"I'm a lot more dangerous in here than I would be a couple worlds away!" he says, just barely this side of terrified yelling.
"Don't - whatever you're doing - don't do that - don't mess with my mind," he says, calmer but still under significant strain, "I have seriously had enough of people messing with my mind - check whatever the hell you want to as long as it gets me out of here."
"Mental accessory?" he says incredulously. "Is that what you're calling it?"
"That's not hugely reassuring!" he says. "What are you gonna do with it? Do you even know what it is?"
"...So tell me what you'd do to it," he says. "In more detail than just 'turn it off'. It's not just a function module, it's tapped into all my systems. A technician who didn't know what they were doing could seriously mess me up trying to take it out."
Brilliance is a magical device; his mind is not made of programs, exactly, but it's - built on them, intertwined with them. With the exception of a few subsystems, most of these various parts are under his control - movement, transformation, speech, the cosmetic details of his various forms, spellcasting, all of these things answer to his will.
Except that, in and under and around the connections that make that possible, another system has been grafted on. This one doesn't have his intelligence or autonomy; it follows preprogrammed instincts telling it to seek out planets and population centers that don't belong to the organization that created it, and destroy them utterly. It has access to all of the same systems and functions that Brilliance's mind does, and it is constantly pushing on them, trying to fulfill its orders. Brilliance is constantly pushing back. The contest is usually weighted in his favour, but it becomes more difficult under stress.
He is currently experiencing stress.
He experiences a slight spike of nervousness. "And you can just delete it entirely, and not take out anything extra by accident?"
He hesitates.
But— they'll let him out. And he won't have to fight anymore.
If she's telling the truth, that is.
But what other choice does he have? If they leave him like this, if he lets himself think they'll leave him like this, he knows it'll only be a matter of time before he loses control.
"...Okay," he says. "Get rid of it."
The little box on the floor sparkles with relief.
But not all his problems have been solved. Not yet. Not while he's still here. He stabilizes to be less tense, less afraid... but still plenty of both.
He lands in the middle of an extremely empty space which... seems to be mysteriously holding atmosphere, what's up with that, and regardless of his bizarre environment he takes a minute to just not do anything.