[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/A9Vw6CK.png[/img]
[@Moonlit Sonata] [@SIGINT][/center]


[b]Agility Parameter, B.[/b] That wasn't enough to react, not even to process, in time.

Minutes before, Berserker had been enjoying the hotel's room service with his young Master. He was shoveling nothing but junk food in his mouth, but Norton quickly had come to enjoy the junk food of the present day. Perhaps it had to do with being a distinctly American Servant summoned in that year, perhaps it was just the way some Servants could be impressionable regarding novelties. Noting that nutrition and hotel billing were irrelevant concerns, he'd also emptied the hotel room's minibar. He'd wanted to proudly announce himself from the roof, but had been asked not to.

Moments before disaster, he was confidently insisting to his poor Master that the broken crutch could be mended by his own hands, and would be better than ever before. Norton only had the barest minimum comprehension of magecraft gained from the Grail and (mis)understood from discussing strategy with Stirner. Even then, he'd boldly claimed that his [s]completely nonexistent[/s] Handyman skill, would infuse duct tape with Mystery and confer that to the wood of the crutch. 

It wasn't even duct tape he was winding around the pieces, it was scotch tape. Even after a night of strategizing, how could poor Stirner have any faith in his Servant when he acted like a complete moron?

Or when he was whisked away by a living explosion? There was a blast, and the room had a new entry with corresponding exit. Norton stormed from his seat, destroying the table, body reacting before his mind. Already, he could feel his prana supply being strung away. 

[b]Strength Parameter, B. [/b]

The Emperor's boots slammed into the floor, launching him out the side of the hotel like a cannonball. Whiskers of his mustache and beard billowed like a pouncing lion's mane, while Berserker roared with outrage worthy of his class. The force of his leap carried him quite a distance, enough for his average momentum to be horizontal rather than vertical, like a jet engine's descent onto the tarmac. Landing on the road below, Norton tore down the street. Each step kicked enormous plumes of dust, gravel, tar, and dirt in his wake, as the asphalt unzipped. Chunks of the street were torn away each time his boots struck the ground, his frenzied pursuit leaving a ruinous fissure. The noise was incredible, as the thundering fury of Berserker shuddered through the street. Drainage infrastructure under the streets caved in under his rampage, however, momentarily slowing him as he plowed through debris and leapt up the street again. The rupture of gas lines and snapped power lines ignited a smoldering trail of fire within the fissure, though that could be seen as fortunate by the poor souls tasked with covering this up. 

But, his Master was growing further and further, the black-haired man that snatched him away only lingering as a momentary afterimage that Norton only realized after it had been too late. Was it Assassin?  No, whatever it was, it wasn't a Servant. Sensory recognition in the Emperor's subconscious noted that dismally, as he felt his prana dwindling. For a brief minute, the decrease to his parameters actually helped a little, as Norton's charge stopped pulverizing the road under him.

Too little, too late. No, even if his prana supply wasn't draining away, Norton never had a chance of catching up. Where even in the city was he now? Where was his poor little lad of a Master? Norton's feet slowed, feeling heavier and heavier each step. Archers could maybe last without a Master for enough time to figure something out. Even other classes could muster something. But a Berserker? A Berserker without a Master was like a fire starved of oxygen. 

Would the Emperor burn himself out just like that, his only act of note in this Grail War being a failure to protect his Master, after breaking the lad's crutch? [color=tomato]"Sorry, lad...I guess you were better off calling someone else."[/color] Trudging through the streets, Norton looked at the top half of the crutch he'd clenched in his hand the whole way. The other two pieces had broken off the moment he landed on the street. 

In theory, he could try and eat souls until he could find his Master, but who was to say his Master was even still alive? Besides, Norton scornfully noted, he'd already done enough harm. This was the end of the troubles he'd be responsible for here.

[b]Luck Parameter, A.[/b]