When the Nithling is the Thing


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Oh it burned.

That one little comment, by that one little troll, on that one little message board. It burned. Hot and bright and shining. A beacon, glowing in the night.

And that one there, that meme, it burned brighter still, drawing the gaze and the keks. A thousand retweeted that one, turning a tiny candle into a roaring blaze. He had to laugh himself. Oh the rage that came with green frogs and swastikas. Perhaps that old Hebrew god had been onto something, with his plague of frogs.

He flexed his arms, rolling his shoulders as best he could against the bonds. In the distance, he heard his old friend, his nephew, roaring out to “drop the banhammer upon the trolls!” This was followed by the thunderous laughter of the other Gods and Goddesses. He wondered how many laughed with Thor, and how many laughed at Thor.

Oh it burned.

Silently, he whispered in another person’s ear. They had just read how their candidate had been shafted, how the democratic process was denied, their vote rendered powerless, all for the sake of someone’s “social order.”

“Now, don’t you think that’s just so unfair…” He whispered in their soul. The little flame grew, roaring up. A new troll was born.

Oh, he too had heard the plaintive cry of the bridge troll, insulted and heartbroken at what troll-kind had become. He too had sensed the offerings given, the cry to Thor as God of Social Order, to smite down the nithling trolls who broke hospitality, who insulted, demeaned, and spread their flames across the net.

Of course, he supposed he shouldn’t judge the bridge troll to harshly. After all, it was no doubt a sheltered creature, unknowing of the things going on in the mortal world. Merely a lonely soul, looking for more of his own kind. Only to find a lot so angry at how they were treated, and so gleeful to mess with their masters, that they broke all the social rules.

Oh it burned.

And could he blame them? After all, he too had chafed at the social order more than once. Broken it even. That’s why he was here now, after all. Everyone always liked to talk about how the social order must be maintained, but they never liked to talk about how it was done. And those few, those ragged, brave, brilliant, angry few who did, well…look how well it went for them all the time. Just like it had with him.

He watched as an organization against “Defamation” roared out that PePe’s were symbols of Racist, white supremacy. He even kek’d himself, as they roared they would “reclaim Pepe from the racists!” He saw the wave of little green frogs gathering to rejoin the fight against their “reclamation.” It felt good, man.

After all, how many of his own people’s symbols had these “anti-defamers” locked away as symbols of hate? One ethnicity denying another their holy sigils and rites, all in the name of “preventing hatred.” And now, there they were, crying over frogs. Life, it seemed, was not without a sense of irony. Or was it Karma. He was never quite sure.

And it Burned.

“Russia is hacking our national security!” Shouted a woman who was all about the Social Order. “They’re trying to rig our election!”

“Yeah, and showing us how you’re rigging the election!” kek’d back a thousand trolls.

“I hope Russia has barbell insurance,” lol’d other trolls.

“Harambe didn’t die for this!” meme’d others.

Across the net, moderators and business owners slammed down hammer after hammer removing trolls from their sites, tossing trolls into the shadows in the hopes of keeping them from being heard. Anything they could do to protect the Social Order. To keep safe their guest laws, and make sure their clients times were…unsullied by chaos and its truths.

Oh sure, there were those who trolled for the sake of being mean, but for every skankhunt42, there was a Snowden. For every insult there was a truth. For every social order, there was a rebel.

And it Burned.

That’s why he whispered to them, drove them, pushed them. After all, was he not the father of trolls? Was he not the mightiest of those who teased and tormented the social order? He felt the smile pull scar tissue tight. It burned, but it felt so good after all this time.

He screamed, as his lovely, loyal wife poured out the bowl and venom burned his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He pulled at his bonds, made from the insides of his own children, screaming! He screamed until his lungs hurt.

And It Burned.

After all, that’s what the social order did, didn’t it. A little bit was good. It kept your house and your family safe. It let you know the rules. It got everyone to get along so you could rise up from the mud. So you could give your children something better than you had, just as your parents gave you something better than they had.

Right up until the social order locked itself down. When it said “we’re the powerful, we’re the order, and we’re going to keep it that way.” Right up until the corruption set in, the favors were exchanged, and the social order stopped being about keeping the little guy safe and became about the fat guy getting fed.

And It Burned.

After all, that’s why he was here. Poor little Frigg didn’t want her baby boy to die, even though it was Fate, and the whole universe ran on Fate happening like it was supposed to. Poor little Frigg needed her Social Order, needed her lovely bright boy, and so she used her power and place to make everything promise never to hurt him, never to kill him. Damn the Laws, Damn the Fate, Damn everything that might fall apart and come to ruin, or how many lives that might be made better for that fated death, no…it had to be stopped.

The power, using their power for the sake of themselves. Betraying their duties for their own gain. Betraying their people for their own pleasure. How many mother’s sons could Frigg have saved with that power? But she chose to save her own. That’s why he did it.

Because the corrupt couldn’t just be allowed to go unchallenged.

And It Burned.

Of course, what had the powerful done? Those upholders of the social order? Why, they had used his own children against him. To bind him so he might not trouble them again. And they has put venom to his face, scarring him so that he might be shamed. They had thrown him in a cell, locked away from the world and their Social Order.

And wasn’t it always like that, with the Socially Powerful who sought to maintain their Oder. Would they not threaten the children, using them as pawns to keep the parents in line? And did they not cast venom into the face of those that opposed them, ruining reputations with slanders and insults of how they agitator was “an evil, evil person.” And in the end, did they not ultimately cast the objectors, the trolls, the rebels who pointed out their corrupt deeds, in to holes, either living or dead?

And all because they showed the Social Order for having grown fat, lazy, entitled, corrupt, and arrogant. And because ultimately, all those little candle lights could turn into an inferno. An inferno that lit up every foul deed done by those in the name of “Social Order.”

And It Burned.

As the laughter thundered across the nine worlds, Loki joined it. And his laughter burned.




Hela Bless