February 11, 2021.

Late evening.

By the time Anya Willowherb woke up, hours had passed. The sun slowly yet surely sank towards the west horizon.

The contracts were read, agreed upon, and signed without any changes. The ease of the process stirred wariness from the human woman. “Excuse me, but what happened while I was asleep?”

Dust replied: “If you wanna thank someone, thank Papyrus. Let’s just say I’m completing his final request. Review the video with Stephan, if you want.”

The farmer showed the phone to her in silence.

“I see…” she said, “Condolences.”

The acknowledgement was more of a formality to Dust’s ear canals. Still, it’s nice to get some. “Thanks. Now, since we’re officially allies, there’s something I should tell you.”

He gestured his hand towards the house as a whole. “We’re being watched by our enemy.”

“What?!” Stephan started looking everywhere, from the windows, to the undersides of the table, to the neighbouring chairs. “I-i-is it a bug? Really tiny?? Invisible???”

“Nah. He’s a little golden flower named Flowey. Tries his best to hide, but I always know when he’s around.”

Anya sighed. “This limits our ability to strategize.”

“Nah. He can watch and listen, but he can’t act. By my estimates, it’ll take about 5 days for him to become a threat again.”

“Hmmm…” Anya smiled back. “I understand. Well, what’s your plan?”

“Can you lend me the black tome?”

Anya passed the book to him. “Here you go, Mister Dust.”

He flipped to a page about divination spells and showed one in particular to the woman. “Have you used this before?”

“Yes. Do you have all the necessary catalysts?”

“Yup. Time, location, memento. Got ‘em all. The problem ain’t the input though; it’s the output. This spell doesn’t render sound. That’s a big chunk of contextual information missing right there. Have you guys updated your methods over the past thousand years?”

“We have,” she replied. “The latest version of this spell renders speech, and all other sounds the catalyst had experienced.”

“Experienced? What do you mean by that?”

“Vibrations, Mister Dust. It’s possible to extrapolate sound from the visual data. The old spells were tuned only to light. That’s why it doesn’t produce any sound. But thanks to advancements in science, we’ve added an additional clause to process any vibrations the object received at that point in time.”

“Wow. That’s damn brilliant. I definitely need that spell. And, frankly, more books about modern human science.”

“Is there anything else?”

He pushed forward a slip of paper that he had prepared in the hour before. “Are you up for a shopping list?”

The humans tried to read the list. Stephan straight up asked: “Are you a doctor or a scientist? Because I thought only doctors had handwriting this illegible…”

Snickering at his reaction, Dust said: “Sorry, but I worked in an environment where I had to jot notes fast. I’ll write it down in standard ‘Comic Sans’ if you can’t read the shorthand.”

“I can,” Anya replied. “It was part of my advanced necromancy training. We’ve adapted many scientific disciplines from the wider world. Came in quite useful for the brewery’s R&D.”

“Then we have a common language that our enemy can’t read. Pretty convenient.”

After comprehending the notes, Anya stood up. “Stephan, please help me with the luggage. We should depart while we still have daylight. There’s much to prepare.”

More disappointment from the farmer, showing that he definitely didn’t go through the same rigorous conditioning as his peers. “I was hoping that we would get to stay for a little while longer…”

But, orders are orders. The humans packed up, loaded the jeep, and bid Dust goodbye.

He silently watched the jeep disappear down the road. Absent of lively guests, it didn’t take long for the chill of winter solitude to return to the quaint farmhouse. “…Welp, it was nice while it lasted.”

The Phantom ebbed into view, letting out a big sigh of relief. “Finally, I can freely talk to you again! I still can’t believe you signed that contract without a second thought.”

“The terms are sufficient.”

“Really? They could have at least given you a simple computer. Don’t you at least want to access the internet?”

“Nah, don’t need it. That’s just gonna distract me. I would get tempted to shitpost all day, y’know.”

Floating around in circles, the ghost accused: “You’re just afraid of discovering what the world really looks like.”

As usual, the ghost knew where it hurt the most.

“That’s a distraction too. I gotta focus on getting Papyrus back. You’ll like him, I’m sure of it.”

“But… I am Papyrus. Why would you think I’m not?”

* * *

February 14, 2021.

Late morning.

The military jeep returned. But, Stephan -- the cheerful ‘pack mule for pack mules’ -- was nowhere to be seen. Anya came alone.

That’s for the best, Dust thought. This mission would be too dangerous for a rookie necromancer like him.

Leaning against the doorpost, Dust asked: “Got the goods?”

She nodded, then went over to the boot of the jeep and took off the tarp, revealing a large wooden crate.

Dust raised an eyebrow. “Is that a whole crate full of explosives? Or weedkillers?”

The military woman returned with a sly smirk. “Better.”

With a bit of heft, she lifted the crate out of the boot.

“I need to take this indoors,” she said, “Could you open the door for me?”

“Sure.”

After she carefully managed to squeeze through the entrance, she nearly dropped her cargo down on the living room floor. “Why is this crate so heavy?” She let out a big huff. “It shouldn’t weigh this much…”

It seems that she expected it to be light enough for a fit human woman to carry alone. Between human males and human females, it’s the males who had superior upper body strength. So, Dust figured, whatever’s inside couldn’t be packed to the brim with liquid or metal.

He touched the surface of the box. It’s pretty standard rough wood. “Guess we won’t know until we open it up. Got anything to deal with the unwanted pair of eyes, though?”

“Yes, I do. Let’s see, I think there’s an electricity socket on the wall here.”

Anya took out a scroll from a pouch on her belt. Unfurling the object revealed intricate circuitry made out of magic circles, runes, and other complex geometry. She proceeded to stick the scroll on top of the wall socket. Doing so caused it to light up.

Some kind of magic coursed through the power lines, and the next thing Dust knew, everything went completely dark and silent.

He could still feel the vibrations from his throat and the sensation of his mouth. So he tried to say: ‘Uh, lady? I’m blind and deaf.’ But no one heard.

Immediately after that, both sight and sound returned. Anya had ripped the scroll off in panic.

“A-apologies!” she said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. The folks over at R&D told me it’s an experimental anti-spying spell meant to block external sound and light. Unfortunately, it blocked every sight and hearing, even for myself. I truly apologize for the mishap.”

“Welp. Consider it positive feedback, lady. To be honest, you might want to let R&D refine that into a weapon. Like an inverted flashbang. Overpower people with silence instead of sound.”

“That’s… a great idea. I’ll pass the suggestion to the necessary parties. In the meantime, I’ll use a more conventional method of spy-deterrence. Do you trust me enough to plant an identifier spell on your psychia?”

Psychia: the SOUL. Every bone in his being cringed at the thought.

Fear? Anxiety? He doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling anymore. It’s a giant ball of unease, rattling from the inside. Even The Phantom shuddered, whispering pleadings to refuse her touch.

Yet, that’s what he signed up for. The contract demanded full cooperation with Anya Willowherb.

In the end, Dust turned his head to the side and grumbled: “Quit the politeness. Just do what you need to do.”

He could tell from the sound of her footsteps that she’s getting closer. Still, he avoided eye contact to suppress the temptation of attacking back.

She’s within an arm’s length now, close enough to see her shadow on the floor.

“It will only be temporary,” she said, “I promise.”

The tip of her fingers touched his chest. From there, a warm, gentle sensation bloomed.

Curiosity had overridden his initial discomfort. Observing his white shirt, he could see the shape of a tiny shepherd’s hook shining through.

Once she was done, Anya reached for a hidden pocket on her cloak to take out a smaller, simpler scroll. She laid it out on the floor and stomped on it. The impact activated the magic, and a hum resonated throughout the walls and floors.

Dust heard a loud, high-pitched ‘OW!’ from a nearby window. That sounded like Flowey alright.

She smiled, enjoying the results. “Now our enemy is no longer close enough to eavesdrop. To explain: anyone not identified by my symbol will be pushed out. Unfortunately, the scroll has a battery power of only 15 minutes.”

“That’s more than enough time.” Also, Dust wouldn’t want that strange magic to stay on his chest longer than it needed to.

“Do you need a crowbar?” asked Anya.

“Nah,” The skeleton summoned a bone and held it like a knife. “I have something quicker.”

With the aid of this Karma-imbued tool, he sliced around the perimeters of the container. After making one round, he easily slid the lid off to the side. “And done.”

The presence of sawdust caught the woman’s attention. Rubbing it between her fingers, she asked: “Is this… disintegration?”

“Yup. Right on the money.”

“Who taught you this magic?”

“Nobody,” Dust replied, “Apparently, I’m born with it. Don’t think I’ve seen or heard of any other monster with this power either.”

“Interesting. Either way, let’s look inside. Time is of the essence.”

Both of them took a peek. Curled up in a nest of shredded paper was a small-bodied white puppet, surrounded by extra goodies consisting of magical tools, bundles of clothes, boxes of pasta, bags of onions, and two packets of dried meat.

Anya sighed as she picked up the pasta box. “No wonder it was heavier than I thought. Oh silly Stephan, you could have just arranged a grocery delivery for tomorrow…”

“Heh. At least I don’t need to worry about my dinner tonight. Provided we survive the day, that is.”

For a moment, he wondered if these gifts of edibles came at the cost of Stephan’s family. That farmer was so joyfully generous despite having a wife and three kids. If they had to go hungry to help this so-called ‘hero’, Dust would rather return the food.

But, the mission comes first. Dust reached for the puppet and pulled it out of the crate. Magic pulsed quietly beneath the clay-like surface.

“Y’know,” he said, “When I wrote down a ‘dummy decoy’, I was expecting a regular mannequin and not a magical doll. How do we use this?”

Anya replied, “Attune yourself with the doll by implanting a piece of your magic. There’s a slot on the back side of the torso.”

Flipping the puppet, he saw the aforementioned slot. The concept reminded him of a vending machine. One insert of magic later and the puppet began to rattle.

Dust dropped the doll in fright, but instead of collapsing into a pile of haphazard limbs, it regained balance and stood on its feet. It then formed a face in the exact likeness to his own.

The uncanny resemblance was both amazing and outright creepy. “…This warrants a ‘what the fuck’, you know that? Of course, it may have my good looks, but can it run and jump like me?”

This time, Anya summoned a full-sized crimson shepherd’s hook. She pointed the stick forwards towards the wall to command the puppet.

Dust watched the puppet run towards the wall, jump, and kick into a backflip: an impressive show of nimbleness and physical control.

“Damn. That’s way better than I expected. What do you usually use this for?”

“Training.” Anya petted the doll on the head. “We’ve also tried to use these to host salvaged human souls. Unfortunately, once a person loses their true body, their remaining lifespan is very limited. Creating a stable host is one of a necromancer’s main life goals, Willowherb or otherwise.”

“Transhumanism, huh? It certainly fits the legends of resurrecting the dead. But I thought nobody can pass on under the effects of The Celestial Calamity? Wouldn’t they continue to persist in the puppet?”

“Nothing escapes your observation, I see. From what we’ve recorded so far, their minds continue to decay despite their apparent permanence. I can’t declare that as a success.”

“Still a bust, huh? Welp. Let’s focus back on our mission. Time to dress this fellow up for the big show.”

* * *

In the farmhouse attic, hiding underneath an anti-magic black cloak, Dust kept his eye on the screen of Anya’s laptop. It’s wirelessly connected to a camera strapped on her body. Science was a form of magic in itself, Dust thought.

A few months ago -- on September 15 -- he found the remains of a decimated squad of soldiers in those very same woods. Anya believed that they were ground to bits under the mistaken belief that it would prevent necromancy. There was one escapee, but he was already at death’s door. Lieutenant Morrison was his name. Dust gave that young human his final rest there.

Under the guise of reclaiming the lost, Anya would attempt to enter that zone. The doll posed as the ‘guide’, leading her to the correct location.

The Phantom hovered over Dust’s shoulder, trying to watch the screen. “Amazing! That puppet looks exactly like you!”

“It’s as the saying goes: ‘The clothes make the man’. Dress the decoy in my same old clothes, and there’s another ‘me’.”

“Come to think of it, brother. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your blue hoodie before. What are you wearing now anyway? I wanna see, I wanna see!”

Since he’s feeling upbeat, Dust obliged to The Phantom’s request. He lifted his cloak a bit to show his replacement clothes: military fatigues and tactical gear. Nothing fancy. Remove his baseball cap and he could pass himself as a member of the army.

Glancing up and down, The Phantom rubbed his chin. “…I almost couldn’t recognize you. And I’m your brother! How in the world is your entire identity tied to your goofy sense of fashion?!”

“Heh. What can I say? I worked hard on my image.”

Deep down, Dust harboured concerns that he would lose the last scraps of his identity if he changed the way he dressed. Who would he be without his character? Could he still recognize himself in the mirror?

He told himself that now was not the time to get distracted. Soon, Anya should enter the grounds where her comrades died.

Right on cue, she stopped walking. The woman planted her staff on the ground and let out a loud command: “Hark, o’ fallen comrades! Rise from thy fitful slumber!”

Her symbol flashed many times within the forest foliage, at the places where her soldiers met their end. Red wisps rose from the ground, transforming into the rough shapes of their former selves.

They began to speak:

“…Captain Anya?…”
“…It’s good to see you again…”
“…Lieutenant Morrison… I don’t sense him… Is he trapped?…”

She replied, “An ally necromancer has already retrieved Lieutenant Morrison. Hurry, reside in my body.”

The ghostly troops saluted in unison: “…Yes Ma’am!…”

But then, a thorny briar lashed out from the thick of the woods, aiming towards the imitation of ‘Dust Sans’. The hooded puppet dodged exactly how the real one would have dodged.

Rumbles soon echoed from both the distant forest and the laptop’s speakers. An angry childish voice yelled from the refuge of the foliage. “I knew you would come here you… you… witch? Yes! A witch! Only a witch would team up with that Trashbag!”

Battle, engaged. Upon Anya’s command, the ghosts of her fallen comrades raised their ethereal guns. Bullets of magic shot down the briars that threatened to impale her.

The puppet leapt into the fray, zig-zagging between the lashings of briars and thorns. Anya and her team of rescued souls backed away while providing support fire for the decoy.

That’s Dust’s cue to grab a metal transport case. Now all he needed to wait was for the window of opportunity.

The Phantom commented, “I’m surprised that the slow human is still alive.”

“She survived that hellish castle for a reason, I suppose.”

Watching another person participate in active combat was more disjointed than Dust expected. He could make sense of her actions, but he didn’t experience the sights, sounds, and sensations that drive her decisions.

Everything seemed so… plain. Nothing like the rush of being in the thick of it all, where time seemed to bend around his every move.

One of the vines whipped out from the left and impaled ‘him’. At first, the bratty flower let out a triumphant exclamation of victory. But after giving the so-called victim a quick shake, he realised that he had been tricked.

Flowey’s exasperated scream could be heard for miles. And thus, the con was complete.

The Phantom, puzzled by the outcome, asked: “Why is the flower so angry?”

“Because we’ve wasted his efforts. It’ll take him at least another week for him to recover. Anya gets her souls, and I get a helpless flower. Win-win.”

“Ooooooh! Brilliant, brilliant!”

Dust readjusted his hat and cloak. “Time to go, bro.”

From the depths of his aged memories, he recalled the image of his secret laboratory. The dimensions of the room, the colour of the floor, the location of the drawers… and above all, the cloth-covered machine that he had left behind.

Target location, locked. Teleport, initiated.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in darkness. Every breath he took was frigid and stale, as expected.

He summoned a bone and made it glow. Looking around, he confirmed that it was indeed his old lab, untouched for the past five years.

“Glad to know this place is still intact.”