Fictional weapons are inverse lethal: The more effective they should be, the less they are. That's why a henchman holding a machine gun is just telling Daredevil where to punch, but Jackie Chan holding a priceless Ming vase is functionally immortal. And when a weapon gets powerful enough to threaten the entire planet, it reverses the polarity of even having a weapon by killing its own evil genius instead.
But like most laws, both physical and legal, this gets ignored when a good guy meets a monster, which is why good guys have gotten away with using weapons more suicidal than a noose made of razor wire. Here are eight fictional weapons that would work only against life insurance claim investigators, because they make your suicide too stupid and confusing to prove.
The Lancer is the Ashley J. Williams of automatic weapons: a gun, a chainsaw, and all the ass-kicking you could ever need. The justification for building a chainsaw into a gun was obviously someone having the idea at a game design meeting, followed by high-fives so intense that they were felt on the International Space Station. The first time I got a chainsaw "kill," I felt like I'd just discovered and lost a new kind of virginity.
In the real world I still have armpit virginity, and I am entirely OK with that.
It comes from Sera, an insane fictional world of violence where owning an assault rifle isn't already crazy enough. That might be because the average Seranian looks like a linebacker played at the wrong monitor resolution. Their belt sizes are measured in giant redwoods. It takes slightly longer to shoot one to death than to teach them the theory of relativity.
Gears of War gunfights can take longer than postal chess.
The monsters on Sera are Locusts, and their hides are so thick that bayonets get stuck in them. So Gears of War replaced the bayonet with a series of smaller blades and fitted them to a motor. The first time you try to chainsaw a Locust, the small blades will dig into its flesh and the motor will fling the Lancer out of your hands and over its shoulder, giving the attacking monster's backup a free Lancer. Your only hope is that they spend so long desperately trying to get a chainsaw kill that you can blast them with the shotgun, just like everyone else on multiplayer.
The first Dragonlance trilogy was My First Fantasy Novel for millions of fans (and also the authors). It reads like fan fiction of a Dungeon & Dragons party because that's exactly what it was. The books contain more elementary fantasy stereotypes than the first D&D players manual. And I loved them. Read them twice. Raistlin could kick the shit out of Gandalf with both hands behind his back and a squeegee mop instead of a staff.
Clyde Caldwell, TSR Inc
Raistlin: more magic than a flashlight and a bird call. Unlike some wizards.
In Dragonlance, the world is under attack by ancient master-magician dragons that breathe lightning and poison and can bite through an elephant. The only way mortals can stand against them (and you know you've got problems when "mortal" is the adjective you're bringing to the fight) is with the Dragonlance. A pointy bit of metal. You're going up against near-gods and your best idea is to joust at them. When your battle plan is based on approximating the murderous incarnation of mythical evil as a balloon, you're in trouble.
"OK, men, get as close to the impossible death beast as possible, then start poking it."
You also need a good dragon to carry you up there. This means going up to a good dragon, the most ancient and powerful creature in existence, and explaining that you're going to ride it like a horsey while murdering its kind. Good luck with that.