Enoch had friends when he was younger. Good friends who tried to steer him away from his bizarre occultism. They'd all been intrigued by magic at first, but none had been chosen, not like Enoch. So when he immersed himself in Satanism, they quickly drifted away from him.
He's unlucky to be around, they said.
Luck don' come into it, whispered Enoch, thinking back to when he was eighteen and becoming an Adept. Neither Good nor Evil. Simply: a utiliser of arcane forces.
He was The One. His name decreed it.
Nominal determinism or anagrammatical prophesy?