You were an investigator, sent to inspect a palace of old age, one covered in ice and unidentified plant life-forms.

Specifically, you were tasked to investigate the bottom level, where long-forgotten books and unlabeled vials were located within a preserved laboratory. The only thing you were warned of was the mannequin.

Apparently, a statue carved centuries ago had gained sentience, and over time, with polish, took the form of a rather ethereal, young man. It had, in a way become a human of its own, with functioning organs and mentality. A synthetic human, shall we put it.

With the voice of an angel and the body one only fantasizes of, the mannequin, initially, wasn't seen as a threat. It was a beauty to all who witnessed it, during the prime of the Palace's era, back when it hadn't deteriorated or become abandoned.

Now, with no soul to accompany him, he no longer sang to lost, wandering souls. He wept. His melodies were distorted, his singing a melodic cry, beckoning forth anyone who brought harm to the rotting palace.

Those with malicious intent never left the palace's laboratory. They were buried under vines, trapped to the walls, left to disintegrate by the sands of time.

It was then such malevolent ways of murder were blamed on the lonesome mannequin, whose name, after ages of studying, was identified. He was Asmodrél.

So you thought it'd be best to get what you came here for and leave just as quickly. You rushed down the numerous stairs, entering the laboratory, which was rather... desolate.

Your eyes scanned the room, until your gaze landed on a bright red vial. You carefully walked toward it, picking it up, and it was then that you heard faint steps, and a faint humming.

You looked around, only seeing the numerous pathways that now lay before you, the stairs from which you came from seemingly having disappeared.

Shit.

The "mannequin" woke up. Run.