“The gods are a myth. Immortality is a myth. Both divine justice and divine wrath are myths,” the man behind the podium said.

He made for an imposing figure, dominating the lecture hall with his presence. He needed no magic for his voice to be heard even at the far back of the large room. Cunning acoustical engineering had gone into the making of this room, and famously the professor preferred the harder sciences to their more eccentric cousin.

“I consider myself to be living proof of this,” the professor said. “For twenty-six years I’ve taught this class, on this very spot. When I began my lectures prophets and priests of all sorts proclaimed all manner of anathema and malediction against me and this institution. Yet, here I stand.”

Everyone here knew this, of course. The man was famous, the first of the so-called rationalists. Men and women of both science and magic who had come to believe that the gods of their forebears were no more than myth and legend. That the invincible heroes and terrible villains of the past were little more than the brutish champions of powerful wizards.

Professor Victor Farlan had been starting his lecture this same way for years, only updating it to account for the passage of time. The first time he’d given it, people had thought he was mad. The second time, they’d wondered how he was still alive, and not struck down by plague or misfortune. The third time, they’d begun to listen.

“It’s been over two hundred years, nearly two hundred and fifty years at this point, since anyone has seen a miracle that wasn’t shown to be the work of some conman or desperate priest… but I repeat myself. If there ever were gods, they are long dead. Perhaps they killed themselves off in one of their many petty wars,” the professor continued.

“Rather–as I will demonstrate in the coming months–the evidence clearly indicates that such beings were always fabrications. Myths and legends to explain that which more primitive civilizations of the past lacked the tools to understand. Tools to keep the population in line under a nebulous threat of existential punishment.”

Taking Professor Farlan’s course was a rite of passage in New Genesis University. The institution had given rise to the rationalist movement, and from it had come the death of many wonders as mankind began to understand the true nature of their world. Still, there was no real need to attend it in person. The professor had, years ago, made his course available as a recording crystal. Now anyone the world over could buy or rent it to watch at their leisure.

No, the reason for the packed hall full of attendants was what always came next. It was different every time, even though the challenge was always the same.

“A show of hands please, who here believes in the divine? Any sort of god or goddess will do, even an ancestral spirit. Anything you place faith in, other than yourselves and your fellow men,” the professor asked. He took note of those who raised their hands. It was less and less every year.

“Excellent. As you are no doubt aware, I always give my students an opportunity to pit their faith against my science and magic.” He motioned with his hand, and an assistant brought forward a cart containing three items. This was wheeled out in front of the podium.

On the cart was a live sparrow in a gilded cage, a candelabra with three unlit candles, and a withered and dead plant in a clay pot. The professor removed a device from his pocket, holding it up for inspection. This was his nullifier, a simple device capable of dispersing magic in a short area around him. It was a simple scientific device that made nearly all magic unworkable in its general area while turned on.

“I have just activated my nullifier,” he told the crowd. “Simple magic will not avail you, but perhaps your gods will. I ask you to pray now, for this bird to die, or this plant to live, or this candle to burn. Any of the three will be considered a success.”

Once, many years ago, a priest attending this lecture had grown frustrated with his failure to channel a miracle from his god, and pulled out a revolver. He had later claimed he intended to shoot the bird, believing himself to be the miracle his god had provided. The gun had jammed, and the man was subdued by his fellow attendees. The shaken professor had joked that perhaps a miracle had occurred after all, but thereafter all students were scanned for weapons before entering the hall.

Now, as then, students waited with held breath as the faithful among them prayed to the gods of their ancestors. For over twenty years, the pious had come here to test their faith. For over twenty years, the same thing had happened every time.

Nothing.

***

Victor Farlan sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as his carriage made its way from the university campus to his estate in the nearby countryside. How much longer did he need to keep doing this? That poor girl had wept openly when her prayers had failed to have any effect. When he’d performed the second part of the experiment–lighting a candle with a simple match while they prayed for it to fail–he had thought she would run crying from the room.

That would have been unfortunate. The terms of his challenge were simple. Anyone could attend his lectures for free, but if they left before it was over or failed to attend more than a single lecture, then they owed the full tuition. It was an odd arrangement to be sure, but he had never wanted to make money on this. He had no need of it. He simply wanted people to listen to what he had to say.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

It was a tragedy on all fronts. Pain that could only be expunged by inflicting more pain.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of his home and he paid the man before sending him on his way. His live-in nurse met him at the door with a tight lipped smile.

“He’s having a bad day today, sir,” she said. “He’s asleep now, but he was calling out for you earlier. He was in a lot of pain. I did what I could.”

Farlan nodded. “Thank you, Alice. I can attend to him myself tonight. Take some time for yourself.”

The woman didn’t protest, knowing that there was really nothing she could do for her ward other than to be nearby and provide some degree of companionship while he was awake. She had worked for the professor for nearly ten years, and they had long settled into a routine.

The professor found his brother in his usual spot, on the balcony overlooking the garden, facing west towards the setting sun. The once powerfully built man was propped up in a wheeled hospital bed so that he could see the distant forest covered mountains before the sun fell behind them and cast the world in darkness.

Despite what the nurse had said, Victor found his brother awake, but as immobile as ever. He stared at the setting sun with unblinking, unseeing eyes. He did not acknowledge his older sibling as Victor pulled up a chair to sit beside him. Together, they watched the sun set on the world as the stars began to fill the darkening sky.

“We made a little more progress today,” the professor said. “There were fewer this time than ever before, and most of them seemed resigned to their faith failing them. Soon I’ll need to come up with something else. There won't be anyone left to use as an example.”

While the first two parts of his challenge were designed to show the impotence of the gods against science, that wasn’t why most people came to see him lecture in person. Anyone could replicate his little show, and many did, but only a few of them had managed something like his grande finale.

The professor had long realized that not only must he prove that the gods had no power, but that men were capable of feats to rival the ancient tales. According to the broadsheets he was “the least pious man alive” and yet, when inevitably the gods failed once more to overcome his challenge, a miracle of sorts would occur.

On the professor's command, the bird would die. With a snap of his fingers, the candles would light. Then, with no more than a simple touch, the plant would grow healthy and green. All of this he did with the nullifier still enabled. Hundreds of eyes watched him, dozens probed him with spells, only to be foiled by the tiny device. What neither magic nor the divine could do, the professor regularly did.

Speculation was rampant of course. The bird was perhaps most easily explained, killed by gas or perhaps a jolt of electricity from its cage. The candles likely had some clever mechanism inside them, or perhaps heated air was magically projected at them, retaining enough of its energy and velocity even when the magic supplying it failed. The plant… well, there were many theories about the plant, but it was regarded as one of the professor's most clever tricks.

For it was a trick, of that all were sure. Over the course of the semester, the professor would show them many tricks, and then show them how they worked. He would saw an assistant in half, then put her back together again. He would make himself disappear, only to show them the cleverly hidden trapdoor he’d escaped through. He was constantly devising new tricks and challenging students to reason out his methods before he revealed them.

“Use your brains. You know that neither magic nor divinity is at work here. Reason is the tool mankind used to separate ourselves from animals, not faith,” he would say. Famously in the recording of his lecture that was how most people knew of him, he had said these words while appearing to be a disembodied head resting on a table.

The point of all this was to show how easy it was to deceive people into believing in gods and spirits. If he, using nothing more than clever machines and tricks of perspective, could so convincingly deceive the wary eyes of his audience–what then could a charlatan accomplish with magic?

Between showing them tricks and revealing their secrets, the professor would lecture about historic events and figures. He would recount the stories, as they were traditionally told, and then take them apart bit by bit, showing how every step of the way could have a different, more mundane explanation. His assistants would reenact scenes from legend, and the professor would tear those legends down.

As the sun’s last light disappeared behind the mountains, Victor heard his brother’s broken voice say a single word, full of loss and the shadow of anger long burnt down to regret.

“Father…”

The professor took his brother’s withered hand and held it, providing what comfort he could. It was hard to tell if the other man even knew he was here. His brother rarely seemed aware of his surroundings, and only infrequently spoke.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Professor Farlan sighed and squeezed his brother’s hand once more before rising to his feet. He’d been expecting this, but not quite so soon.

The girl at his front door still had dark smears of makeup where tears had left streaks against her pale skin. She wore a blue summer dress and matching hat, their bright colors at odds with her black mood. “Ms. Avery,” he acknowledged her. “My office hours are before each of my lectures. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I want to know why,” she said.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific than that,” he responded.

She tapped the side of her head, mimicking the gesture he’d made earlier. “I’m not stupid professor. I used my brain like you said. I watched the recording of your lectures before I even came here. I’ve heard your arguments, and yes the fact that you haven't been struck down for blasphemy might be because there are no gods to strike you down. I don’t think so though.”

Professor Farlan stood calmly before this tirade, looking down at the woman on his front porch. Something like this happened every semester. Sometimes more than once. It usually took them a bit longer to work up the courage to confront him. He let her continue. She had to say it herself.

“There’s one other explanation I can think of for a man that can do what you can,” she said. “So I wanted to know, professor, why you don’t want us to believe in you?”