Deathwing saw him. Not as a speck. Not as an insect. But as a thief.
The instant Leylin's arcane matrix snapped shut around the Demon Soul, the artifact screamed, an echo that tore through the skies and stabbed straight into the Black Aspect's fractured mind. Deathwing's burning eyes locked onto the crater below, onto the lone mortal daring to touch what once bound dragons to their knees.
"YOU DARE—"
Leylin did not wait for the rest of the sentence.
The Demon Soul vanished into his spatial storage with a sharp distortion of reality, sealed inside layer after layer of reinforced containment. In the same heartbeat, Leylin flashed, space folding violently as he tore himself out of the crater and reappeared hundreds of meters away, boots skidding across broken stone.
The ground behind him ceased to exist.
A torrent of magma and shadow obliterated the crater as Deathwing plunged downward like a falling star, his massive form smashing into the ruins of Grim Batol with apocalyptic force. Towers collapsed. The earth split open. A shockwave rolled outward, throwing bodies, rubble, and fire into the air.
Leylin barely kept his footing.
"Leylin! MOVE!" Vereesa shouted from the sky.
He was already moving.
Another Blink, another wrenching displacement, followed by a desperate sprint as Leylin poured mana into his legs, reinforcing muscle and bone. His breath came sharp and fast, every instinct screaming at him to run faster.
Behind him, Deathwing rose. Wings unfurled, blotting out the sky.
The Black Aspect did not bother with subtlety now. He did not trade blows with his siblings. He did not posture. His entire existence narrowed to one purpose, erase the mortal. Reclaim the artifact.
He lunged.
The air itself ignited as Deathwing surged forward, his passage ripping apart clouds and space alike. A beam of molten shadow lanced from his maw, carving a canyon through the battlefield where Leylin had been a second before.
Leylin twisted mid-run, flinging his hands forward.
"Arcane Barrage!"
Bolts of condensed violet energy hammered into Deathwing's face and chest, detonating against his armor with blinding flashes. The spells were powerful, enough to obliterate fortresses, enough to annihilate small armies.
Deathwing barely noticed.
His roar shook Leylin to his core, the sound carrying hatred, madness, and pain far older than mortal civilizations.
"INSIGNIFICANT WORM!"
Leylin casted again, Slow, Gravity Lapse, layers of control magic snapping into place, warping the space around Deathwing's wings and limbs. For a fraction of a second, the Black Aspect's advance faltered. Then he tore through it.
Raw strength and corrupted Aspect power shattered Leylin's spells like glass. The backlash slammed into Leylin's mind, sending needles of pain through his skull. He stumbled, blood running from his nose.
Above, the Dragon Aspects reacted.
Alexstrasza dove, her roar filled with fury and anguish, raking Deathwing's flank with claws blazing in crimson fire. Malygos followed, unleashing a concentrated arcane beam that bored into Deathwing's shoulder, shattering armor and exposing molten flesh beneath.
Nozdormu warped time around Deathwing again, trying to slow his charge and failed. Deathwing tore free with a violent surge, shadow and magma exploding outward. Ysera's emerald magic wrapped briefly around his wings, spectral vines pulling him halfway into the Dream.
"LEYLIN!" Ysera's voice echoed directly inside his mind, calm yet urgent.
"The artifact—destroy it! Without it, we can reclaim what was taken from us!"
Leylin gritted his teeth.
"I KNOW!" he shouted aloud, even as he sprinted and blinked again, narrowly avoiding a sweeping tail that annihilated an entire ridge behind him.
But he couldn't. Not now.
Destroying the Demon Soul wasn't as simple as smashing it. The artifact was composed of vast amounts of energy, detonating it improperly could rip reality apart or worse, kill him instantly.
And Deathwing was right there. How would he have the time to destroy the artifact while being chased by a mad dragon.
Another blast of shadowfire chased Leylin across the ground, the heat searing his cloak and forcing him to throw up emergency wards. His mana reserves dipped sharply.
"Leylin, he's locked on you!" Tyr'ganal warned. "We can't draw him off!"
And that was the cruel truth.
Deathwing no longer cared about the other Aspects.
Every wound they inflicted, every blast of arcane, every claw strike from Alexstrasza, only fueled his rage. His body cracked and bled molten fire, armor breaking apart under sustained assault, yet his focus never wavered.
Leylin felt it like physical pressure. A dragon's hatred pressing down on one mortal soul.
Another Blink carried him onto a shattered battlement. He spun, casting Mirror Image, three illusory copies scattering in different directions. Deathwing obliterated two instantly with a casual sweep of flame. The third survived half a second longer.
Leylin jumped.
He hurled himself off the battlement, casting Slow Fall at the last moment, drifting downward as Deathwing slammed into the structure behind him, reducing it to rubble. Pain flared in Leylin's chest as he landed hard, rolling and forcing himself upright.
"I'm running out of space," he muttered hoarsely.
Above him, the Aspects continued their assault.
Malygos struck again, lightning and arcane energy tearing into Deathwing's back. Alexstrasza bit down on one of Deathwing's wings, ripping away chunks of corrupted flesh. Nozdormu struck at critical moments, disrupting Deathwing's timing just enough to keep Leylin alive.
But it came at a cost. Every injury they dealt made Deathwing's attacks wilder. More destructive. More personal. And Leylin paid for it.
A blast meant for Malygos veered at the last second, slamming into the ground near Leylin and throwing him like a rag doll. His words shattered. He crashed through a stone, coughing blood.
His vision swam.
"Leylin!" Vereesa's voice cracked with fear.
He forced himself to his feet, shaking.
"I'm not dying here," he said through clenched teeth.
Deathwing loomed overhead, wounded, burning, furious beyond reason.
"YOU WILL GIVE IT BACK."
Leylin straightened.
Spell circles ignited around him, defensive, offensive, spatial, every ounce of mana he had left pulled into readiness.
Above, the Dragon Aspects circled, battered but relentless, knowing the terrible irony of the moment:
They could wound Deathwing. They could weaken him. But as long as Leylin held the Demon Soul, the mortal was the prey.
And the chase was far from over. Leylin had been running for far too long.
Stone blurred beneath his feet. The air screamed as Deathwing's shadow passed overhead again and again, each passing closer, each breath of molten fury hotter than the last. His mana reserves throbbed like a wounded limb, spell matrices fraying at the edges. Every blink tore at his concentration. Every ward shattered faster than he could rebuild it.
And still… he ran.
Until he didn't.
Leylin skidded to a halt amid a shattered plain of blackened stone and molten veins. Dust and ash billowed around him as he slowly straightened, boots planting firmly into the earth. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes, his eyes were clear.
Behind him, Deathwing descended.
The Black Aspect's immense bulk slammed down with thunderous force, his clawed forelimbs gouging trenches into the ground as he lowered his horned head. Cracks of lava pulsed along his broken adamantium plates, molten blood dripping like rain. His jaws opened, heat distorting the air between them.
Three meters. That was all that separated the dragon from the mortal.
Deathwing laughed, a deep, broken sound filled with madness and triumph.
"FINALLY… YOU STOP RUNNING."
To Deathwing, it looked like surrender. To Leylin, it was resolve.
Deathwing lunged.
The world seemed to slow.
Leylin raised his left hand—slowly, deliberately—palm facing upward.
The earth answered.
With a deafening CRACK, the ground between them exploded. A colossal stone spike surged upward like a spear forged by the planet itself, meeting Deathwing's charge head-on. The impact was catastrophic.
The spike slammed into Deathwing's lower jaw.
Bone shattered. Adamantium screeched.
The Black Dragon Aspect's head snapped sideways as his momentum broke, his massive body recoiling with an enraged, pained roar that shook the battlefield. Molten blood sprayed from his mouth as he staggered back several steps, claws tearing furrows into the earth to keep from falling.
Above, the sky fell silent.
"By the Sunwell…" Tyr'ganal whispered.
Rhonin stared, wide-eyed. "That wasn't a spell."
Leylin moved.
He spread his stance, feet grounding into the stone like roots. His left hand extended forward, fingers relaxed but precise. His right hand drew back, palm open, his body twisting slightly as if preparing for a measured step.
To the onlookers, it looked like a dance.
A strange, flowing sequence of motions, graceful, controlled, utterly out of place on a battlefield where gods clashed.
But Leylin wasn't dancing. He was listening. To the weight beneath his feet. To the fractures in the stone. To the slow, ancient pulse of the world itself.
Earthbending.
Leylin stepped forward. His left hand swept downward.
The ground answered again.
Spikes erupted in rapid succession, jagged pillars of stone and iron-rich earth bursting upward beneath Deathwing's limbs. One impaled his foreleg. Another tore through a wing joint, pinning it awkwardly against the ground. A third slammed into his chest, cracking armor and forcing a roar of pain from the Aspect's throat.
Deathwing thrashed, shadowfire erupting wildly but Leylin didn't stop. He flowed. Each step was measured. Each motion is precise.
A pivot of the hips, the earth surged sideways, slamming into Deathwing's flank like a tidal wave of stone. A twist of the wrist, a ring of spikes erupted around the dragon, piercing scales and anchoring him in place.
Deathwing slammed his tail down, shattering half the battlefield but Leylin countered, driving both palms forward.
The earth rose.
A massive slab of bedrock surged upward beneath Deathwing's chest, flipping the colossal dragon onto his side with a thunderous crash that sent shockwaves rolling for miles.
For the first time, Deathwing was on the ground. Pinned.
Alexstrasza froze mid-flight, her wings faltering in shock.
Malygos stared, arcane energies flickering uncertainly around him. Nozdormu's eyes widened, time itself stuttering for half a heartbeat.
"Impossible…" Rhonin breathed. "He's fighting an Aspect… with the land."
Leylin didn't answer. He was already moving. With a sharp motion, he reached into his spatial storage and pulled the Demon Soul free. And a small sharp piece of dragonscale of Deathwing he picked from being chased around.
The artifact screamed.
A sound that was not sound, rage, anguish, domination, echoing across the battlefield and into the minds of every dragon present. The Aspects recoiled instinctively, ancient trauma clawing at their souls.
Deathwing roared.
"NO—!"
Leylin didn't hesitate.
He placed the Demon Soul into the ground and brought both hands down, piercing it with the dragonscale. The earth closed.
Stone crushed inward from every direction, pressure building beyond containment thresholds, Leylin pouring every ounce of control he had into one final act. Arcane seals flared around the artifact as he forced its structure to destabilize, not explode outward, but collapse in on itself.
The Demon Soul cracked. A blinding flash of crimson, violet, and void erupted then imploded.
Silence.
The artifact shattered into dust, its enslaving magic unraveling like rotted thread. A wave of released power rippled outward, not violent, but liberating.
Across the sky, the Dragon Aspects gasped.
Alexstrasza screamed not in pain, but in release, as strength flooded back into her wings.
Malygos straightened, arcane brilliance flaring brighter than it had in centuries. Ysera exhaled, the Dream surging through her once more. Nozdormu felt time realign, the chains loosening.
Deathwing howled. A sound of pure loss.
"No… mine…!"
He tore himself free from the broken stone, bleeding, cracked, armor barely holding together. His power surged violently but something was missing now. Something fundamental. Control. The balance of power had shifted.
Leylin staggered, dropping to one knee, blood running freely now as exhaustion finally claimed him.
He looked up at the wounded, raging Aspect, and then at the four fully empowered Dragon Aspects circling above.
He smiled faintly.
"Your turn," he muttered.
The sky ignited with draconic fury. And for the first time since this battle began, Deathwing was no longer the hunter.