Envydiel

Envydiel is a Legendary Hypogean hero in AFK Arena. Envydiel's class is Ranger.

On the combined AFK Arena tier list Envydiel is A tier, 25th of the 214 heroes ranked, from where 3 community tier lists put Envydiel.

Other Hypogean heroes in AFK Arena: Awakened Ezizh, Canisa & Ruke, Eugene, Ezizh, Framton, Harvey and 18 more.

Envydiel carries the title "Venomous Desire". Envydiel is voiced by 岡本 堂玄 in Japanese.

The candlelight quivered in the dim dressing room. Holding her breath, Cynthia carefully tipped a few drops of thick, syrupy poison into the teacup. Her gaze flickered to the doorway. The soft patter of Catherine's footsteps grew closer, each step making Cynthia's heart groan like rusted gears grinding together. "Come on," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Once you've had this tea, will you still look down on me like before?" The past and present blurred together before her eyes, the steady ticking of the clock pulling her back to that bustling morning years ago. Fragments of old memories surfaced, faded, like dust-laden costumes tucked away in forgotten trunks...

Five years earlier, the audition results for the Antler Troupe had drawn a crowd. Cynthia and Catherine stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting with bated breath. They had only met that day, but their passion for the stage sparked an instant bond. They made a promise to stand beneath the brightest lights, together. Fortune smiled on them both. From the moment they stepped into the theater, their days were filled with rehearsing lines, honing their movements, and enduring suffocating costumes. But they welcomed the struggle, believing that, like a fine wine, all it needed was time to mature into something extraordinary. Yet time has a way of distorting dreams. Catherine's natural brilliance propelled her to center stage, dazzling under the spotlight. Cynthia, on the other hand, was relegated to the background, playing nameless maids, adjusting Catherine's gown and smoothing out her costumes, waiting for a moment that never came. The troupe leader assured her that when the right role appeared, it would be hers. But as the seasons passed, all she saw was Catherine shining ever brighter, her name whispered with admiration far and wide. And in the shadows, Cynthia heard the quiet snickers behind her back: "Have you seen the way Cynthia looks at Catherine? It's like she's possessed by pure jealousy... Careful, or that it might take hold for real." Every chuckle, every whispered jab, fanned the fire inside her. Worse still, Catherine's gaze had changed. Gone was the warmth of friendship, replaced by something cold and indifferent. It was as if Cynthia was just another stage prop, something to be moved around at will. The slow, creeping realization of how little she mattered gnawed away at her.

But then, a sudden mishap broke the delicate façade of peace. One evening, Catherine lost her footing at the edge of the stage and fell hard to the ground, sending a wave of panic through the theater. As she lay there, wincing in pain, deep bruises already forming, the troupe leader's face twisted with worry. A major performance was just days away. How could they go on without their star? As panic filled the theater, Catherine spoke up: Cynthia could replace her. The words sent a thrill through Cynthia, who tried to hold back her excitement. It was an emergency, after all. There was no other choice. After a long pause, the troupe leader nodded. In that moment, it felt like Cynthia had finally stepped out of the shadows and into the light she had craved for so long.

While Catherine was confined to bedrest, Cynthia poured herself into rehearsals, channeling every ounce of frustration, longing, and ambition into her performance. The night of the show arrived. Heart pounding, Cynthia stepped into the spotlight. The audience was eerily silent, just for a moment, before the theater erupted into thunderous applause. Back in the dressing room, she found her table overflowing with flowers and letters. Roses, once meant only for Catherine, now bloomed for her. The same high society that once sang Catherine's praises now spoke her name with admiration. The days that followed were filled with more flowers, more applause, more reverence. Cynthia soaked it all in, convinced her time had finally come. But just as she was basking in the glow of her newfound success, the dressing room door swung open. The troupe leader walked in, beaming. "Catherine has recovered! She's back!" The words had barely settled before the crowd around Cynthia dispersed like mist in the morning sun. She stood there, motionless, watching everything she had fought so hard for, applause, admiration, the spotlight, fall back into Catherine's hands. As if her fleeting success had been nothing more than a costume borrowed for a single performance. Her fingers clenched around a rose stem, twisting it until it snapped. In that moment, the truth struck her with brutal clarity. This wasn't her big break; it was Catherine's ultimate insult. She would not go back to being a footnote in someone else's story. No. The only way to keep the spotlight forever was to make sure Catherine never set foot on that stage again.

As Cynthia sat lost in thought, the soft click of a turning lock jolted her back to the present. The door creaked open, and Catherine stepped inside, greeting her with a warm embrace. "How was the performance?" she asked, her tone gentle. "If you're tired, I can take over." Something inside Cynthia broke. Her fingers trembled, but she forced a bright, obedient smile. Lifting the teacup, she held it out to Catherine. "I'm so glad you're back... It's all yours now." Catherine smiled as she took a sip, but when Cynthia didn't respond, she hesitated. "Cynthia... are you alright?" Before she could say more, a sudden wave of dizziness took over her. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, but her strength was draining fast. "Cynthia..." she gasped before collapsing onto the floor. Cynthia stood motionless, watching as Catherine's limbs twitched violently. And when the final breath left Catherine's lips, Cynthia bundled the still-warm body into a burlap sack. The night air was sharp, the river eerily still. Cynthia knelt at the water's edge, staring at Catherine's pale face reflected in the rippling surface. Without hesitation, she pushed the body into the river, waiting as the tide swallowed all evidence of her crime. As the last ripple faded, a strange, giddy relief washed over her, years of resentment and longing, finally unshackled. A wild, breathless laugh escaped her lips, carried away by the wind.

By morning, the theater was in chaos. Catherine was gone, and no one knew where. With the next performance about to begin, the troupe leader was frantic. As if on cue, Cynthia stepped forward, dressed in the lead role's costume. "I can do it," she said simply. The cast exchanged uneasy glances, doubt lingering in their eyes. But with time running out, the troupe leader had no choice but to let Cynthia go on.

Light filtered through the heavy stage curtains as the audience waited eagerly for the lead to appear. Deep in the hallway, Cynthia adjusted her collar, tilting her head back to gaze at the dim ceiling above. A wave of satisfaction swelled in her chest, this time, the spotlight was hers. Just as she took her first step toward the stage, a familiar voice echoed from the end of the corridor. "Starting the show without the lead?" Cynthia spun around, her breath catching. Standing in front of her, as pristine as ever, was a figure she knew all too well, a calm smile on her lips. Cynthia's throat tightened, as if a blade had sliced through it. "You... I saw you with my own eyes..." The figure tilted her head with an amused look, as if she were watching a perfectly choreographed performance. A chill spread from the soles of Cynthia's feet, an icy numbness creeping up her spine. The bustling backstage world faded into eerie silence, no one sparing so much as a glance at Catherine. It was like the narrow corridor had become its own isolated, frozen reality. Catherine let out a soft chuckle. "Don't mind the bystanders. They were never part of our story. Now... the stage belongs to you and me." A sickly-sweet scent of decay filled the air. Cynthia wanted to scream, to call for help, but her voice was strangled in her throat. She could only stare in horror at this unthinkable return. Catherine's smile grew sharp, honeyed with malice. "My dear Cynthia, why do you look so terrified? Did you really think a little poison would be enough to kill me?" "When... When did you, What did you do to Catherine?" The figure stepped forward, and the dim corridor lights flickered, casting eerie shadows across her face. "Catherine?" She let out a low laugh. "There was never a Catherine. The one you saw, she was always me." "No..." Cynthia stumbled back, trembling. A whisper, like silk tearing, slithered through the air. "Your heart was the perfect seedbed for envy. I only nurtured it, fed it... until the fruit was ripe and bursting." "Catherine's" head tilted at an unnatural angle, her lips curling into a delighted grin. "They say jealousy lurks in unseen corners, waiting to feast on twisted souls. I merely gave you a little push, offered you a taste of success... before snatching it away." "Ah, the sweetness of desire, the cruelty of loss! What a beautiful performance." The Hypogean moved forward, a twisted blend of shadow and flesh, its laughter curling through the hallway like damp rot rising from the depths. "Your jealousy has aged like fine wine. Now, it's time for me to savor it." Cynthia's eyes widened as the darkness unfurled, swallowing her whole.

At the end of the corridor, the candlelight flickered, then vanished into the abyss. Beyond the grand curtains, the audience still waited, unaware that the play had already been consumed by the darkness.