The next time he awoke he was no longer in that same wood-ceilinged room. Instead, the ceiling had a grey and silver cloth covering it, loose and drooping in some places but taut in others. It looked soft like silk and thin as paper. He was no longer tightly swaddled either, instead neatly tucked in underneath a heavy blanket that looked like it was the same material as what covered the ceiling, although much denser in makeup. For that matter, it looked like the entire room was covered in that same exact drab grey textile. Already he was under the impression that his father's sense of style could not be considered among the best. However he didn't criticize his father for too long as he quickly noticed a strange sensation around his pelvic region and a rancid stench in the air.
He had shit himself in his sleep.
He mustered up what little strength he had and tried to call out to his father, but all that came out was a burp and a strained cry. This humiliated him further. Not only soiling himself in his sleep but not being able to communicate as well? This situation would not stand if he had a say in it. He tried again to speak but the same cry came out. Over and over again his attempts at forming words only resulted in this pitiful screech.
Just because it was pitiful doesn't mean it wasn't effective. It might be more accurate to say that it was more effective BECAUSE it was so pitiful, evoking a hasty response from his father from downstairs.
"Just a second Arc. God this stuff smells awful." He could hear his father slightly muffled through the walls and floor. 'Is it really that pungent that he can smell it from out there?' he couldn't imagine his stench would be that potent. However, his worries were quickly proven baseless, because as Jamie entered the room he physically recoiled. "Soul formula may be bad but I don't think I'll ever get used to this smell."
Arc could see him gagging as he tried to cover his nose, something that clearly wasn't working. Yet the thing that drew his attention wasn't his father's scrunched up face, nor the stack of cloths he assumed were diapers, but the bowl that his father carried into the room. He couldn't see into it, but he got the feeling that was the 'Soul Formula' his father complained about. Immediately he felt a chill go down his spine. 'I'm gonna have to eat that aren't I?'
Before he could get to complaining, he had already been moved to a separate table where his father began doing a routine refreshal of his lower bounds. Once his bum was clean to his father's liking he was wrapped in a clean diaper and held on his knee as he prepared this gourmet dish for his son's culinary pleasure. "I hope you hate this stuff as much as I do, I can imagine even meldan choosing to starve over eating this..." His eyes showing pain and sympathy to the one he assumed to be unable to understand him.
Arc wanted to protest, even just a little, seeing his father's reluctance, but his weak body and slow response left him with a spoonful of the yellow stuff in his mouth.
What assailed him next was possibly the worst experience he had ever been through, possibly even more so than that chamber he woke up in.
What assailed him was the taste of what we would call smoked salmon with a texture akin to mud, a gritty yet slimy mouth-feel that seemed to stick to both his cheeks and teeth alike. He instantly started to vomit, yet none of that banana yellow substance exited his mouth. Instead, he received another serving of yellow putty in his now open mouth, once again shocking him to find that it disappeared from his mouth despite not swallowing. This revolting process of gag and consume repeated without much change until the bowl was almost finished, which was around the time that a new sensation started to attack his senses.
Pure, unadulterated, agony.
Pain wracked his body. His skin felt freezing while it seemed as though molten iron was flowing through his veins. He had a splitting headache, one that might drive him to death if he had the capability. His vision was blurry and he was no longer able to hear straight. He couldn't taste or smell the source of his displeasure, but that was mainly due to the fact that his mouth felt like it was being scorched and his nose was running like a river. His mouth felt dry and his stomach ached with a stinging sensation that could bring even a man to tears.
'Why the hell can't I catch a break?' was the only thought he was capable of stringing together as his infant body started to involuntarily cry from the pain. So far the only comfort he had received was from pieces of cloth and the relief from the man named Zerrin. This pain would continue for a while after his father was done feeding him, ending in him once again falling unconscious.