Amid the wastelands and devastation of the continent that had been shattered by the titanic battle between Frey and Thanatos, that part of the world was still suffering the aftermath of the clash.
The continent had been reduced to countless scattered islands.
Between them flowed the cold waters of the Demonic Sea, alongside an endless ocean of blue fire.
Storms of black lightning still raged across the sky, and the furious winds had yet to calm.
Within the heavens above this astonishing spectacle of natural catastrophe, the body of an old man slowly formed—arriving after the disaster to witness with his own eyes what had transpired.
It was Maskith, the ancient old man who bore the title of Duke.
Maskith did not appear extraordinary.
He wore no dazzling armor.
He carried no terrifying weapon.
Even his presence seemed ordinary, and his clothing consisted of nothing more than an old, worn, long robe.
His beard, white as snow, was thick and heavy, cascading across his chest, with strands reaching all the way to his stomach.
His eyes, however, were deep—eyes that saw what others could not.
"I see that Nameless’ manipulation of life and death remains as formidable as ever," Maskith said as he slowly descended.
Though invisible to most, he could clearly perceive the lingering remnants of the Life and Death formation that Nameless had used to devour Thanatos’ soul.
"It is weaker than the one he used during his prime... but it is still sufficient to imprison the soul of a creature as powerful as Thanatos."
"Remarkable."
Maskith seemed pleased with what he saw—perhaps even a little excited.
After all, how many beings in this vast universe could rival him when it came to breaking the laws of life and death?
The answer was simple.
No one ... except Nameless.
That masked warrior who had reached a level equal to his own in far less time.
Although the two had both surpassed limits through the same path, they had never truly understood each other’s abilities.
Maskith had never been able to replicate Nameless’ manipulation of souls or his method of reviving them.
And Nameless, in turn, could not manipulate the Law of Life and Death the way Maskith could.
"Each of us possesses our own understanding... our own method of manipulating the laws of this world."
"Our paths never crossed before, which is why we never fought."
"But will they cross this time?"
Maskith seemed almost eager.
A rare desire stirred within him.
The desire to fight someone.
Which was unusual—he was a scholar, not a warrior.
Maskith had been deeply focused on studying the Life and Death formation Nameless had left behind, analyzing it in hopes of uncovering its secrets.
But suddenly he stopped.
His expression returned to its usual composed dignity as he turned toward a shadowed corner above the floating island where he stood.
"Reveal yourself."
"There is no point hiding in the shadows before me."
Maskith spoke in a deep voice.
His eyes could clearly see what the shadows concealed.
"As expected of the great Duke," a feminine voice echoed from the darkness.
"These shadows are nothing before your sight."
From within the gloom, Vayne stepped out, emerging from the shadows and revealing herself before Maskith.
Maskith watched her silently for a moment before speaking calmly.
"My eyes do not merely see through shadows."
"I can also clearly recognize your filthy soul..."
"...Wesker."
Maskith spoke the name.
At that moment, Vayne’s face—or rather Wesker’s twisted slowly before forming a chilling smile.
"What’s this, old man?" Wesker laughed loudly as a dark aura flared around him.
"You saw through my disguise with just a single glance?"
The aura surrounding him was immense.
Yet Maskith paid it no mind.
Not even a single hair on his body stirred in response.
"I have always wondered why the Great King keeps someone like you so close to him despite your danger," Wesker said thoughtfully.
"Does he find you... interesting?"
"Or does he simply keep you nearby so he can watch you at all times—lest you cause some catastrophe?"
"Do not attempt to understand me... or your king, boy."
"You are still too inexperienced to play at this level."
Maskith slowly approached Wesker as he spoke.
"But I will admit it."
"You possess potential."
"You managed to break the Law of Life and Death..."
"...barely."
Wesker chuckled lightly.
"Since those words are coming from the Lord of Life and Death himself..."
"I suppose I’ll take them as praise."
"Do not be pleased," Maskith replied, his eyes suddenly glowing with a violet light as they revealed Wesker’s secrets.
He saw it clearly.
The twisted nature of his soul.
And the soul of Vayne, imprisoned within it.
"An ability that allows you to possess other creatures..."
"Ensuring your survival by transferring from one body to another."
"But..."
"That ability does not work on those who possess powers that counter it."
"Nor on those who have reached the pinnacle of manipulating the Law of Life and Death."
"And it is useless against entities whose power exceeds a certain threshold."
"For example..."
"...the Demon King."
Maskith sighed softly after saying this.
"No matter how I look at it, your ability is incomplete."
"Wesker... I know you are not foolish."
"If the vessel of Nameless is your target, then allow me to offer you a piece of advice."
"Find another target."
"You will die if you enter the domain of his soul."
"I have nothing to say regarding that," Wesker replied calmly, seemingly unaffected.
"I already have my own plans."
"But I appreciate the advice."
Maskith stared at him silently for a moment before slowly closing his eyes and turning away.
"Speak quickly. Tell me why you came."
"I know you did not follow me here for no reason."
"My mood happens to be good today, so I will entertain you for a while."
"I appreciate that." Wesker nodded gratefully before revealing his purpose.
"My reason for coming is simple."
"I happened to overhear your conversation with Amon earlier..."
"And what I heard stirred my curiosity."
"Eavesdropping, are we?" Maskith replied dryly.
"You truly are the despicable demon the rumors describe."
"I apologize for that," he said—an apology offered only in words, without the slightest trace of genuine remorse.
It was little more than a polite courtesy to the man standing before him.
After that, Wesker revealed what he had truly come to discuss.