The mountain burned.
Grim Batol, once a fortress, once a prison, had become a dying thing, its bones cracked open as rivers of magma spilled from within. The sky above churned with ash and flame, darkened by the colossal shadow of Deathwing, whose rage shook the heavens themselves.
And yet, from the ruin rose something far older.
Something was wrong.
Alexstrasza, the Red Dragon Queen, surged through the shattered stone like a living sun, her wings scattering debris as though it were dust. The bindings that had enslaved her for years, chains of iron, runes of domination, and the cruel magic of the Demon Soul were gone. Though weakened, her presence alone bent the battlefield to her will.
Below her, amid the rubble and burning corpses of the Dragonmaw, a lone figure stirred.
Nekros Skullcrusher.
The orc warlock lay half-buried beneath shattered stone, his armor cracked, his staff broken, blood seeping into the scorched earth. His skull-topped helm had been torn away, revealing a face twisted not by pain but by fear.
Coughing, Nekros dragged himself free, coughing up ash as his one remaining eye darted wildly across the battlefield.
"W–Warriors!" he rasped, struggling to rise. "Form up! Protect the—"
The sky darkened. A vast shadow fell over him.
The ground trembled as a massive claw descended, crushing stone mere inches from his body. Nekros froze, breath hitching, as a searing heat washed over him.
Slowly, dreadfully, he looked up.
Alexstrasza hovered above him, her immense form blotting out the sky. Her scales glowed with molten light, cracks of red-gold magic pulsing along her body like a living heartbeat. Her eyes, once weary, once dulled by endless torment, now burned with an ancient, merciless fire.
Nekros tried to scream. No sound came out. She descended.
Nekros' final act was to raise his arm, as if the Demon Soul might answer his call once more. It did not.
With terrifying swiftness, Alexstrasza lunged forward.
Her jaws closed around Nekros Skullcrusher, orc, armor, and all and with a single, brutal motion, she devoured him whole.
There was no scream. No resistance. Only silence. The Dragonmaw's master was gone. Vengeance, long delayed, was complete.
At a distance, far enough to survive, close enough to witness history, Leylin and the others watched in stunned silence.
The shockwave of Alexstrasza's movement rippled through the air, forcing Tyr'ganal to reinforce his barrier instinctively.
"She… she just—" Aminel began, then fell silent.
Rhonin swallowed hard. "That was… definitive."
Vereesa exhaled slowly, her grip tightening on Leylin's arm. "I don't think the Dragonmaw will ever recover from that."
Leylin didn't respond immediately.
His eyes were scanning the battlefield, not the dragons, not the orcs, but the ground itself.
Nekros was dead. Which meant the Demon Soul, the artifact that had enslaved Alexstrasza, was no longer bound to its wielder. And that made it dangerous.
"Leylin?" Vereesa asked softly. "What are you looking for?"
"An artifact," he answered grimly. "It doesn't just vanish. And if it's still intact…"
His voice trailed off. Everyone there understood what that meant.
An artifact capable of enslaving Dragon Aspects could not be left unattended, especially not in the aftermath of a battle involving Deathwing.
Leylin turned sharply to Vereesa. "Take to the skies. Falstad's gryphon, use it. Fly high and scan the battlefield. Look for anything radiating dense, twisted magic. You'll feel it before you see it."
Vereesa nodded without hesitation. "I'll find it."
She sprinted toward Falstad, who was already helping Rhonin stabilize after the chaos. A few hurried words were exchanged, and moments later, Vereesa was airborne, the gryphon beating its wings hard as it climbed above the smoke and ash.
Below, the battlefield shifted once more.
With Nekros dead, the remaining Dragonmaw orcs broke completely. Some fled. Others were incinerated where they stood as the collateral fury of gods swept across the land.
And then—
Deathwing moved.
The Black Aspect turned fully toward Alexstrasza, his colossal wings spreading wide as magma dripped from the adamantium plates embedded in his body. The earth cracked beneath his weight as he landed, shaking the mountain's remains.
"Freedom," Deathwing rumbled, his voice layered with madness and hatred.
"You should have stayed broken."
Alexstrasza answered by charging. Their collision was cataclysmic.
Fire and shadow exploded outward as the two ancient beings clashed, claws tearing stone apart, jaws snapping with enough force to level fortresses. The air screamed as their magic collided, life against decay, flame against void.
Leylin shielded his eyes as the shockwaves rolled outward.
"They're going to tear this entire region apart," Tyr'ganal muttered.
"And neither of them cares who gets caught in between," Aminel added grimly.
High above, Vereesa circled, eyes narrowed, senses sharpened. Then she felt it. A pulse. Not fire. Not life. But domination.
Her gaze snapped downward toward a crater half-filled with molten stone and shattered corpses. There, half-buried beneath slag and broken metal, something pulsed with dark, oppressive power.
A disk. Warped. Cracked. Still alive with magic.
"Leylin!" Vereesa shouted, banking hard. "I've found it! Near the eastern collapse, partially buried!"
Leylin's eyes flashed.
"I see it."
The Demon Soul still existed. And the battle between dragon gods was far from over.
The world trembled again as Alexstrasza and Deathwing tore into each other, their roars echoing across the broken mountains.
Leylin clenched his fist.
It was a moment that would decide the fate of dragons and perhaps the world itself.
The battlefield had become a place where mortals no longer belonged.
Yet Leylin ran straight into it.
The moment Vereesa's voice reached him through the chaos, clear, sharp, urgent, Leylin had already begun moving. Arcane energy surged beneath his boots, lifting him from broken stone to shattered stone as he raced toward the eastern collapse of Grim Batol. Every step carried him closer to a power that should never again be wielded… and farther into the fury of gods.
Above him, the sky screamed.
Alexstrasza and Deathwing clashed like colliding worlds. Flame and shadow tore the clouds apart, their roars echoing across mountains and valleys alike. Deathwing's adamantium plates glowed red-hot, magma dripping from the seams of his tortured body, while Alexstrasza's scales blazed with the raw brilliance of life itself. Each strike sent shockwaves rippling across the ground, shattering already-ruined towers into clouds of dust.
Leylin did not look up for long.
He forced his focus downward on the battlefield where mortals still bled and died.
The Dragonmaw orcs had broken formation after Nekros' death, but desperation made them no less dangerous. Small warbands still roamed the ruins, some trying to flee, others driven mad by fear and fanatical devotion to Deathwing. Fel fire flared sporadically as warlocks hurled their last spells at anything that moved.
Leylin raised a hand.
A Ring of Frost bloomed outward, freezing a charging group of orcs mid-stride. Their screams cut off instantly as ice encased them. A follow-up Arcane Barrage shattered the frozen figures into fragments that scattered across the ground like broken statues.
He did not slow. The Demon Soul was close now.
He could feel it, an oppressive weight pressing against his consciousness, a twisted resonance that made his arcane senses recoil. This was not mere power. This was dominion, the echo of dragons enslaved and wills broken.
"Still active…" Leylin muttered.
That made it worse.
The crater came into view, a vast wound torn into the earth by Deathwing's earlier rampage. Molten stone bubbled sluggishly at the bottom, while shattered metal and corpses lay half-submerged along its edges. And there, just as Vereesa had said—
The Demon Soul.
The disk lay tilted against a slab of obsidian-black rock, its surface cracked but intact. Ancient runes flickered weakly across its face, pulsing with residual energy. Even dormant, it radiated menace.
Leylin stopped at the crater's edge.
Then the world shook.
A thunderous roar split the heavens, so powerful it forced Leylin to drop to one knee. He looked up despite himself.
More shapes had joined the sky.
A vast emerald form emerged from the clouds; Ysera, the Dreamer, her presence warping the air around her as reality itself seemed to blur. Close behind her came a massive bronze dragon, scales gleaming like burnished gold, Nozdormu, the Timeless One, his eyes reflecting infinite futures. And finally, a surge of crackling blue lightning announced the arrival of Malygos, the Spell-Weaver, arcane energy coiling around him like a living storm.
The Dragon Aspects had come.
Though they had once refused Korialstrasz's pleas, they had not been blind. Grim Batol had become a focal point too dangerous to ignore. And now, seeing Alexstrasza freed and Deathwing exposed, they seized the opening.
Five Aspects collided in the sky.
Alexstrasza struck first, raking Deathwing's flank with claws wreathed in living flame. Ysera followed, her magic weaving strands of emerald light that sought to bind Deathwing's movements, dragging him partially into the Dream. Nozdormu's presence distorted time itself, Deathwing's next strike slowed, fractured, arriving a heartbeat too late.
Malygos unleashed arcane devastation.
A torrent of raw magic slammed into Deathwing's chest, shattering chunks of adamantium plating and sending molten shards raining down upon the battlefield.
Deathwing roared in agony and fury.
"You dare!" he thundered, his voice shaking the mountains. "You think unity will save you?!"
Shadow and fire exploded outward as he retaliated, a wave of destruction that forced the Aspects apart. The sky burned. The clouds ignited.
Below, Leylin shielded his eyes as fragments of molten metal crashed into the ruins around him.
"This place is collapsing," Tyr'ganal's voice came through the communicator rune. "Leylin, the Aspects' battle is destabilizing everything!"
"I know," Leylin replied grimly. "Hold position. Keep watch on the orcs."
His attention returned to the crater.
The Demon Soul pulsed again—reacting.
Leylin's heart sank. The artifact was responding to the Aspects' presence.
"Damn it," he hissed.
If the Demon Soul resonated strongly enough, it could draw Deathwing's attention or worse, empower him.
He leapt down into the crater.
The heat was intense, but Leylin reinforced himself with layered barriers, arcane, fire, and spatial runes interlocking into a shimmering shield around his body. As his boots touched the cracked stone near the artifact, a group of orcs burst from behind a collapsed wall.
"FOR THE HORDE!" one screamed, eyes bloodshot.
They never reached him.
Leylin snapped his fingers.
A Flamestrike engulfed the charging orcs, followed immediately by Arcane Explosion, the combined spells erasing them in a violent flash of fire and violet light. Their bodies disintegrated, leaving only scorched earth behind.
Leylin stepped forward, standing before the Demon Soul.
Up close, its corruption was even clearer. The runes carved into its surface were ancient draconic symbols, twisted, overwritten with cruel enchantments layered by orc warlocks and demon magic. It was a mockery of craftsmanship, a violation of everything arcane law stood for.
"This thing shouldn't exist," Leylin said quietly.
Above him, the battle between Aspects reached another crescendo.
Alexstrasza and Ysera struck in tandem, while Nozdormu distorted Deathwing's movements once more. Malygos prepared a massive arcane construct, runes spinning rapidly around him as he gathered power.
Leylin knew what was coming.
If the Demon Soul reacted at the wrong moment—
He raised both hands.
Arcane symbols flared into existence around the artifact as Leylin began weaving a complex suppression matrix, drawing upon everything he had learned, from Quel'Thalas, from Suramar, from forbidden tomes and ancient knowledge.
"Vereesa," he said through clenched teeth, "keep watch. If Deathwing turns this way, warn me immediately."
"I'm watching," she replied, her voice steady despite the terror unfolding above.
Leylin focused.
The Demon Soul resisted him, its magic pushing back like a living thing. He forced his will down upon it, layering containment, severance, and isolation spells, methods never meant to be used together, now bound by necessity.
The artifact shuddered.
For a brief moment, the pulsing slowed. Leylin exhaled sharply. But the sky screamed again.
Deathwing broke free of Ysera's bindings, his roar shaking time and dream alike. As molten blood streamed from his wounds, his gaze snapped downward.
Toward the crater. Toward Leylin.
A terrible awareness settled over the battlefield. The Black Aspect had noticed the Demon Soul. And Leylin stood between it and him.