I had been both a victim of such mob attacks as well as a participant. The same rule applied which either side you were on and that was, anything goes. The name of the game was survival after all.
"He's come to break your bones, because you took one of his own!"
I picked out a big mean looking ruffian and headed straight at him for several reasons. He looked like the big he-bull of the group. Take him out and the confidence of the others would dim no matter how many they outnumbered me by. Being the capable looking monster type that he was it was also a sure bet that those near him would hold back a little from him in deference to his powerful capabilities, which could give me the opening I needed to take him out without worrying about interference by the others.
He swung at my head ponderously and I ducked under the swing, my knife plunging deep. He was already dead he just didn't know it yet. I swung around him and propelled myself upwards with my momentum in a heave of effort to his shoulders. With a heaved push off of his head I bolted up to my feet on his shoulders, even as he began to topple over forward. I aided his final journey to the floor by pushing off in a backward somersault.
The mob reacted in stunned confusion. Their leader was dead and I wasn't where I was supposed to be. It was time to divide and conquer. Five more fell bleeding before the group began to reassemble as a fighting unit.
"Explosions!"
They thought they had me once and a pile up ensued, but I slipped out from it to the side and began to hack away at them as they still fought each other within the pileup.
The survivors broke away, their breath coming hard to them. Over half their number were gone permanently and fearful doubt was plainly evident in their shaken faces.
They had thought to make short work of me, but instead I was making short work of them.
"Hot ash fills the sky, but where will you hide from the man with the gray blue eyes!"
My suit was no longer spotless white, but instead it was stained crimson with blood, their blood. The chanting ring formed about us by the godless youth as they soaked in the sight of the bloodsport, even as they cried out for more reminded one of how the Roman citizens in Nero's time had cried out for more as they watched the Christians being fed to the lions.