Fenrir: The Wolf Who Ate the Gods (And Probably Your Dreams)
Ah, Fenrir. The OG Big Bad Wolf of Norse mythology. Forget your fluffy, domesticated pups—this guy was a god-eating, apocalypse-inducing, "bite first, ask questions never" kind of wolf. Let’s rip this shaggy nightmare apart like he ripped Odin’s everything.
Fenrir wasn’t your average oversized doggo. He was born to Loki (because, of course) and some giantess whose name nobody remembers because, frankly, Fenrir overshadowed everyone. From the moment this pup opened his eyes, he was trouble. The gods, in their infinite wisdom (ha!), decided to raise him in Asgard, hoping a little TLC might keep him chill. Spoiler: it didn’t.
Fenrir grew. And grew. And grew. By the time he hit his wolfy teen years, he was so big and scary that the gods collectively wet their metaphorical pants. So they did what any responsible deity would do: they tried to chain him up. Twice. Both times, Fenrir busted out like a hairy Hulk.
Then came Gleipnir, a magical ribbon forged by dwarves out of ridiculous ingredients like the sound of a cat's footsteps and the roots of a mountain. (Who comes up with this stuff?) The gods tricked Fenrir into wearing it by playing the ol' "test your strength" card. Fenrir, ever the skeptical beast, demanded one of them put their hand in his mouth as a sign of good faith. Enter Tyr, the god of bravery—or stupidity, depending on how you look at it. Fenrir snapped Tyr’s hand clean off when he realized he’d been duped.
Fast forward to Ragnarok, the big showdown. Fenrir broke free, because of course he did, and immediately went on a murder spree. His crowning achievement? Eating Odin like he was a steak dinner. Don’t worry, though—Odin’s son Vidar avenged Daddy Dearest by ripping Fenrir’s jaws apart, proving once and for all that revenge is best served brutally.
➡ The Takeaway
Fenrir is the cautionary tale of “don’t raise the monster you can’t control.” He’s the embodiment of inevitability, the idea that no matter how strong or smart you are, some fates can’t be avoided. Also, don’t stick your hand in a wolf’s mouth unless you want to spend eternity explaining to everyone why you have a hook.
Stick with the Immortal Gazette, where we chain myths, snap them in half, and still keep all our fingers intact (most of the time). Next up: King Arthur—get ready for swords, stones, and a royal roasting!
