Pluto had not been a untalented opponent when it came to battle; antisocial sure, but he was a Roman and the very foundation of their culture demanded a thorough knowledge of all battle tactics. Still, it was not Pluto's reflexes that took over at Reed's resistance. Milo literally dealt with such reactions as daily; no one just sat back and allowed someone to kill them.
Milo had lost count of how many times he'd been knee'd in the balls or stabbed, or shot at, punched, all part of the job description. That didn't change the fact it still hurt, and as Reed's knee made contact he was letting go and instead, going on his own defensive, turning and only barely missing the pen jabbed so ferociously at his flesh. Milo clawed to be released fully and give this man back in kind what he deserved; but Pluto held him back, dealing with his own pain and glaring death daggers at him.
"And if I wished it my very touch could do the same." The words were spoke through gritted teeth, nearly snarled truthfully if not still gasping with the pain he was in, bent over trying to deal with it with deep shaken breaths.