Pirate Bitches
"Why not." Leg Shot, Arm Shot—different permutation, same principle. Aiming her machine gun at the creature's weak spots, Azalea pulled the trigger. The large-caliber ammo was of her own design—the cartridges flew rapidly from the gun, sinking into the creature's body before exploding from within in series. From the airship, the rapid succession of explosions looked like a Judas belt, a fireworks show, at the eve of a new year.
The machinist reloaded another magazine and again let loose a heavy stream of explosives. The tactic was only feasible from so high up, but Azalea had to be as quick as possible. While the risk of water damage was exponentially mitigated, the blasted creature could direct water magic their way any time.
Another magazine. She had to exhaust her entire store of gunpowder-reliant weaponry, before it could be put to waste. Would she dance after, or use Tools? The last magazine. No, dancing was risky until such time as she could be certain of minimal turbulence. It would have to come last.
Putting aside her machine gun, Azalea unstrapped a pair of grenades. Modeled after the anti-dragon Kerwonian-3 make—the machinist leaned over the railing and, bringing one of the grenades to her mouth, pulled the pin with her teeth. With a calculated roll of her wrist, she dropped the explosive a few meters from the serpent's mouth. The wind currents swept the grenade into the serpents mouth, where it detonated violently.
Lea chuckled at the mushroom cloud that blew out of the serpent's mouth before dropping the second one.