Contenmo falls from the sky, having appeared many feet above the ground. He had followed Rex through a Garganta and now it was his time to learn how to make one himself.
As he lands he creates a crator in the sand, heaving it up like ripples on a placid lake. He shakes his head, clearing the ringing in his ears from the impact. Gently his hand moves, opening a note his other-half had given to him before departing.
He read it. A private note between the one he loved and himself. Staring at it his eye glazing over in sorrow, and happiness. Charles would wait for him. Storing the note in his pocket he carries on. Slowly walking through the desert. He was alone. And it was perfect.
After many attempts and many hours (atleast relatively) Contenmo sat down with a huff of frustration. What wasn't he doing right? He lays back his hands behind his head. Lost in thought.
He had gained a friend. A love. A family. All in one day. It had been very eventful. He mused, he would need to kill any lose ends sooner or later. Alexander would send him on a head hunt. To destroy those who were disloyal. He was both excited and dreaded the notion. He hated killing when-ever possible. But the thrill. The hunt. Oh how he would enjoy that. The devouring of a worthy advesaries soul. He licked his lips with anticipation. But no, he didn't devour innocents. Civilians. Matyrs or victims. He maybe a hollow but he had a sense of integrity and honor. Respect. He'd rather die than be dishonored.
Contenmo jumped, bristling at the approach of a low-level hollow. He hadn't even noticed it so lost in thought that he was. It ignored him. Or feared him, avoiding him. He couldn't tell. But it was weak, feeble. Defenseless.
Then it preformed Garganta. Traveling to where ever. This made Contenmo ashamed. How could a low-level hollow preform a technique so easily. When he, an arrancar, could not. Disgraceful. Though he gave himself slack and credit. He wasn't very spiritualy oriented, relying more on his own strength and speed. Intelligence. He chuckled to himself as he realized how 'humble' he was being.
Again he felt the stirring of chaotic power buried deep inside him. Growing. Soon he would shed this form aswell. But not yet, it would be many days. His growth he found remarkable. It had only taken a single day to reach Arrancar. He hadn't trained. He had simply been around those much stronger than himself. Feeding off of there residual spiritual energy. Slowly he reached his hand down to the pommel of his false-zanpaktou. The weapon that made up the rest of him. The item that completed him in a sense. Soon he would unlock it. Use it. For now he rested his hand on the pommel. Again, lost in thought. Staring at the moon, it staring back at the endless desert that made up Heuco-mundo. It had been many months since he had been here. Nothing has changed. As expected. Nothing ever changed here.
He felt a sudden urge. An urge to tear. To shred. To slice open the fabric of space. Again his instincts dictated what was best for him. Again he listened. As he always would. He was a being of instinct. Of chaos.
Slowly he drew his false-zanpaktou. His sword with no-name. The sword that was his. That was him. And he didn't even know the name. Pitiful. He was again ashamed to be arrancar. His old habit of self-loathing returning the longer he was away from Charles.
He draws and cuts the air infront of him. Literally. The fabric of space splits, creating what he had desired since arriving. The only way of leaving. A garganta. He steps through. Leaving Heuco Mundo until another time when he would again need to learn what was rightfully his.