledge among them, likely enslaved a Ender of some other timeline. The very raise of a hand has summoned such poor misfortunes out from the Clothus pocket.

A broken fella this ender that is enslaved. Lost of all humanity or simply broken beyond just its own witness of collapse of voided space times. It is clear that it inspections of me was instinctive as was it withdrew away and whimpering to knowing me. It must have met a fragile of me somewhere else.

"Forgive me." Slinking away as small as possible. Not able to run or hide from me. I am back to staring at the Clothus, limbs of my form closed hands and that of pulling into a mock of them. Sitting on air density and simply waiting to be understood.

"Are you a guardian of this mythical tome of tomes?" I gave no answers in any form of way, "I am a bishop of the white chess board." Not a lie at least, "My credibility may not be accessible to..." I sunk my hand down and searched his wallet from his own pocket, I went through it. I often throw junk back over.

I find what I needed and flung them through a gateway to be analysed. Flew back with a crow, cooing with a letter of permission to deal with the clothus on the many gods behalf. Such neck aches have hollowed many timelines for to long.

"What a boring soul name? Pitiful really. Although its always the Clothus whom do." Back to my own thoughts of what I should do, "Not anything abnormal. So..." I torn a portion of the tome where known Clothus are named, "Indeed you were last recorded as turned to ashes." Flicker checks of the others, "The only one I do note is the one whom broke their arm. The King chess piece's next in line. As long as your not assassinated after this visit." The portion is slide away and back to posed waiting in silence.

"You are wasting our time." Clothus come from a world realm where there is no time. This would normally be a stolen phrasing from the lower servants they enslave. But this was a genuine thing if them noting - 'time'. So... their world is broken. And nothing there. Not a God to fix it. The source of the headaches it maybe for my book form. souls accounted yet no in realms they should be.

Clothus were whom broken the dreamland in another Enders timline. So it is the matter of, is this the same society?

A good thing I left everything and everyone in ability to keep things afloat while I leave time.