Calamity Son's body had already fled into the void. Under the shroud of spatial laws, he could only sense the faintest trace of bloodlust and the fluctuations of exploding spells coming from behind him.
He knew he was about to teleport away. He had already stepped out of that stretch of space and was at the edge of another void.
"Just you wait, you bitch! When I come back next time, I'll slaughter your entire sect and turn you into a plaything for all men!"
Calamity Son's Nascent Soul turned back. Through the haze, he could still vaguely make out the purple phoenix's figure. The venom on his face had reached an extreme, and the hatred in his heart had already surged to the heavens.
For a brief moment, Calamity Son did not think of Meng Shangmo at all. His mind was filled with the image of that female puppet master. This time, he had truly capsized in a gutter, falling victim to someone else's underhanded scheme—the very thing he had always been best at.
This was no longer merely a matter of suffering grave injuries. The fleshly body he had painstakingly cultivated for tens of thousands of years was gone. He was a poison cultivator, and sixty percent of his poison arts lay in his physical body.
Even if he found another body to possess and managed to keep his realm from falling, restoring his true strength would likely require at least one or two thousand years of cultivation.
And that was only if all the materials needed for refining poison were complete. Otherwise, recovering the combat strength of his current body within four thousand years would already be considered good.
That was all time he would truly have to spend. It had severely affected his great Dao path,