A treat just in time for Halloween! With all that heft, it's little wonder Sly won his champion title, and is ready to make off with his prize- that extra tonnage of blubber may make sneaking a little bit harder in the future, though. Check out who else we chonkified at Big Stories here!

Art ©  silver-stag

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When Sly at last wrapped his thick, pudgy fingers around the Icon of Yokozuna Koemon, there was a touch of irony that struck him— he had only recently learned what the curse that was supposedly laid on the icon actually did. Yokozuna Koemon, a great sumo champion, declared that his icon would only ever be handled by sumo wrestlers who could be his own equals— all others would be cursed with a gluttonous, gnawing hunger until they did become Yokozuna's equal— in sheer tonnage if not skill. The raccoon mused on if maybe there was something to that curse after all, or if it was merely a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Either way, he was most likely going to be stuck this way for a very long time— he had never committed to a ruse or disguise like this in a long time, and his appetite had certainly grown the longer he stayed in the stable; Slys bulbous, ever-hungry belly had grown truly gigantic. There were Tokyo apartments smaller than his great, roiling gut, a practical sea of blubber that spilled out far past the rest of his body, pressing down on his barrel-thick legs, and dominating the outline of his body. Even his tail had fluffed and fattened up, when it wasn't being swallowed by his titanic rear. What appeared to be two enormous rice bags laid atop his belly, still pumped with muscles buried under the thick layer of adipose, his thickly swaddled arms held surprisingly vast reserves of strength; Sly had won his champion title fair and square, as nothing short of a bulldozer would successfully push him out of the ring.

But now, the raccoon could waddle away with the solid gold icon clutched in his hands, and no one would bat an eye. After all the prep work, this might have been the easiest steal of his career. Still girded in his champion's mawashi girded across the vast circumference of his boulder belly, he tapped his commlink.

"Alright, Bentley— I got it. Let's get moving!" Sly pat his middle, sending ripples across the sprawling expanse of his belly. "But first, I think a celebratory feast is in order, yeah? I am a champion, after all."

He heard the turtle groan on the other end. "Sly, we can't even fit you in the van anymore! We're gonna have to rent a flatbed or something."

"Relax, a rental fee is going to be pennies once we cash in this bad boy," Sly chuckled, tossing the icon in the air. "Besides, I'll start slimming down… eventually."

"You'd better. I'd like to see you try and escape if Carmelita catches you at this size."

Sly grinned, dimpling his bloated cheeks. "Hah, well, Carmelita is going to have a lot of extra Sly to deal with if she tries. Think she's got a thing for heftier guys?"

The oversized raccoon could practically hear Bentley roll his eyes. "I wouldn't push my luck if I were you, Sly."

"Ah, come on, lighten up— why don't we talk it out over dinner, yeah? Like I said, I'm a champion now— gotta keep appearances up a little while longer, right? Besides, I'm starving!"