PUREBLOODS (twd & legacies crossover)

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1 

THIRD PERSON POV

Hope hummed quietly to herself, strolling through the isles of the abandoned grocery store. The bloodstains and occasional human limb not even catching her eye as she watches for the barest signs of life. 

She had been here for one month now, a shocking amount of time if she was being honest, but not nearly as long as it felt. 

How she got here she wasn't sure, one moment she had been in the gardens with Pedro and Rafeal, working on one of her grandmother's dark spells. And the next, she was waking up with a growling Rafeal above her, a screaming and sobbing Pedro violently shaking her, and thousands upon thousands and dead beings bearing down on them. 

It had taken her three days to find any sort of human life outside the three of them, well two of them and a wolf. 

Of course those three days she was borderlining the verge of a complete mental breakdown. The lifelong trauma of being a Mikealson, paired with the burning need for her father or mother to come save her from wherever she was, and the defensless child that clung to her was too much. But she kept on her normal resting bitch face, smiling at Pedro as much as often. 

He had seen far too much death for a ten year old. 

The days leading up to her finding their first fully human companion had been one of trials and learning. For example, she had fought the horde in Alanta with her bare hands, and during said battle she had to learn that ripping the hearts out of these zombies simply didn't kill them. 

It always had to be the head. 

Unfortunatly, punching and ripping into each zombies head was a little too much work for even her, especially when the life of an innocent and her best friend laid in her hands. So she decaptated them all. 

According to her companion, it had been over three thousand zombies. And the main reason he hadn't left them for dead. 

The vivid details of him swooping in last minute and prying Pedro out of her hands, before grabbing them and taking off running towards a truck he had haphazardly parked, was ripped from her minds eye as the man himself lumbered around the corner in front of her. An ugly smirk twisting his lips. 

"Witchy, I thought we discussed you leaving your old man on the side of the road?" The southern drawl and hick accent would have been hard to understand, if she hadn't spent every waking moment of the past month with him, two of those four weeks it had only been her, him, and Pedro. 

"You're not my father, nor are you an old man." She mumbled, pushing her hair back from her face to stare at the taller man. 

She could never decide if he and her father would actually get along. Their bloodlust was almost the same, the insanity almost the same, but Merle Dixon had more of a "levelheaded good-guy who did bad things vibe" than her father's "Psycho dead immortal being that loves to revel in the blood of innocents and enemies vibe". 

"Do you know how long of a walk it was? I mean, Jesus, you can get so cranky when you're on you're rag." 

Growling at him, her eyes flashed a bright yellow color, in which the brutish man lets out a booming laugh. 

"I'm not on my rag you degenerate fool. And besides, you deserved it! It was only a mile, at best!" 

"Ah! There is my favorite little viper-like tongue!" Merle tosses his handless arm over her shoulders, and unconsciously, despite her epic eyeroll at the man, she slightly leans into him. 

She hated people touching her, but Merle and her had a special bond. He was like an older brother to her, someone like Marcel before he disappeared with her Aunt Bekah. 

Even though the man was a racist, homophobic, piece of shit, he was her racist, homophobic, piece of shit. And she had beat most of those thoughts out of him by sparring. 

They had bonded one night, about twelve hours after he saved them, over a bottle of Whiskey. Apparently alcohol made her lips looser than it made her mother's, and she had given him her entire life story. She had laid out all of her open wounds, the things she had done, the things she had seen, the monster she was made to be, and the hero she tried to be. 

She had told him of how she murdered her parents, she told him of her grandparents, her aunts, uncles, the school. She told him what she was, and who she was. Who she truly was underneath all the ice queen Mikaelson dramatics. She showed him the true Hope Andrea Mikaelson. 

And he accepted her. He didn't say her parents death wasn't her fault, he didn't tell her it was okay, he didn't expect her to change. He told her the truth. 

Her actions played the main role in the death of her family, and no matter what she did that would never change. The only thing she could do is accept it, and try and grow as a person. Be the woman her parents would be proud of. Live life like they never could. Be better. 

Nothing was okay, dead humans were walking, she was in the wrong universe, her powers and abilities were messed up and not acting right. But just because it wasn't okay didn't mean she couldn't make the most of it, because tomorrow is unknown, and when she dies, it'll be with an epic story of survival and hope. 

She wasn't a mistake, the universe created her for a reason, and it wasn't some kind of loophole. There was a purpose for her existence, there was a purpose to her being here. And her dark magic, the demons within her, the power, her father, would be the reason she survived the hell they now lived. Because that was why she survived the hell she was born into. 

A hero is always a villain to someone, and a villain is always the hero to someone else. She was the author of her own story, and everyone that would say something bad about her and not bow to her will, well they were dead or soon to be dead. 

That night, what he told her, is what made her finally accept what happened. Everything that had happened. And because of that she owed the man her life. 

Which was an equal distribution, because she had saved his life dozens of times. And she had taught him what it felt like to be loved despite everything that happened in life. 

Some would say they were twin flames, soul-bonded to be the sibling the other needed, the best friend that spanned universes. And that some would be right, Merle and Hope were exactly what the other needed, but life wasn't always about what you need, it's also about what you have to have, what you undeniably want. Which is something Hope and Merle would both be introduced to soon.