but for real tho
will the enemy pee their pants if I pump 2 tank round sized APHE rounds into their hull?
vs a single battleship-round sized round into their hull?
I feel like there's a storytelling question that keeps getting asked here but that nobody is quite addressing. Which is: outside of mechanics, in the
worldbuilding how do these things feel and what mental/emotional impact does getting shot at with them likely produce in a character within this world? That is, not the numbers in our computers, but the feeling in the story? Forgive me if I'm misinterpreting.
I'm going to say the story-side impact is likely directly proportional to the mechanics-side penetration value of a human weapon, with a bit of adjustment for weapons that are distinctive and rare to encounter (the, "oh crap, what is
that thing?" factor). Think about other dark and crunchy sci-fi: weapons that go through-and-through, in one side of your ship and out the other, are always the most terrifying. They make humans feel small.
Look at any intense battle scene in
The Expanse, for example. While tactically the characters are desperately working to avoid or shoot down high explosives and nukes with exciting PD fire, the weapons that always produce maximum emotional impact are the railguns. The exclamation mark in the first pinch point of many battle scenes in that franchise is a character looking over to say something to another character, only to see their comrade is now missing most of their body, reduced to an expanding pink cloud and with a clean, still-glowing hole in the plating behind where they were—and an exactly equal sized hole opposite them. A stray shot just deleted them from the world.
Narratively this is because those kinds of penetrating weapons play up the cosmic horror element that tends to incubate within modern hard sci-fi. Once you exit the warm embrace of Earth (and perhaps also Sol in
Elite, as a broader and more operatic universe), the rest of the universe is a cold, dark, uncaring place and it becomes immediately obvious that humans are very, very insignificant. We build starships around ourselves as a futile, thin armor against that universe—like tiny hermit crabs hiding in little shells. Anything that reminds us of this narratively, whether in the universe as a character or outside of it as an audience member, is going to be intrinsically terrifying. Weapons that will punch all the way through a spaceship, only incidentally destroying human flesh or venting precious atmosphere as a side effect, are therefore the scariest. They show how insignificant we are, in visceral terms.
So for that reason I'd personally suspect an in-universe character would be a lot more scared of a single larger cannon over multiple smaller ones. But those would pale in comparison to a railgun opening up on them, and (remembering my adjustment for things you encounter less often) the most terrifying hull-contact sounds of all human weapons is likely to be that of the distinctive and exotic Imperial Hammer.
Narratively: if you hear a volley of Imperial Hammers rapidly punching holes in your hull, with only radio silence following it—silence that makes the shouted demands of pirates or bounty hunters sound friendly by comparison—you know you've done something to personally offend Herself. And now Her agents will pursue you even to the edge of the galaxy and do whatever it takes to turn you into a frozen, asphyxiated, forgotten moonlet of some distant and godsforsaken star. You were always nothing in the face of the Powers, let alone the broader galaxy. All they're doing is proving that fact to you.
In game-engine terms none of that reflects the player experience. But I think that's how a story in any other medium would go.