On the wall behind the clown puppet hung a collection of brightly colored, disarmingly cute stuffed toys. Nearby stood a small wooden table, covered with an embroidered cloth and adorned with a simple vase of white wildflowers. It was a quaint, whimsical, and utterly wholesome little cabin.
"So, Arthas has ascended to demigod," the puppet murmured, its voice devoid of judgment, impossible to read. "I imagine Leonidas and Alexander are not far behind. And here we are, the Witch and I... with the power of demigods, yet still trapped at the peak of the arch lord rank."
The Clown's thoughts drifted back to his old teammates in the Champions Alliance. Yes, teammates. If he hadn't betrayed their commander, that's what they would still be.
The power we gained... it belongs to others. We are merely pseudo-gods. Was this power... worth the regret?
