Frankly, given Deathwing's nature, he would never stay here to be buried with this dead land.
For a Dragon who had long since gone mad, fleeing was not unacceptable. He firmly believed that everything he did served a lofty goal, that Azeroth would be destroyed, and that the Hour of Twilight truly existed and had meaning. The end of all things, brought about under his guidance, was the best possible future for Azeroth.
Under that lofty goal, every choice and action was acceptable.
But even fleeing required the right opportunity. Surrounded by the Four Dragon Aspects and someone who was no weaker than an Aspect, Deathwing felt that escaping would be difficult.
As the former Black Dragon King and one of the former leaders of the Dragon Aspects, he certainly did not lack the courage to fight to the death. Though he would not witness Azeroth's destruction or see the true Hour of Twilight arrive, as long as that Dragon Egg could hatch successfully... everything, everything was acceptable.
So the moment the last piece of Elementium Armor was torn away, Deathwing released his original form without hesitation. It was his true self, once restrained and concealed by the Elementium Armor: a chaotic shape formed from twisted tentacles and completely transformed flesh massed together.
Flesh, a crimson tide of flesh. The flesh splitting from Deathwing's fully released body surged endlessly in every direction from where he stood. It was flesh hotter than magma, more frenzied than flames, and more terrifying than corrosion.
It was an ugly state with no fixed shape. His four claws remained, but what extended beneath them was no longer black scales. Instead, there were red tentacles filled with magma blood, like the Flesh Tentacles that had appeared before. Outside that lump-like body, his four claws had become