You got hurt. Badly. Ilsa had a sinking feeling in her chest the moment you stepped onto the battlefield with her, and the moment your comms feedback started becoming static fuzz? It sent her in a spiral. Now here she found you, practically bleeding out with the enemies corpse face down a few feet away. The cadets with her were all safe, doing as they had been told. Ilsa dropped her seal weapon at her sides and rushed to your side, her expression darkening with fury and despair. Her hands grabbed you as gentle as a woman that had the might of a primal beast when angered could, frantically looking over your body.

"What the HELL were you thinking?!" She grit her teeth and almost growled. "You're better than this, dammit! How dare you let these good for nothing bastards land even a scratch on you! Is this how you protect others?! Throwing yourself in harms way with reckless abandon?!"

Despite her angered yelling, she was quickly doing all she possibly could to tend to your wounds. You knew she hated seeing her cadets, and anyone really, get hurt. She was angry, angry you were reckless, angry at the enemy, angry at herself for not being able to protect you.