It's been a bit over a month since I joined Duplica. It is now August 31st and the qualifiers are underway, since the actual tourney is a 32-participant affair and there are well over a hundred applicants. There's already quite the crowd, mostly superheroes in costume, complete with masks, chilling and chatting happily.

I'm stressing out. My number is 57, and they're just counting up and pairing us in order of arrival. Everyone has to fight at least once today, then luck will decide the rest.

There's only a few other Apprentices who wear costumes, and only those look confident. There's a good chance I'll get absolutely ROCKED if I get matched with one of those, especially since I don't know anyone's powers. Number 35 and 36 are going at it, clearly they're the tough type because they've been going full tilt for ten minutes without any sign of slowing down or any defensive manuevers at all. Is this super-armor?

It's kind of mesmerizing, the rhythm they've somehow established. Just a series of back-and-forth haymakers thrown carelessly, inaccurately, wildly... Actually, these guys are kinda bad. Didn't they listen to the explanation? It's either a KO or a ringout, you don't have to slug your lives away!

No matter, the fight between 52 and 53 is over, the winner being the one that's not looking nice and crispy. He's bragging loudly to his friends, saying "Did you see how fast I got him?" and such. Is the other guy still alive, even?

Number 54 and 55 step up in their stead, while the match between 46 and 47 is about to end, maybe. It's quite a lightshow, with one firing lasers everywhere as the other dances around at crazy high speeds. Any moment now, either of them could win with just one hit. That hit goes to the speedster, as it manages to dart through the barrage and place what seems like ten or so blows directly to the head in half a second.

The living lightshow drops like a barbell, that is to say it bounces a little and makes loud clanging noises. That means it's going to be my turn now.

"Numbers 56 and 57, get on stage number 4 please!"

Alright, here goes nothing. I bought a baseball bat earlier today and took it here with me, because I found out my clones can only copy the things I own. Since I own the bat, I get to arm them all. Smart thinking is crucial for a superhero, and this was a genius move on my part.

My opponent and I step up on stage at the same time. She's a girl, most likely an older teen or a young adult, with short brown hair, wearing a tight tank-top, shorts and what I think are regular sneakers. No visible weapons. Maybe 5'6, so a bit taller than me. She takes up a basic stance and I have no clue what she can do.

On the other side is me. I've gained about twenty pounds since I first started training with Khalil, and only about two of those are fat. I no longer look skinny, but I'm unfortunately still a ginger with a bat. I make sure my pants are properly fastened and my sweater (it's getting cold, okay?) won't hinder me, then lean on my weapon of choice while waiting for the ref to start the match.

"You two ready?"

"Yeah." "Sure."

"Then... begin!"

I start off by making three clones and send them around her. She hasn't moved one bit, oddly enough. An overhead group-swing later, she doesn't even flinch. Nothing. It's like I hit a wall with a pen.

So she didn't take damage. That's fine, I'll push her over the edge. The clones drop their bats and try to carry her out. I say try, because once again, she's completely unaffected by my efforts.

"I see. Immovable object, then. What about the unstoppable force, though? Can you push ME out? Because I'm not letting you get to me."

With that line, I make another thirty or so clones and get to wailing on her. Mind you, I trained HARD during that month-and-a-half period and am literally just throwing a full-blown riot at her but even her clothes aren't moving.

Then, with nary a noise, a shockwave blows the clones away. The few that didn't get instantly poofed get thrown back a bit.

The stage isn't small enough as to be like a martial arts ring, though. It's at least thrice that size, and her blast wave is both weakened by distance and the obstruction of my clones. I fall back and come to a hair's width away from the edge, but no dice. She's got some crazy blowback power, then. She probably can't do that several times in a row, though.

"Ha. Take it, stupid. How's it feel knowing you couldn't do anything?" With the tone of an arrogant sorority airhead, she taunts me.

"I'm fine, bratty. What about you, though? Can you do that again?"

She takes a step back and gasps in surprise. Did she really think she'd knock me out with just that?

"Ref, am I still good to fight? I didn't fall out or anything, right?"

"It's fine, keep going."

Then I push out a fresh new three-man assault. This time, the girl moves. She tries to slip through them and get to me, clearly intending to push me over the edge. I say tries here because she got so, so close to making it but tripped on the left clone's extended leg.

I push out a few more clones, just to be sure, and slowly walk towards her.

Now that the battle is on the ground, she doesn't stand a chance. Her power is great and makes her immovable, but she got cocky and didn't work on her body too much. I get four clones to restrain her limbs then another to sit on her back.

"Give up."

"No! F*ck you! Get off!"

"No. Hey, does restraining your opponent count as a KO?"

"No, she has to surrender herself. If she doesn't, you'll need to make her lose some other way." What a helpful official. Thanks, referee!

"Does it count as a ring-out if my clones are out?"

"...That's circumstancial."

"Alright then."

I make my clones pick up the angry screaming girl and carry her out, then withdraw them all to let her fall onto the concrete below the stage.

"Number 57 wins by ringout! If you would, go over there with the other winners. Give your badge to the man in the red suit."

"Alright."

I walk out, having never even had to swing my weapon once, and walk over to where he told me to go.

"That girl made a big mistake, she could've beaten you if she hadn't forgotten to account for the extra mass. Damn, she looked so promising too."

The fire guy from earlier, now revealed as number 52, comes up to me and tries to start a conversation.

"Yeah, I was sure I was going to lose. I thought, maybe she had some kind of hardbody-type thing going on, so the push caught me by surprise. What about you, though? You won in like two seconds! That's pretty impressive-- is that guy okay?"

"Yeah, apparently it's impossible to die in this building so I figured I wouldn't need to hold back. They've got more than enough means of patching people up here anyways, he'll be better than before the match started!"

"Wait, you can't die in here? How come they didn't tell us this before?"

"They did, though. Did you only listen to the rules?"

"...I guess I did."

"Eh, whatever. Just sit down and wait, I'm sure at least one of us is gonna be fighting again today."

After another 40 or so minutes, the two sluggers' fight finally ended on a narrow victory by the one wearing the shreds of a white shirt, as opposed to the loser of the "intense" struggle, who is wearing the shreds of a green shirt. Until the very end, neither slowed down.

As for the rest of the first round of the preliminaries, it ends with the initial roster cut in half, from 116 to 58. Which means 18 of us won't have to fight.

"Very well, everyone, we are now at the second half of the selection. Your numbers are all in this bingo machine and you will be paired up. Not all of you will be paired, however, as we still need 32 participants. This next section, therefore, is a test of luck."

Twenty pairs of balls are rolled out. I'm not in them, so I don't get to fight twice. That's good, because I'll need everything I have for the real event.

Whether I'll be able to take it or not is the real question here.

After the final match of the preliminaries concludes, the brackets are randomly generated and shown on a giant screen above us. I'm on the far left, against number 8. Does that mean I'm going first? Oh no, now I'm really anxious. Who's number 8? I try to spot them in our little crowd.

Number 8 is a costumed girl. I say costume, but it's mostly just a painted bodysuit and an eye mask. She looks right back at me, sees my number, smiles at me with pearly white teeth then struts away.

I'm going to lose, aren't I?