Becoming A God In Another World With My Crush
Chapter 43: Mummy Issues

Chapter 43: Mummy Issues

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Iris paced the edges of the room for what had to be the hundredth time, her boots dragging against the dusty floorboards as if she were trying to wear a hole straight through the wood. The wallpaper here peeled like old skin, curling at the corners, and every inch of the ceiling was cracked like something had once tried to break out from inside the walls. The only window was too narrow, too damned high to climb through even if she could break it, even if she dared to try.

The only source of light came from the moon above and the glowing mark that had a burning sensation on her chest which meant only one thing...

Xander was in danger.

As fucking usual.

And she was trapped in this room like a helpless extra in a bad horror movie while the two people she actually gave a damn about in this world was out there bleeding, dying, maybe even getting possessed.

"Crap," Iris muttered sharply, pushing the thought out like poison. She stormed toward the dresser in the corner, yanked the drawer clean off its hinges, and dragged it toward the door. The legs screeched against the floor like metal nails down a chalkboard, but she didn’t care. Her hands clenched around the drawer’s edge and she raised it above her head before slamming it against the door with a loud, painful thud.

"Xander!" she screamed.

The impact echoed through the walls, but the door didn’t even crack, for an old ass, rotten ass door...it sure was strong.

Her voice already sounded raw, like she’d been shouting for hours, probably because she had. Her throat burned, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she kept going. She slammed the drawer again, harder, screaming his name over and over like maybe, if she screamed loud enough, he’d answer.

"Xander, damn it—answer me!"

But her only reply was nothing but deafening silence.

The drawer slipped from her grip and crashed to the floor with a dull, defeated thump. Iris stood there, panting, arms trembling from effort and frustration and helplessness, and her knees finally gave out beneath her. She sank to the floor slowly, hands pressed to her face, fingers curling into her hair.

The pink light beneath her shirt pulsed again brighter this time, even more painful this time and she pulled her hands away to glance down at it.

"God," she whispered hoarsely, letting her head fall back against the wooden door with a soft thud. "Don’t die, dumbass. I swear if you die, I’ll find your ghost and strangle it myself."

She tried to laugh, but it came out broken more like a breathless sob choked halfway down. Her vision blurred again, and she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Her chest ached, not just from the magic, but from this heavy, hollow pressure in her ribs that wouldn’t go away.

So this was how she would die huh?

She wasn’t used to feeling this helpless. She wasn’t built for stillness. Iris was the kind of girl who took knives to people’s throats and called it a love language. But this was eating her alive.

She turned her head toward the wall and closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose like maybe that could stop the panic crawling up her throat.

And then there came a voice all of a sudden.

"Iris?"

Her eyes flew open instantly.

The voice had been soft so soft she wasn’t sure if she imagined it at first. And Iris, wide-eyed and silent, forgot how to breathe. It was hard to describe, but Iris felt it immediately like the very molecules in the room had stopped vibrating or whatever it is that they do...the glow from her chest dimmed slightly, flickering like a dying flame, and Iris slowly pushed herself up from the floor, legs unsteady as she turned to face the voice that had called her name.

And there she was.

Nia, her baby sister.

Seven years old, just as Iris remembered her dark skin kissed by warm undertones, hair tied into two puffy pigtails with the same pink bands Iris had bought for her at that one market stall after school, when Nia wouldn’t stop crying over a lost toy. She wore that faded yellow dress with the sunflower buttons, the one she used to insist on wearing every Sunday, no matter the weather.

But something was wrong.

Terribly, horribly wrong.

Because Nia’s eyes... they weren’t right. They were empty and they lacked that spark Iris remembered, no warmth, no mischief, just this hollow emptiness that chilled her to the bone.

Iris’s breath caught in her throat and she stumbled forward on reflex, knees threatening to give again. "Nia?" she whispered, like saying the name too loud might shatter her.

Nia tilted her head slightly, watching her without blinking.

Iris didn’t wait.

She rushed forward and dropped to her knees, arms wrapping tightly around the smaller girl’s frame. The familiar scent of shampoo, something sweet and cheap, made her throat seize. Her fingers trembled as she held her like she’d fall apart otherwise.

"Oh God... Nia," she whispered into her sister’s hair, her voice cracking under the weight of it all. "I missed you so much. I missed you every day. Every single day..."

She didn’t care if this was a dream. Or a ghost. Or another trick of the damned house. For a moment, she let herself feel it—allowed herself to remember what it felt like to hold someone who used to come running to her when she scraped a knee or couldn’t sleep through a thunderstorm.

But Nia didn’t move as her arms stayed at her sides, her small body rigid in Iris’s embrace, and after a long moment she pulled back, her small hands gently pushing against Iris’s arms.

Then, with a voice soft and eerily calm, she asked: "Why did you leave me?"

The question hit like a brick to the chest and Iris blinked, brows drawing together in confusion. "What?"

Nia’s ember coloured eyes stared straight into hers. "Why did you leave us?"

The ache that bloomed in Iris’s chest was immediate, so raw it almost felt physical. "I didn’t leave," she said quickly, instinctively. "Nia, baby, I didn’t want to this wasn’t my choice."

"You disappeared," Nia said, voice still steady. "And you didn’t come back."

"I’ve been trying to come back," Iris choked out. "This place, this world...it just took me. I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to leave any of you."

Nia tilted her head again, pigtails bouncing slightly. Her expression didn’t change. "Then why didn’t you fight harder to stay?"

"I..." She shook her head. "Nia, I did! I swear I did! You have no idea how hard I tried. I begged for a way back, I searched—" her voice faltered. "I thought about you every day. You and mom and dad. I didn’t stop."

"But you’re still gone," Nia said.

That flatness in her tone, the almost robotic cadence, it wasn’t right. It wasn’t her. And Iris knew, deep down, that this thing wasn’t Nia. Not really, but it didn’t stop the guilt from sinking its claws in.

"I didn’t leave you," Iris said, firmer now, but her voice was shaking. "I didn’t run. I didn’t abandon you."

She reached out, her fingers trembling again, but Nia stepped back this time—just one step, but it was enough to make Iris feel like her heart had fallen straight through the floorboards.

Nia’s ember-like gaze stayed fixed on her. "You didn’t try hard enough," she said softly. "You didn’t love us enough to stay."

The space where Nia had stood was empty now, like the air had swallowed her up. Iris remained stiff, chest rising and falling as if each breath cost something, her hands trembling slightly where they hovered by her sides. She didn’t know what she was expecting next.

Then then old creaky mattress dipped with a soft sound behind her and Iris spun around sharply.

Her mother sat there like she’d been there the whole time, she wore her old Sunday wrapper, the yellow and brown patterned one Iris used to help iron on special occasions. Her headscarf was knotted tight. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap. And her eyes...those sharp, steely eyes that had always seen too much and yet never enough, locked onto Iris with the same look she’d given her the night everything fell apart.

Disappointment.

"I should have known," her mother said slowly, her voice clipped and chilling. "I should have known you’d end up like this."

Iris couldn’t speak. Her lips parted, but nothing came out she couldn’t even breathe.

Her mother leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees now, fingers still interlocked. "You’re a disgrace, Iris. After what you did to Sam... after what you did to this family."

The air in the room grew thick, suffocating. Iris felt it cling to her skin, to her lungs. Her stomach turned, a heavy nausea climbing up her throat.

"No," she whispered, voice barely audible. "That’s not—I didn’t—"

"You embarrassed us," her mother continued, standing slowly now. "Your father lost his job because of you. The neighbours stopped talking to us...you painted this family in shame and filth. All because you couldn’t bear anything."

Iris flinched, taking a step back, her eyes wide. "He was hurting me," she said. "Sam...he—he was hurting me, Mom. I tried to say something, but no one listened. You didn’t listen!"

Her mother’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it grew colder.

"You didn’t fight hard enough to stay quiet," she said, her voice like a slap across the face. "That’s what happened."

Iris’s breath caught in her chest. "I was scared! He—he would hit me and say things—"

"You ruined him," her mother said sharply, her tone slicing through the words like a knife. "You destroyed a father’s life. Do you feel powerful now? Is this what you wanted, Iris? To tear your family apart?"

Her mother scoffed, shaking her head slowly, almost like she pitied her as Iris’s hands trembled, her jaw tightening. "That’s not true."

"You’re selfish. Dramatic. You always needed the world to revolve around your sob stories," her mother continued. "And when it didn’t, you threw tantrums. Just like now."

Tears welled up in Iris’s eyes again, hot and burning. "I did everything for you," she said, her voice rising now with desperation. "I raised Nia like she was my own daughter when you were too busy working double shifts! I stayed in that stupid relationship with Sam even when I wanted to run away and live a life of freedom—I stayed for you! I made sure I was an honors student. I held the damn house together!"

Her mother’s gaze narrowed. "And yet, all you are is a disappointing daughter."

Iris stumbled back like she’d been physically struck. Her throat tightened so hard she could barely speak.