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From the start of his life, there was a struggle.
As he was rather forcefully pulled from his warm, happy place, where he floated around in a womb, kicking off his other siblings and probably staying squished, the silky, curly-furred serval kit had one obstacle to keep him from securing the first steps. Two, actually. With his soft stomach, milk might be a problem. The boy felt himself on Earth, cold pinching at his nose, making it red.
But the lungs that were supposed to suck in air were filled with a black, mystery substance. It was thick, and tar-like.
The undersized serval found himself choking, as his screams for help came in gargled, ugly chokes. I can't breathe, I can't fucking breathe! While kits had no knowledge of curse words, that's what he would find himself saying in a circumstance like this. When he was finally given the honor of a name, it would be Crispus, and he would carry the surname passed down to him of Xerxes. His middle name would be Code in the near future, though he isn't big on codes himself. Crispus Code Xerxes was probably a middle child, surprisingly for how painfully tiny he was. It wouldn't be surprising if a breeze knocked him down.
The fluid dribbled from his mouth, as he choked, feeling the awful stuff slide up his throat from his lungs, spewing it everywhere. He grabbed at anything, as he felt himself running out of energy, smacking his siblings in an attempt to get to his mother. When he finally got a fourth of it out, Crispus blacked out violently, being hit by it in one sudden swoop. He could still breathe, but very, very limitedly, as he clung onto Tama's fur, head resting, eyes strained shut. He had his time running out, around five minutes in the world he had just gotten into.
But Crispus wasn't willing to let himself die. That small yet beautiful beating in his chest shined bright.