The old Taoist's hands that were holding up began to tremble, and the blood surged, also starting to corrode his hands.
Visible bloody small holes gushed blood like a fountain.
At this moment, even the old Taoist wondered if he had cultivated the wrong Dao seed.
Otherwise, why would he be beaten into such a state?
After pressing his hand, Meng Yun's suffocating aura could finally recede with satisfaction.
Such magic, although powerful, endlessly consumes vitality, and continuing would be no different from courting death.
The old Taoist thought he disdained to act or intended to torment.
In truth, even Meng Yun himself dared not squander this suffocating aura too much.
Using it to augment the blood sea was already his limit.
"A millennium-old vendetta, settled today!"
Meng Yun spoke coldly, having withdrawn the killing aura, he naturally planned to make a move himself.
