Taotie was simply going crazy.
It was covered in scars, and it had already realized that the gap between itself and the Zhènhǎi Cānglóng was narrowing.
If the fight continued like this, it would die here, but there was nothing it could do!
For habits built over hundreds of years had become like an instinct to it.
It struggled to resist this instinct.
Tang Xian hadn't expected that this Taotie, which recited poetry with every kill, would also die under its own verses.
This was poetic justice.
The massive blood loss had slowed down Taotie's speed and reflexes somewhat.
But its battle with Tang Feiji was still an unknown variable.
Tang Xian regained some ground, yet Taotie still boasted formidable vitality.
Because close combat really wasn't Tang Feiji's forte.
And at this time, the tides of battle changed once again.
The frantic Taotie let out a sharp cry.
That scream came from deep within Taotie's belly.
It was as if that was where its true essence lay.
