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Source: https://writers.stackexchange.com/a/46179
License name: CC BY-SA 3.0
License URL: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/

## Build on the bones

Integrate the body of the evil god into the setting of the story. Its ribs support the pillars of the great church. The crystals formed of its magic are scattered through the world powering steam engines.

If a great monster is stabbed through the chest and then falls into the ocean, there is no way to know if it is really dead. If it falls on land, and you make a house out of its skull, then you can be pretty sure that it won't be coming back.

I expect that your evil god is less concrete than say... Godzilla. But the same principles apply. If the physical and magical manifestations of the god's presence have been disassembled, scattered throughout the world, and integrating into existing structures, it greatly reduces the feeling that the god might be in hiding, or capable of regenerating itself.

**This fires the Chekov's Gun**  
Chekov's gun is the principle that readers understand that every detail is important in a story, and they expect the information you give them to affect the story. If you tell them that there was an evil god in the world, then they will try and figure out how that god is relevant, and some will draw the conclusion that it's relevant because it is coming back.

But integrating it into the setting creates a new way for the god to be relevant. If we can't cross this swamp because it's full of creatures warped by the god bleeding into it, or all our cities are interconnected by portals because we built them out of the god's bones, then we've justified the god's presence in the story, and readers will feel less of a need to search for further justification.

## Tell a different story

One of the best examples of this sort of thing is [The Lies of Locke Lamora](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29588376-the-lies-of-locke-lamora). Locke lives in a world that was inhabited thousands of years ago by the Eldren, a mysterious race of beings. Nobody knows anything about them, except that they built magnificent structures out of Elderglass, an indestructible glass-like material with a few odd properties. The Eldren themselves are long gone, leaving only their Elderglass behind.

Several of the scenes in the book take place in or near Elderglass structures, and their presence contributes significantly to the tone of the worldbuilding, but never in the story is there a feeling that the Eldren themselves are going to be relevant.

This is at least partially because it's not that sort of story. The Lies of Locke Lamora has a very narrow focus. It's not about controlling nations, or battling armies, or saving the world. It's about a thieving crew and their fight to stop a single man who interfered with their life. The scope is too small to encompass a return of the Eldren.

If you promise your readers a small-scale, personal story, then your readers will not expect you to involve vast cosmic forces in the resolution of your plot.

Original score: 3