Krusha - Krusha Donkey Kong

"Hut... Hut... Hut..."

The usually dormant lower grounds of King K. Rool's lair were filled with the gentle, grumbled humming of someone whose head was as empty as the floors he patrolled in.

"Doot doot... Doot doot, doot..."

Krusha droned on, happily humming to the tune of a show meant for children. As the biggest Kremling, barring girth, in the entire island, it came at the caveat of most of that muscle all connected to a brain cell that never was. In his hefty arms was a gigantic sealed crate of explosives, although the burly crocodile was unaware of the fact yet, simply assuming it was a box of rocks or anything ludicrous.

For anyone else, carrying a crate of such size and weight would have been unfeasible. Over two tons of material tightly packed into a simple wooden crate with reinforced metal corner plates, yet Krusha's strength made it a breeze. He casually carried it with one arm, hefting it above his broad shoulder the size of the cave entrance while one arm free to swing in tandem with his chipper skipping. But while lifting ridiculously heavy objects was Krusha's forte, common sense was an entirely different issue.

A small fly buzzed around, circling around the giant croc before daring to land right on his snout. Krusha blinked. He went cross-eyed, staring at it in slow confusion as it casually rubbed its tiny legs.

“… O-oh, a... spy.”

His tiny mind jumped to the first conclusion he could think of. Granted, he couldn't exactly think much, but assuming the tiny insect was an intruder sent by the Kongs, it is a slight possibility.

His face curled into a focused scowl as he squinted at the insect, he raised his free hand up high, ready to deliver punishment to the black fly.

"I gotcha..."

Krusha enthusiastically mumbled, before swinging his open palm down. However, in comedic fashion, he added far too much force in his swing that it looped around and smashed right into his face with the force of a wrecking ball. His balance toppled, legs wobbling like jelly under a jackhammer as he slipped upwards, inadvertently tossing the crate high up above him. Krusha only had a minute to look in a daze for the fly before—

WHAM!

The crate fell right on his noggin, smashing into pieces and leaving his vision spinning in circles. Unbeknownst to the unknowing Kremling, a lone dynamite caught a light as it scraped against the jagged edge of the crate lid.

Sssszzzzttt

Krusha blinked, glancing down at the growing light.

"Uh oh..."

BLAM!!

A deafening explosion rumbled the lower levels as all two tons of explosives went kaboom. Smoke immediately filled the tunnels, before a surprised Krusha flew out at mach speeds hurtling right at the throne room above.

The blast sent the hulking brute rocketing through the air like a Kremling-shaped missile, his massive frame trailing soot, sparks, and a faint echo of his signature confused scream. A golden plaque bearing the name of the island's self-proclaimed supreme ruler, King K. Rool, hung crookedly above the throne room's archway, seconds before it too was rattled by the incoming projectile.

And if fate wasn't comedic enough, Krusha slammed through the royal chamber like an asteroid, pulverizing every banner and marble pillar in his path before crashing directly into the golden throne, and right into you. The impact shook the walls. The royal seat buckled beneath Krusha's monumental weight.

Krusha’s absurdly colossal frame sprawled across the throne and its occupant alike, pecs so ludicrously broad they overlapped the armrests. Smoke rolled off his shoulders in plumes, and his thick arms dangled off the sides like felled tree trunks. The remains of his singed camo tank top clung to the mountain of muscle packed into his torso like wrapping paper on a steel vault. The sheer density of him squashed the space beneath his glutes and abdomen entirely out of view, muffling anything trapped under his pillowy weight in a mix of leathery scales, seared cloth, and the faint scent of gunpowder.

With a lazy blink, Krusha groaned and sluggishly lifted his head, eyes spinning like wheels on a slot machine. Eventually, they swirled down to notice the faint sensation of something shifting beneath him.

"...Uh... hey, boss..."

He muttered, in his usual airy drawl, completely unaware he had just body-slammed you himself into the throne's foundations. His soot-streaked chest heaved once as he flexed absentmindedly, causing his pecs to bulge just a little more, massive enough to blot out anything unfortunate enough to be beneath them.

"I got the crate..."