Chapter 19: 19- The Collector (1)

About 30m above ground level, and 50m below the supposed ceiling of the dungeon. An unassuming small cavity could be found at one side of the supporting walls. With an opened disfigured mouth letting out a platform, that seems like a tongue of a hungry ghost, from a great distance, discouraging anyone to even think of entering it.

"Quiiiiieeeeee" And the constant harrowing sounds coming out of it, only increased the terror it emitted. 

Some dozen or so, small prison cells assembled from the many past victims left over -unevenly cleaned bones of all sizes, and in the shape of a skeletal dome- Lined the floor and dotted the ominously black walls. Housing the current victims, waiting in line to get slaughtered by their captor. The butcherer. 

From the small three tailed squirrel to a 2m-long python could be seen entrapped here, seemingly looking like they were put on for display as some sort-of living art work in this 2 by 2 cave. 

All things considered, they have one commonality- They're runts of this strata and weak. Weak enough to get captured by a measly rogue goblin on loose. They could only curse their fate and wait for their upcoming doom, as they watched the horror show unfolding in front of them. 

A bounded purple Boar shrieked and squealed for pleading, but to no avail. It thrashed, in attempt to run, but its legs were entrapped into the hardened floor, and so it failed again. Running out of options, the desperate boar did what it should have done long before when it woke up to this. His purple fur stood up as some magenta lightning buzzed around it, coursing through its mana modified muscles, bulging as they provided insta boost. And with its accumulated ferocious burst of power, the lightning-buzzed Boar propelled itself free from its binding with a mighty oink! 

"Frrrrruu!"

The now enraged lightning-buzz-boar flared its already enlarged nostrils wide. Turning left to right, ferociously looking for its captor, who had the audacity to abduct it while it slept! 

But all around it, were more prisoners, in a worse situation than him. Just then the impatient boar heard a guttural noises coming behind it; like a deranged monster, trying to sing an other worldly poem with its eldritch voice. 

"Lidte boar...litdle boar...whey you bore a hole in my whore... Ghaaa! Ack!" The goblin cursed his voice for messing with his last word, changing the entire meaning behind it. 

'It was house! I swear... Eh?' Interrupted by the sudden disturbance behind. Oscar turned around, withdrawing itself from the workshop, but too late to do anything against the mad-magenta-boar on its way to bore a genuine hole in him; taking his voice-practicing-poem literally. 

It poured out all its Mana, charging ahead head first fast. Fast enough to made its leg movements a blur. And combined with its fierce momentum, the Boar savagely rammed against that goblins face. Failing to see the clear amusement spreading through its captors face. 

"Clik!"

"Crunch!"

"Bang!"

Like mouse traps activating in sequences: the collar around the advancing boar, snapped. Puncturing its neck, severely, with several bone needles -joining one end to the other points- dotting around the collar. A dirt wall erected in between them, causing the already dead Boar, carried by the momentum, to ram against it with a final impact. 

Annoyed with these repeated texts. Oscar wiped his hands, dismissing them all at once, not even taking a glance. While focusing on the freshly-escaped prisoner, or the freshly-slained prisoner in this case. 

"Ghaaa... Why you do dis to me?"

Sighing, the cruel captor puts away his 1meter long bloody saw, made of bone and made for cutting bones, and the still in making magical bear trap with a glowing red crystal embedded to it alongside a disgustingly red squishy pouch -that was still dripping with thick droplets of blood- an organ used to control the said mana-core in a body of a monster. 

The workshop of his, was 2m long, with a cleanly-cut boulder as the platform containing: some monsters Mana-cores, and their suspected organs used to manipulate the cores. Bowls made of skulls to store blood-soups, as refreshments, using the last grains of spices he had. And some stone tablets, keeping the inscribed records of the goblins experiments, mostly failed.

"Sploch!"

Gripping the collar by both hands, he twisted it. And with a sickening sound of meat tearing away, the boars head detached itself from the body, Leaving behind a puddle of blood. 

"you know, how divicult id was to catch you?" Oscar asked with his broken voice. Glaring accusingly at those dead eyes. 

"Sigh... Now I have to proses your Mana-glands, before it rots... And look, what mess you have leave behind for me" Turning the severed head. At the broken debris around the tiny crator, it had caused in its jail break, and the bloody pool formed around its headless body. 

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again" Moving the mouth alongside its tusk by hands. The mad-goblin voiced it himself. Evidently talking to a severed head. 

"Yep... I'm sure of it buddy. Or more like, I would be worried if you could do this ever again" 

With a smile on his handsome face. The goblin lodged the "talking" Head on a hook at the wall, adjacent to his workshops platform, Among the several heads; like a creepy collection, albeit they're not leaking fresh blood. 

Onlookers, might mistaken this strange goblin as a mental patient who has yet to take his medicine, which wasn't far from the truth. Albeit the said medicine is a person, or any person to talk to. Living alone in a dungeon, where death always runs behind him at full throttle, and the said monster was an otherworldly human just about a month ago, only makes it worse. Even the strongest willed mind, may gave away after rubbing themselves with different monsters blood on a daily basis. So, Oscar talking to some hanging heads seems more normal and forgiving, compared to him clinging over his now-non-existent humanity That he never had in the first place. 

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"Urgh! Just seeing you all using Magic left and right, makes me jealous..." Picking out the Mana-core of the boar -a Magenta colored disfigured crystal, a swirling tornado as the content- the goblin eyed it with jealousy, greed and hunger for power of a true goblin. 

Although, he could feel the mana churning inside of it, he failed to even stir it through his 'Mana-Concentration'; like trying to enter an impenetrable self-sustained factory, capable of producing the finished products only when its owner gives the orders. 

After fumbling with these orbs, the little genius came to understand two things about them: they're like a combined form of those spell orbs and natural Mana generator, with fixed specifications. And unlike spell orbs, they're capable of understanding the intentions behind the orders; like a simpleton AI or maybe the subconsciousness of the monster, that also guards the hypothetical factory from any intruders. And if one wanted to access it, then they must kill this hypothetical guard, which was no small feat even on a dormant monster core.

But, Oscar had already met such case, and used it without knowing it in his escape from the rat king. 

"Bet you must be borned with it...don't you?" Slapping the dead boar, Oscar asked jestly.

He had seen and captured - as his pets- few of the beings, who couldn't use magic, but they still have the core when he opened their insides. Either they have suffered a fatal injury that makes them incapable of using it or, they have yet to mature when he caught them. Of which, he would bet his neck on the latter. Furthermore, he have yet to check his insides, but if these floating-texts have even an ounce of truth, then he didn't even have a dormant core to begin with, let alone making it mature through the evolution. 

Hence, giving him depression on the prospect of not being able to use magic ever again. His soon to be finished Mana stone stock, and some stolen spell orbs -that may gets expired anytime,considering their ever dropping durability- doesn't counts. 

"Urgh! Why we born different?!" He suddenly howled out of nowhere. His voice, barely starting to get used to his recent mutation. 

It was a skill, that damaged his own voice box with each sonic attack conjured. And sounds much like a banshees scream, not that Oscar had heard any. Though, he had yet to master it to mimic any humans voice, but producing some bare-words from it wasn't that difficult. Just that, he sounds like a deranged kid making fun of any language spoken. 

"You all fukers are born with it. But, here I am. Gedding theese low-tiered evoltion, without any chance of using mana of my own. Truly a discrimination at its finest" 

Working on the rope, made of burned muscle tendons. The little crafter lamented of his goblin fate- born to weild rusted swords, and fight like a savage by overwhelming their opponent through sheer numbers. 

'But maybe on an off chance, this 'Goblin-Artificer' may allow me to use my own Mana? Although it doesn't outright says so, but it also doesn't outright deny it, right' optimistically, he thought. 

Outright ignoring the 'Mort-Goblin' and 'Mink-Goblin' since, Oscar refused to grow infinite furs all over his body. As for the latter one, if it's description is even-half true then, he refused to die young, yet again. 

Meanwhile, he had already met early and seen, what a hob goblin is capable of- nothing. That stupid leader died in a minute, leaving the newly spawn Oscar to fend against that rocky-snake 'And I still don't know, if that hob-goblin was spawned with us or came from outside. Considering its well prepared leather armor, I would bet on the later. But again, anything is possible where a dungeon can just choose to empower a single hob-goblin rather than some idiot green runts. 

He was currently in a stalemate, on what to choose. He couldn't decide it but also knows, he couldn't ignore it. He was anxious and feared of going to a hibernation, a coma like situation where he would be unaware of his outside situation- a helpless lamb. Even as he slept in his abode practically 30m above 'ground', the goblin would woke up several times to a shift in the air, he just couldn't make himself relax. He wondered, had he been living within a tribe, surrounded by his kind, then maybe he wouldn't hesitate this much... 

"Hmm... Come do think of it, I have yet to encounter my own kind no" 

He mused aloud. Carefully cleaning the red gland from any blood, before connecting it to the magenta-core and the processed muscle rope in a loop; like a basic science project with a wire (rope), bulb (core) and the switch (Gland), what it was missing was a battery to kick start the circuit. Which the unauthorized-crafter substituted it with a Mana stone. 

Carefully he guided the raw Mana, utilizing his second-most practiced skill after 'Trap-Alignment' which is 'Mana Concentration (II) Lv4', towards the dead-gland. Kick starting the prototype of a circuit, by literally kicking the dead-gland with the raw Mana, till it becomes agitated and convulsed on its own; following its muscle memory it activated the defense mechanism against the invader/outside Mana, which many calls the fighting instincts. Sending the distress signals to the monster-core, resulting the tendons, connecting both, to expand as they keep getting inflated with energy with nowhere else to transfer, but their high endurance makes them immune from bursting inside-out. They gets enlarged enough to trap, the bundle-of-bones as the sample placed in the center, before crushing them all -following the first crack that appeared- as it contracted with enormous force. 

"Fuuu... That's enough testing, now gotta make the real thing" Deactivating the mechanism by cutting off the Raw Mana supply. He wiped the sweat. He too was also scared of it bursting right on his face- just like that previous time, where he had to use up his last healing potion, failing to get the insta-level-up-heal. 

Oscar didn't realised, but the way he was making these traps/devices was a bit too crude, outrageous even. They uses the natural Mana stone as the fuel, which can only be afforded by the well-off mages in outside world, and the way he just brute forced it to make things happen, would irked any mage enough to bash their wooden-staff to his head; like a hockey stick to the ball. Nobody would buy his stuff, if he ever tried to sell it. 

"Now, where did I put that pythons skin... Hmm?" Search as he might, he couldn't find it. 

'Argh! I have already used it all before...' Annoyed on his own, the bone-carpenter quickly puts away his stuff. And washed his hands, by licking it clean... Hygiene is also important, but being a cheap goblin who couldn't afford/steal a water magic-spell-orb, that's the least he could do. 

Before taking out his combat gears and a bag. Planning to go down, and check if his installed devices had caught any bigger python. Or else, he would have to use the smaller one in his house, which he was planning keep it as pet. An unwilling-pet, that is, if goes by the suspected pythons behavior- eyeing its captor with its cold and calculative reptilian eyes, waiting for any chance to slip off and sink its fangs inside that green skinned-runt.

Rolling a square shaped, brown leather fabric around his torso, he tightened it with two thin but resilient ropes. A pair of bandolier with same material, crossed over him, to hold his two favorite weapons of choice: an ugly-gauntlet and a disfigured hollowed bone, stuffed with Mana stones and orbs. As for his lower part, the civilized-goblin wears a strip rolled-tight to form a loincloth/underwear and a pair of loose-shorts, also made of same material as his shirt.

Although, he had tried to make something softer with the monster skins, but his skill 'trap-alignment' that has upgraded to 'Trap-Master' doesn't stretches that far to make comfortable clothes for him. Thus, Oscar had to satisfy himself from dismantling the stolen-leather-bag, as it was the closest material that was resilient and comfortable to wear. 

"Don't do anything funny behind me, you all understand?" 

The lone-goblin warned the wall-mouted head collections; like someone would warn their naughty roommates. Which they just stared at his departing figure with dead-eyes as reply, but a single monkey-head poked out its tongue... Or more like, it had always been poking out its tongue since the day it died. Oscar turned around and doubled checked it. He too was scared of ghost. 

"Take care of the home, alright!" Cheerfully waving his hands at his unwilling-pets, the collector goes on his daily endeavor; hoping to collect new species that was stupid enough to get caught in his traps. 

"Ittekimasu!" Hands spread out. Oscar jumped backwards from the caves platform, departing in style. 

He relished the feeling of freedom he gets from the way high speed winds carried past him, but also dreaded the way gravity strangels him down. Too bad, he had his trusted rope attached to him for safety, as he falls down rapidly without a worry like on a bungee jumping spree. 

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!"

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