Following another dull thud, a wave of searing pain instantly tore through every nerve in his body.
As his body plummeted heavily to the ground, Yang Yinghai staggered and struggled to climb back up.
When he looked at himself, he found that his Daoist robe was in tatters, with much of his once-white hair scorched away, leaving him looking like a bald old monk.
Not only that, his face and the exposed skin on his body were charred black, with many areas reduced to raw, mangled flesh—an utterly grisly sight.
Inside his body, his Qi-blood was raging uncontrollably, beyond his ability to rein it in.
He tried repeatedly to suppress it, but to no avail.
After much effort, Yang Yinghai finally managed to calm his Qi-blood slightly, but his face was deathly pale, and his energy had greatly diminished.
Now, as he assessed his current state, it was worlds apart from his condition at the start of the battle.
