After a prolonged training session, Ginga is ready to dominate the ring- and not leave any room for anyone else. Enjoy!
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Ginga had to wonder if at some point, his special talent counted as cheating. Sure, the heavyweight division in this specific competition had no upper limit, and he hadn't been taking any performance enhancers or drugs— but the jaguar did start to feel just the little bit guilty when he outweighed his opponent by a rough estimate of three to one.
He had been told that he was going to be going up against a Russian champion, an absolute beast in the ring that not only never lost, but was known to be utterly ruthless. So, the jaguar shifted his form accordingly— blowing up his proportions to an enormous wall of solid brawn. He allowed the tapered waist he favored to be filled out with the thick, solid slab of dense mass, with a hint of cobbled abs to show the sheer strength and solidness of his form. His spots were warped over enormous, gorilla-like arms that were packed with dense, swollen muscle, legs as solid as oak trunks with bulging thighs nearly bursting the seam of his singlet. His chest was like a jutting barricade, and his sprawling back had been grown wide enough to shame the wingspan of some condors.
He was really growing to love the way he looked— and there was an inherent thrill in being able to pin a veteran wrestler with one headlock, his bicep mashed against the Russian champion's cheek and swelling up larger than his head. The jaguar had spent a long time building himself for lean athleticism; bodies that favored speed and dexterity meant for acrobatics and racing. He had felt the rush of being so enduringly tough, he could take punches and kicks like they were drops of rain, strong enough he could bend metal pipes— and as he felt how easily he could dominate the ring, he just had to find a tougher challenge that would require even greater strength.