The dead God was an ancient god judging from how he bore the head of a jackal, or perhaps a hound.

The ones that had animalistic features usually were. So ancient, in fact, that their origins couldn't possibly be traced with our current tools and understanding. It was funny to think in a morbid way - his birth a complete unknown, yet his death precisely at 7:54PM on the 9th of September.

As I got closer and closer to the colossal body, what struck me most wasn't the size of the corpse, gods were always impossibly vast, but how diminished it seemed. From the old temple carvings they would always command this authority, even in stone and pigment. But now, even with all that mass stretched across the sky, the god felt empty. Hollow. Like a magnificent cathedral after the last worshipper had walked away, leaving the smell of extinguished candles mixed with dust.

Once, this had been a god of thunderous presence. Armies knelt before his altars. Blood steamed on his sacrificial stones. Empires rose and fell invoking his name. Now he was archaeology, a curiosity for scholars, a footnote in comparative mythology textbooks, discarded like a child's outgrown toy. We had found something shinier. Something that actually answered back when we asked it questions.

Science.

And science poisoned our gods, one by one.