Loki is conservative in his attacks at first, merely trying to clear a way for his mortals to get closer together. He's forced to give up on that before long, though; when pushed, he can be truly vicious, lashing out with blades, then with crackles of green and red flame. He catches sight of Sif's knife as it flies to his and Harley's defense, and for a split second as the victim falls, he falters, surprise flicking over his face.

A moment and a few fireballs later, he scoops up and pockets the dagger. She got it from him in the first place; she's kept it this long; she's not losing the damn thing now.

It's with a sense of grim amusement that he notes the captain focusing on him. Well, he made himself the tallest there; he supposes they might assume he's in charge. Or the greatest threat. Realistically, he doesn't think he's either of those things. He tells himself he could still flee at any moment, but he has Harley and Sif both here, and he realizes with sudden dismay that...no. He won't be leaving. If it's to the death, then so be it. Seidr flows through him as the captain approaches, long tangled hair whipping up around him, eyes luminous. It's more of a threat display than a prelude to a spell, but he'll do what he must--

Except then everything slows, and stops, and they're dropping into crouches around them. Surely this isn't surrender?

Ah. No, it's retreat. A flick of his hand and his blades are sheathed and hidden, and he turns to touch Harley's shoulder and cheek gently. "Kjaereste. dearest. Can you get them home?"

He's going to follow the Fallen.