Marie Mjolnir’s name had a definite meaning to it. Maybe I was pondering it because of head trauma, but her last name of “Mjolnir” was not a joke. Every strike, every swing, I could practically see the lightning and hear the pounding of thunder with every vigorous motion. A flash quickly followed by an explosion, either of the literal sort or because of the sheer amount of pain.

Because, and this might come as a surprise, being hit by her Weapon form hurt. It hurt a lot. Simply saying that it hurt wasn’t enough, though, because it went beyond that. Good god. Every swing, every push, every strike landed. When Stein finally got serious, when he realized I could take just about everything he could throw at me, he threw everything at me.

Occasionally, I could block his hand. Occasionally, I could bring up my guard to divert one of Stein’s punches, but Marie… Weapons, one must remember, are sentient. At the end of the day, in spite of their form, Weapons are humans and capable of controlling their bodies. And Marie, well, Marie was doing more than a little of the work when it came to spinning and hitting.