When not passed out on a table, Riox the General looked like a dark-blue four-foot-tall cylinder, two feet in diameter, like all members of the Slell species.
Riox’s three eyes sat just above the source of the chirping sound: his sharp, yellow beak. He had long, skinny arms with a spike at both elbows, and his head was dotted with medals bonded to his skin.
Lighter than air, Riox had no legs. He moved by directing the constant streams of oxygen that sprayed from three sphincters, or jets, at his base. Right now, the jets were still, as he floated there unconscious.
The Destroyer continued, “Their game beat this monotonous—”
“—CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP!” Riox snored.
“Theirgamebeattthismonotonousgameofchance!” the Destroyer said.
Riox was the perfect target, the Destroyer had decided.
That’s why the Destroyer had encouraged Riox to try poker, and today, after 300 years of the Destroyer’s urgings, Riox had agreed.
A thin-skinned creature, Riox’s body was a balloon of various light gasses. Though he had a medical cloud similar to Jeska’s, his delicate physiology rendered it useless against all but the most minor injuries.
A dart traveling through Riox’s frame at high speed would mean a popping sound and instant death.
Which is exactly what the Destroyer had planned.
The death part.
Not the popping sound.
