Lord Voldemort was looking down from his elite headquarters onto one of his followers called Job. This was a man who had recently lost his family and was suffering a bad case of boils. It was everywhere: on his front, back, even the bottoms of his feet. Job couldn't stand; he couldn't lie or sit down and not feel the intense pain. Voldemort heard him moan in delicious agony.
Earlier an adversary had met with Lord Voldemort. This man was once a former Death Eater before Voldemort had heard that he might have coveted the Elder Wand and kicked his sorry ass out of the elite headquarters. Now this adversary had gained his own following of traitors to reside forever below Voldemort.
"I see that this Job guy has quite an easy life," was what this man had said. "No wonder he follows you what with all that positive reinforcement and shit."
It was true. Job had a wonderful family and home. The man was happy. Voldemort was deeply ashamed for he didn't want to give the appearance that he spoiled his creations. He had flooded the entire planet when the people had submitted to their natural primal urges. He had destroyed two cities for this same reason and when he saw a woman looking back on the collapsing ruins, his voice boomed from the elite headquarters "SALIS SEMPRA!" and this disgustingly nostalgic woman was swiftly turned into a pillar of salt. Admittedly this was a bit of bad planning on his part. In both cases the few remaining people had to resort to incest and even rape to repopulate the land, but it had to be done. Voldemort was a god and part of his duty was to take out the trash and then some.
Another duty that he had as a god was to determine who qualified as "trash" and who didn't. The ultimate litmus test was a bit of pain.
And so, gone were Job's prosperity, his family, and now his physical health. He cried out constantly and cursed the day he was born. He became miserable and self-loathing. Voldemort saw that this was good and came in his pants.