The next time he awoke he received the same treatment. He would cry out and become clean, then, his father would grimace as he spoon-fed the mixture down Arc's throat. During this process, he would find himself in immense pain, something which his body seemed incapable of getting used to as even after the tenth meal it still felt as bad as the first. His drab-grey room did nothing to improve his mood either, the silver and gray cloth covering the window making the room feel more dreary than it probably would be otherwise.
All of this contributed to a cycle of pain, in which there was never a moment he was awake in which he had no grievance with his surroundings, be it the room, the food, or the shit in his diaper.
'I gotta get out of this place.' he thought to himself as he awoke for the one hundredth time since he had first tasted the accursed yellow grit. 'I'm gonna go insane if this keeps up too much longer.'
For the first time since he arrived here he began to move around, his body that was frail even for a newborn was finally strong enough to move around, most importantly lift his head. His first act of real agency in his life revealed to him something that shocked him. His body was quite thin for an infant. His arms and legs didn't have that little bit of fat that they tend to have and his stomach, which by all means should be quite plump, instead formed a straight line from the bottom of his ribcage to his waist. As he struggled to put his hands to his face he found he did not have that characteristic chubbiness that would serve to make most babies cute. In a word, he could be described as emaciated.
For this he blamed that foul tasting and pain inducing food his father had been feeding him almost every waking moment.
However in his excitement he almost didn't notice a different change from before, his loincloth was not heavier than it should be. He was ecstatic at this revelation, he had finally shut off his other end and was no longer assailed by that foreign but intimately familiar scent. His front was still wet though, but the fact he could control his bowels was great progress. He began to move his arms and legs and made noises as it was the only form of celebration he was capable of having at the moment.
What he didn't account for was the excellent hearing that his dad possessed. Upon hearing his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs he began to panic. 'He's not gonna feed me that shit again is he!?!? I shouldn't of celebrated prematurely.' This time, his ability to move his body allowed him to watch his father as he entered the cloth covered door, being careful to close it behind him. His appearance was simultaneously cleaner and more haggard than when he had first seen him. His previously grimy black hair was now clean and trimmed to about finger-length, revealing that it's true color was more of a reddish-blonde. His skin was now clean as well, and in the light showed it to be rough and lightly tanned. He wore a tan shirt and brown pants, both of which were covered in red-brown spots. His left arm was covered by leather up to his shoulder, where straps went around his neck and under his other armpit in order to keep it in place. His red belt had a sword and a dagger fastened to it, with crimson and silver hilts respectively.
Yet this clean and proper appearance was interrupted by his facial expression and overall demeanor. His eyes were drawn back into his face and his shoulders were drooping. He was dragging his feet and his mouth was drawn into a frown. If the redness of his eyes and the water on his chin were any indicator, he had probably been weeping. The reasons for that were impossible to determine, but Arc thought that it might have something to do with what he had been in distress about before, the death of who he assumed was his mother.
Arc's attention was drawn to the bowl in his gloved hand, filled to the brim with the source of his torture, the "Soul Formula" he despised. This discovery once again sent him into a spasm, trying to instinctually get away from the torturous substance. He rocked side to side, trying to get onto his belly and crawl away. His movement did not go unnoticed by Jamie, who merely gasped and dropped the bowl, frozen at the sight of the up 'til now motionless lump of flesh.