In a time when clashes of magic were mere displays of raw power given flimsy shape, he was called the Farthermost Eccentric, whose reason and method were lost to all, be they demons or humans.
Once, in his youth, he had left his tower to challenge the greatest mage in the Unified Dynasty, the Great Mage Flamme, who revolutionised the very essence of what 'magic' meant to all of humankind.
At the time, she had been late into life, but for a mage as her, such a fact was irrelevant.
The journey ended in a complete defeat.
That had been his only loss until the end of his days.
Not because there were no mages to surpass him, and not because that one loss had scarred him such that he refused to ever fight again. No, it had been because every effort and attempt was made to ensure that he never would fight again, even when magic was made for war.
In a time when clashes of magic were mere displays of raw power given flimsy shape, there lived a demon called Schlacht the Omniscient, the Demon King's confidante, and one who commanded the Seven Sages of Destruction, the strongest and most ancient of demons among the Demon King's forces.
That demon wielded magic that allowed him a thousand years of foresight, that allowed him to observe all the numerous possibilities that dwelled within the thousand years to come. That demon had told his king such,
"If we were to wage war such that it would move him, a future for demonkind will cease to exist in the thousand years to come."
Schlacht had not warned of defeat. He had warned that a battle, and victory, for even such a mage could not defeat the demon king himself, would come at such a cost that there would be not much left of them.
Thus, the Farthermost Eccentric knew defeat only once, and until his passing was confirmed decades later, humanity remained safe from the ever-present threat that threatened to wipe it out.
Thus, the Farthermost Eccentric pursued his fascinations, locked away from the world.
The reason for that was an infuriatingly simple one. Past his overwhelming talent and unmatched drive, the reason was a childish delusion. The ultimate delusion that, nothing was impossible with magic.
And yet, though he had done exactly what he wanted, he could not say that he lived without regrets.
His teacher had never once praised him, his teacher had never once been proud of him, his teacher had never once smiled at him except in amusement, he was sure that that long-lived master of his had forgotten all about him long before he ever even breathed his last.
After all, much like Flamme, he too was an apprentice Serie [1] had taken as a whim.
He had disappointed his companions.
He had disappointed his teacher.
When he drew his last breath, he had sworn to himself that, should there be another chance, he would not repeat that mistake.
-
That minimal abode became a mess. The walls and windows were marked by strange and unintelligible writing with such efficiency that not a single spot remained clean. After that, Edgar had turned to the furniture, before finally being forced to create thick tomes that hung in the air all around him.
Feathers dipped in ink moved faster by themselves than any human hand ever would, recording his thoughts and observations in the books.
Edgar sat in the middle of the room, cross-legged, a hand gripping his hairless chin. His gaze refused to budge an inch from the book floating in front of him.
"Magic should start with the basics, but I did not consider that the basics could be this complicated by their lonesome."
He noted, prattling off to no one in particular. He was by himself, after all. He hung his head to the side, finally tearing away his eyes from one tome to look to another tucked away in the corner of his room. With a mere thought, the book swung open and floated into his grasp.
"My magic is based on visualisation. Understanding individual components makes it far more potent but the core remains unchanged." He stroked his chin, "The magic of this world seems to influence the world by borrowing power from foreign systems."
Unlike his home, this world had its magic, at a basic level, sectioned off into various Thaumaturgical Foundations engraved upon the very world. Practitioners used magic circuits they were born with to connect to, then realise the phenomenon recorded into them after fulfilling certain conditions such as the initial mana requirements and their understanding.
It was a rigid system fundamentally incompatible with a system designed to realise phenomenon based solely on the imagination, with its potency determined by the clarity and understanding of the 'image' with the mage's mind.
"No matter how I approach it, this system is clearly inferior." He pursed his lips, "But I suppose my magic is made for war and battle."
Most magic of his focused on destructive capability. This system was more methodical, and scholarly.
"Then there's this force."
Edgar had to continuously expend more mana than was necessary to maintain his spells.
Instead of what he was used to, 'magic' here was a foreign element, not a part of the natural order of the world. The world even corrected what it deemed as such, and the spells crumbled apart if left unchecked. The mana cost of existing spells increased exponentially for this very reason, even with a spell native to the world, though he didn't know many.
"Mana reserves were an issue there too."
If a mage did not have enough mana to cast his spells, then it mattered little how skilled or powerful he was. That was the same in both worlds. Such was no longer an issue for Edgar however, as he had gained the knowledge needed to produce as much energy as was needed.
"Still, exploring the nuances of this world's system will leave me no time to do much else."
He was perfectly fine with that. Or, he would be, even five years ago, Edgar would be happy to devote himself this way. Those last five years however, had changed his perspective considerably. He wanted to see the world more, make use of the magics he had learnt, designed and re-purposed from others.
There was... no need to do it himself anymore.
"I only need create one to do it in my stead."
Decided, and given to whim like his teacher, he immediately and wordlessly began the process, bringing his hands together. Mana poured through his being as he designed a golem for himself. Magic could do anything, after all.
"Instead of earth though-"
He hummed to himself.
"-why not energy itself?"
The room filled with an ethereal glow. Slowly, surely, a figure began to take shape beyond. A creature made of white light that began as small as his foot, and grew and grew until it stood as tall as himself. When he noticed, Edgar too rose to his feet.
The creature was made in his likeness, with long flowing hair of white light longer that reached its feet. It had no face and its garb was a laughably simple robe like the one his teacher wore. Though it had no face, there was place for some semblance of eyes and a parted mouth full of pure light.
"For the correction, let us see-" He reached out and touched the creature's chest with the tips of his fingers, "-I will give you a heart of knowledge for I do not yet understand this force truly."
He gave it a heart of his own forbidden knowledge, thus making the creature a perpetual motion machine that would continuously produce the energy needed to sustain its existence by itself.
The mouth parted, though no words came of it.
"As homage to the father of this life," Edgar grinned, "I shall name you Aiwass."
Thus, the existence was named and came to be in truth.
"Your voice will be of deep timbre, musical and expressive, its tones solemn, voluptuous, tender, fierce or aught else."
A Guardian Angel.
"And so, I intrude upon the realm of the divine once more."
A being of translucent matter better described as energy itself, veiled in a great flowing robe, with 'eyes' lowered lest it lay bare the truth of the world right there and destroy those not deserving that truth.
Edgar raised his finger to the angel's neck, and Aiwass raised his hands.
The world blinked and then roared in protest. A foreign force surged mightily, pushing with all it could to remove that of which it did not remove. But, Edgar was a magician. He had beheld that Swirl from which all of existence came to be.
The world tried.
The world failed.
He was a magician.
A shimmering book phased into existence.
Edgar's lips parted in a mocking grin.
"I shall call this the Liber AL vel Legis, AL, the Book of Law. Within it, you shall inscribe all the truths and the lies of this world as you follow along my journey."
Perhaps that name he chose had come of lingering resentment for his absent father, perhaps he had found it to be amusing, whatever the truth may have been, its nature and existence became a fact of the world.
A creation of forbidden knowledge upholding the very universe.
Aiwass' lips parted once again.
"It... is written."
The world finally heeled. It could not resist the birth of that impossible existence.
Great wings sprang from the angel's back for verily what stood there was an angel. The shimmering white crashed against the thick tomes floating about the room and cast them aside. The books of knowledge burnt, and all within was recorded for the angel's master.
Once its work was done, the angel settled atop Edgar's left shoulder and disappeared from the rest of the world until its work began anew.
"Hm, the potency of pure energy is intriguing."
It had manifested his 'spell' in its complete image.
Someone began to knock on his door, hurriedly, with great passion. Edgar stared at the trembling wood with curious eyes. The knocking did not cease. It remained until his curiosity got the better of him and he stepped over to open it.
A frail, dark-haired youth awaited him on the other side. He was a head shorter than Edgar, and wore what one would expect from a university student, a plain white shirt over dark sweatpants, with a loosely-made striped tie.
Waver Velvet, his new memories told him.
Fellow student, brash, self-confident, somewhat deluded about the necessity talent had in the world of magic and... friend.
"Can I help you?" Edgar tried to be polite.
"What do you even mean 'can I help you?'? You haven't been in a class for three days now!" The older youth complained, shoving a hand through the door, "You know how the Professor gets if you give him an excuse-"
Once Waver looked into the room, his words got in his throat. He stared a while longer, before inhaling deeply,
"W...What the hell happened here?"
This person was his friend. He had decided to be good to his friends.
Edgar answered his question truthfully and plainly,
"Research, and accommodations for research."
-
Hope you enjoyed.
Please do comment what you thought, and if you wanna read more of this.
[1] - Serie is the Great Elven Mage from an ancient era that's possibly the strongest mage to date in Frieren and is known for wantonly taking apprentices that prove they're talented enough for her attention. She's called the 'Living Grimoire'. She sucks at showing emotion and stuff despite her age, and loves all her apprentices though most of them can't figure it out.
Don't expect me to do this much as I like including these explanation in the exposition. I failed to find a satisfactory way this time, apologies.