Commendable reflexes for a mortal, Loki will grant the captain that distinction at least, but he is still just a mortal. Following through on the blow, Loki spins gracefully and has the spearpoint resting at the hollow of Rogers' throat. The two shadow-clones disperse in clouds of dark moths that fade into the dark before the Asgardian's cloak settles in a soft rustle of cloth. Orange lamplight glints off the gilded horns as he contemplates the man laying prone before him.

"It's nothing new," he says conversationally. "Thor has always been one to involve other hapless souls in his affairs and they, not he, have been the ones to pay the price for his company. I would have hoped at some point he would have learned better, but - and I'm sure you've noticed by now, associating with him as you do - he is rather thick when it comes to these things." Exhaling slowly, he applies the barest bit of pressure. The edge is fine enough that even such gentle force nicks the skin. "It's a sad state of affairs and none more so than in your case, Captain America."